From the Desk of Penelope Przekop
Dear Diary, I'm sorry I haven't written in so long. That's how I always started after skipping more than a day or two. Year after year, you were my consistent, listening friend. You gave me an outlet before I knew how desperately I craved one. You helped me formulate clear thoughts before I realized authentic... Continue Reading →
For these books, I have dug floppy disks out of corporate trash dumpsters (long story); re-typed nearly 100,000 words due to computer crashes; spent hours and hours on research; endured rejection after rejection; cried; and labored, driven by my unflinching belief that it was important.
"Writing is part of the disease, but because it allows me to escape into another existence, it's part of the cure."When I was in college, I was obsessed with writing schedules of what classes I would take each semester during each year of my education. I can't explain it, but it gave me bizarre pleasure and... Continue Reading →
"I always knew I was a Martian of sorts."About ten years ago, my brother, my mother, and I had a conversation about high school. My brother commented about how everyone around him seemed to be from another planet--not his. Then my mother went on to describe similar perceptions.I sat, quietly, choosing not to offer up... Continue Reading →
"My previous employer failed to appreciate and understand my creative personality, interests, and drive."When I went to bed last night my throat was a bit scratchy. I woke up this morning feeling terrible. I'm sick. My head hurts. My ears hurt. My throat hurts. My back aches. I'm congested and tired. Sitting here writing this,... Continue Reading →
... I'm nothing at all without the writing. Without truth, my truth, the only truth I know, it's all a gambol in the pasture without rhythm or sense. It's empty. God gave it to me (so help me, Deist or no, I believe that!) and I can't cheat myself or you or them or anyone... Continue Reading →
I don't believe in coincidences. To lean on an overused analogy, the details of my life create an endless, jumbled mess like the back of a giant tapestry. I see life that way. Perhaps that's one of the attributes that make me a writer.So what's the coincidence, you ask?Well, I promised myself I'd refrain from... Continue Reading →
