I’ll be an entrepreneur … if you pay me to do it. I’ll paint the picture … if you will hang it. I’ll write the book … if you will sell it. I’ll take the test … if you promise to pass me. I’ll take the exam … if it says I am healthy. I’ll tell you I love you … if you love me. I want to live a life where all my dreams come true....

 · Laura Lis Scott


She trundles across the grass, not fast, going by hope (as much as poor sight) that she might not smite the black cat who bats his paw more out of play than of malice but comes away nonetheless with spines teaching regret, or the happy love-hunting hound whose nose bears scars from quills. She, in turn, so small behind her coat, trembles at their approach for causing nothing but pain. She trundles across the grass, not fast, alone....

 · Laura Lis Scott

Piggies for tomorrow

Piggies are for saving! My piggy is Instapaper, Pinboard and Evernote, where I bookmark all the things that my ADD head says, “Oh I’ll want to read this later.” But when does later come? I think it’s tomorrow, and when I realize that, I figure heck! What was I worried about? I can look at that tomorrow? So when does tomorrow actually arrive? And then I realize that it never comes....

 · Laura Lis Scott
The Scream, by Edvard Munch.

I is for Iambic Pentameter

To what domain should I devote my pen? To verse where I betray my ignorance? For I to put these words on blogging, sense Is strained by hackneyed turns of phrase—what then? Oh Muse! Betray me not! This dalliance Is but a metered post occasioned when The A to Z endeavor strikes again A block on all my words. And so I hence State: I am giving up writing iambic pentameter....

 · Laura Lis Scott

Blank page: 2014

It all seems rather arbitrary to say today is a new start, tomorrow is the 2nd day, and so on. Every day is a new day, “the first day of the rest of your life,” and all that. Right? And yet here we are, all of us, looking at this new year full of hopes and intentions and goals and resolutions. The rhythms of the year, of the holidays, of the seasons lend themselves to this....

 · Laura Lis Scott