I stared at the prophetic octopus as it twisted and glided around its tank.
He settled into his seat on the train, his gaze drawn to the window.
He sat by the warm glow of the lamp, brushing away tufts of hair that tickled his forehead.
What the hell is upmarket fiction?
I spent the past week thinking about the purpose of these journal entries.
If you’re going to create any great work, regardless of whether it’s music, art, writing, or some other creative endeavor, you’re going to need inspiration.
I was probably 10 or 11 years old when I first learned how to solve a Rubik’s Cube.
Six months ago, I set out on a mission.
