And by lately I mean the two years I have neglected this poor little blog.
I'm not sure blogging is for me anymore. I liked the ideas. I liked writing more and often and feeling like I had a community to talk to.
However, I think in practice it was really a good way to boost my ego without learning much about myself. Which is not to say it's that way for everyone. I just think I... had a tendency to self flatter. I'm not particularly as interested in that anymore.
Perhaps I am being hard on previous me.
I still sometimes update my website at www.rosehoward.com
There is a 'current' page there with links to my Instagram and some writing I've done over this long period of 'not blogging' (a lot of it is collaborative).
Some snippets to catch your ear/eye/etc:
This one is from Lost 4
Two years have put healthy weight on the young man. Still rangy, his cheekbones are slender lines in cinnamon skin clean of stubble. His brown eyes flick like nervous birds, settling and alighting, wary of predators.His fingernails are trim, the palms of his hands soft. Every line of his tailored suit speaks of pressing, sharpness, a lengthy daily ritual. Clipped black hair dusts the tops of his ears.The tray is ready when he glides towards it down the empty hallway. Black dress shoes on carpet are muffled. Recessed lights do not hum. Silence has the house tightly in its grip, fist clenched.Shafts of mid morning sun strike through the window that ends the hall with a wall of glass. They play on the silver kettle, over the metal tray. Steam twines through them, curling arabesques suggesting intertwined figures, the coils of two roiling snakes.The curls drift to the side as the tray is hefted, turned and pushed through a heavy door.Inside, fingers drum on the desk. The water in the glass ripples with the motion, miniature earthquakes sending tiny waves against the clear walls.The tray is set on a side table. Billows of steam cascade up as a single cup is poured over two sugar cubes. A dance of brown and white swirl together as cream is added, stirred.A single tink of spoon on tray is the only sound before the cup is presented along with its attendant saucer.
This one is from Lost & Found 57
I love writing that character. A very fun not-so-villainous villain.There’s a rustle of fabric. When he next speaks, his voice is close, at the side of the booth.“The delicate truth is that we must be broken to truly live.”
And there's also a new project I undertook earlier this year up on my website. I named the series Restless. Very small sculptures.
Yes, that is a real pull tab, and those are really sequins. I told you, they're small.