I could be equally content in a city or a rural area, by myself or with a partner. I’d take an apartment or small house and make it my own, but really my partner could have whatever he wants as long as I have my own space to write.
There must be a balcony. If I don’t have balcony sex at some point in my life I will demand a do-over.
I feel so at home here.
Everyone limps.
God bless gorgeous male nurses.
I have just been compared to Richard Siken
I could legitimately cry right now.
iseriouslyhatetheinternet replied to your post: If your story has a large cast of characters and…
Really, writers of the universe? I thought we were getting past this.
i have said exactly that about male-dominated stories.
oh hey internet here have Chris Evans orgasming
Here Wesley, I got you a present.
oh
all right
If your story has a large cast of characters and there are no women, or your only women have small wife/girlfriend roles, i will not read it
sorry
Checking your privilege is unacceptable—you must fill in the privilege entirely using a #2 pencil.
me without makeup
me with makeup
My weekend was fun! I jacuzzi’d with friends on Friday and went to a Rocky Horror shadow cast on Saturday, where I saw delicious men in heels and talked about gender and attractive people with a gorgeous trans* woman
my goal is to bring a date to that place
I want anons.
Blue: Are you still friends with the people you met in elementary school?
One person, actually.
Gold: Share a story that makes you smile.
My AP English teacher and I never got along well. Between her behavior toward me and some really bad experiences I was having outside school, I was considering giving up writing as a goal altogether. When I turned in my personal narrative assignment near the end of the year, I expected her to leave the usual distant comments on how strange she found my writing style, but she did not do that this time; in fact she did not hand back the essay at all. When she finally discussed the essays with the class, she stopped mid-thought to say, “Oh and Wes, yours made me cry. Seriously. Like a baby. Oh my gosh. Can I read it to the class?”
When I could find my voice and stop hiding behind my hands, I said “sure,” and by the end of the class, most of the girls were crying and a couple of the boys were sniffling. When the bell rang, the teacher asked me if she could keep my essay as an example to future students, and to my knowledge she still uses it today.
I think I decided that I was good enough that day.
“You are not mine to ask things of but I ask you anyway” is probably one of my favorite lyrics of all time.
