It boggles my mind that people go to MFA programs which forbid them to take courses in other genres.

Have I ever actually used my diploma to get a job? Does having a degree ensure I am best friends with movie stars? The answer is a definitive “NO.”

As a writing teacher I am in the business of helping people see their voices, their lives, their experiences as meaningful, as conduits for connection.

There’s a wealth of resources to help creatives give and receive help, but where do you start? We made a list.

The best children’s literature addresses the pain and powerlessness of being a kid and gives that power back to them.

“Do you have a dentist?” my filmmaker friend James Glover asks. “Your dentist has money, why don’t you ask him for some?” Once you have the money, getting everyone else is easy.

I tend to find articles about diet and exercise incredibly boring, so I thought I’d offer my tips along with some advice I found in Jayne’s Almanac 1937.

Here it is, Thanksgiving morning, and in the spirit of The Freelancer’s Thanksgiving Bingo I’m stealing away a little time to do just a smidge of work.

I consider myself to be intelligent, informed—able to rise above the message that skinny is beautiful. But apparently I wasn’t.

I perform my OCD rituals to convince myself that the niggling decisions that don’t matter—yet need to be made and without agony—fit some orderly pattern.

The little voices in your head telling you that you can’t do it are slowly but surely crushing your dreams. They’re your itty-bitty shitty committee.

I don’t want you in my face every day. Do you even know what’s going on in Syria? I bet no one else does when you clog up the news with your crap.

Writers will write, and they will write about you. Talk honestly about your boundaries. Of course, if you ever break up all bets are off, so good luck.

When I got out of college I was determined not to get a real job. Then I tripped over my carry-on bag, sprained my ankle, and joined the food stamps line.

After the reading, a few people even gave me feedback. I knew that they were both right, but I never would have noticed these things on my own.

The staff at my coffee shop of choice is now aware of what’s happening behind my crinkled forehead on weekend afternoons. The fact remains: no one’s reading my book.