“We write to create the books that we would like to read, that haven’t yet been written—possibly.”—Joyce Carol Oates
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by Jennifer Frost
Moore isn’t shy with the juicy details. Not so with matters of the heart. He withholds recollections of childhood and close friendships. On an endless quest for a love that satisfies the soul, he admits himself a philandering husband doomed to the sadness of repeated losses.
by Jennifer Frost
The vast empty page and the impossible task of stringing words across the white abyss. Did I just call a blank page the ‘white abyss?’ Break time, please.