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

In which words flow, but not where I need them

The place: The Facebook website thingie. The time: A moment of weakness (escaping from my manuscript). The assignment: “Exercise!!! 250-500-100 words (some kind of narrative). No “to be” verbs!” The inspiration: This great photo (above). My jotted whatnot: Without Sole Has anyone seen my sneakers? They walked off with my soul, and now I wander the earth, barefoot and in mourning, experiencing a life bereft of meaning. Who knew shoes could take so much merely through their absence?...

 · 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