Journey Into The Renaissance, Part III

Yet another attempt at travel writing…

I find that visiting Florence is as close to time travel as I will ever experience in this lifetime. However, there is a paradox of time periods overlapping at once. I do not only envision a past when I gaze out at the city through my bedroom window, but a present and a future as well. How do you look at Michelangelo’s David, setting the example for a perfect male figure in 1504, and say he is not still the textbook image of male physique? I remember the hype surrounding my visit to see the David. “You must see him! You’ll cry when you see him!” This was all I’d been hearing since I announced my acceptance to Lorenzo de Medici a semester and a half ago. It’s true that my expectations were high. Especially since sculpture is by far my favorite medium and I do have quite a taste for tall naked men. Continue reading

Journey Into The Renaissance

A Crack at Travel Writing as a Genre:

If there was one piece of advice I gave myself before landing in Florence, the city where classical learning blossomed after a millennium of darkness… it was to avoid being a tourist. I came here to feel, to explore, and to learn. The aspirations for my journey were clear-cut, leave the selfie stick in New York and bring an open mind to Europe. Continue reading

The Year of the Writer – Part 2

A year ago I decided 2015 was going to be “The Year of the Writer.” As other new years resolutions crept down the rabbit hole, this one proudly stood above ground and even climbed a few trees.

I started a blog which gained just under 1,500 followers in a year. Continue reading

False Epiphanies

My creative writing class teaches us about the art of different topics in writing. This week was all about epiphanies. Here is the fictional snippet I wrote during our 15 minutes of free writing class time. 


Then it hit me, Jack thought of me as more than a friend. His smooth talk and charismatic flirting, the way he sprinkled on the compliments as we were growing up. That blue eyed wink – oh – that baby blue eyed wink.

That evening after everyone had gone to bed, I snuck out of camp to find his tent. I knew exactly which one was his, the olive green with five gold stars on its fabric. Approaching his tent I became wary of the noises inside. There was laugher, female laughter. Jack was not alone.

I knew then that his infatuation with me was not real, but a tease of my own imagination. we had grown up together, of course I would have confused his charismatic personality with that of flirting. We were friends, and that is all we would ever be. I backed away slowly, keeping my head up high and my breathing low as I disappeared behind the trees.