Call your lover through the centuries, tip his chin with faint fingertips On his knees, supplicant lips parted tongue pressed to wet teeth With his hair tangled in your fingers bless him and forgive him his transgressions -rjm
loose threads
a smattering of things
about
Jo McCrory is a writer and artist living in northern California.
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I “relaunched” my blog over a month ago, so I guess it’s time for some sort of introduction? I never know what to say in a bio because I don’t know what matters for people to know. My education is irrelevant to my writing, and I spent a lot of my youth and early 20s butting heads with educators over writing; my classroom has been nature, books, music, art, relationships, and life. Fucking insufferable, isn’t it?
The first time I remember writing was at 7 or 8, an assignment for school. I don’t remember a moment when I decided I would be a writer. I was born, and I grew, and I simply was a writer. The cliche is true – writing is like breathing – and I didn’t breathe with full lungs for a decade. Recently, someone opened a door and let the light in. I felt the fresh air on my face for the first time in so long. I took a breath and another and then another.
Now we’re here.
Welcome.
And thank you.
