Writing

Brené Brown, known for her groundbreaking research on vulnerability, shame, courage, and authenticity, says that our happiness depends on our willingness to make ourselves...

In front of Natvar on the floor was a shiny wooden rectangular box with a short keyboard—black and white keys like on a small piano. On the other side of the masking-tape aisle sat Mark cross-legged in front of an oblong drum, the kind with two...

On opening night of my first professional show, I stood backstage at the Circle in the Square Theatre on Broadway and peered out from the wings at the gathering crowd. I was very young and very frightened. As the house lights dimmed, I felt a...

Omega: What's your writing process like? Do you allocate time every day to writing?

Richard: I write in spurts. There's the adage that writers need to write every day, but I think that needs some...

Have you ever tried to take a dance class and felt like you had two left feet? Or gone to a café to write poetry and spent the whole time catching up on work emails?

You’re not alone. Creativity works in mysterious ways and we don’t...

Walk into almost any coffee shop around the world and you will usually find a scene comprised of people in deep thought above their laptops, old friends catching up over steamy cups, and the strong smells of espresso and baked goods. 

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You probably don’t talk up your own awesomeness on a regular basis—if ever. Most of us, especially women, have been taught to see anything more than “quiet” confidence as boasting. In many cases the brighter we shine, the more negative reactions...

Dearest Bette,

You are so young, so before all beginning, and I want to beg you, as much as I can, to be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that...

When I first got to college, I had thought teaching must be the best gig in the world. Teachers got paid to talk. Occasionally they graded papers, it was true, but they only had to show up for classes two days a week, they got long summer...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was a time when they were afraid of him.
My father, a bare man, a gypsy, a horse
with broken knees no one would shoot.
Then again, he was like the orange...

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