We fail to teach joy as a writing praxis because the concept of joy is something we seek, whereas grief is something we sit in. Around us, joy does not seem as abundant as does the weight of grief.

Drafting is the struggle to write like yourself and read like someone else.

The “write like yourself” part sounds easy until you become a writer. You’ll find it takes years of chipping away at a block of granite to find the authentic writer-self within.

I have emailed and texted myself when I have an idea and my phone, but not a piece of paper and pen. What I like best is the moment when the kids are at school, and I sit in my brown reclining chair with a cup of coffee and maybe a cat next to me, or somewhere nearby, and I have time to think deep thoughts. Those days are rare and precious.

People are vivid / and small / and don’t live / very long—

A storm rolls in that looks to be of some size and I am steadfastly committed to not letting the world write me. It grows larger, closer, and somehow, more normal.

We have decided to run these three poems to commemorate the life and work of former Kennesaw State professor Molly Brodak, who passed away this past Sunday, March 8, 2020. Molly was an acclaimed poet and nonfiction writer, and a talented and beloved teacher. She will be deeply missed.