One of the things I love about finding a writing community is the feedback and encouragement we get from each other. Writing can be a lonely road, but it’s much more enjoyable with someone by our side.
I am available to help get that book out of the drawer and into the hands of your readers.
Email me if you are interested. We can Video Chat or meet up in NYC. Short sessions to get you started or a series of 4-6 to keep you on track. And, if you are ready to go, but need an objective read to catch typos and errors, let me know – I love making sure the final draft is in fact the final draft.
Please let me know what YOU need! I’ve been working with essayists, short fiction writers, cover designers, and poets for the past two years and want to open up to new writers now. I can also help you write ad copy.
The first 15 minutes is on me. After that, $60/hr with a 20-minute min.
No photos in this one, just a wholehearted appreciation of New York! Poems, narratives, observations and stories. On Amazon AND Kindle! #LocalColor
Just a quick heads up – pub date is April 14, 2017!
With the help of Empyre Media Productions, we produced a short film, featuring three of the contributing authors to These Summer Months, to give you all a glimpse of the wonderful variety of our work. A quick shout-out to Empyre Media Productions for their expertise. Look for it here!
Two 15-minute podcasts are up on Our Salon Radio. Featuring the editor and contributing author, Anne Born, the podcasts will be a chance to get better acquainted with The Late Orphan Project and both anthologies: These Winter Months and These Summer Months. Look for “Born in the Bronx” here.
Inspired Word NYC has developed a series of events to highlight the upcoming Queens Lit Fest in Long Island City, April 29 and 30, 2017. Look for editor Anne Born with Inspired Word NYC, reading from her new book of poems written on the NYC subway: Turnstiles.
Thrilled to announce a new poetry collection. Published today in solidarity with the Women’s March on Washington.
Wake me with stillness in the morning.
Start the coffee, let the water run cold.
No need to measure out the beans into the grinder,
the water to the pot.
It’s a day to be reckless, starting softly.
I will pay attention to the measure later,
But not now.
The sun lights up the fire escape copper and slips across the Concourse, splashing up against the Courthouse gold, the wave smacking the sides of the elevated train silver snaking across my horizon.
For just a few minutes, I’ll drink the coffee,
As if nothing amazing were going on outside.
There’s a ritual to making a bed.
The headboard tall aginst the wall,
A pattern of walking around: from left side to foot to right side to foot to left side and back.
Smoothing out the sheets,
Tugging up the blankets,
Placing the chenille bedspread just so, the pillows can be hid.
It’s as if the whole exercise were to confound the viewer to think nobody’d slept there;
That this was never a place of vulnerability, of fragile dreams, of terrible fears,
Nobody’d lay awake, turning and pulling
Against the too tight tucked in linens.
Walking around, side following side,
Left, foot, right, foot, left, foot, right,
Footfalls in place,
Creating a dry moat in pattern around a preserved and austere,
But empty castle keep.
Come in to find shelter,
Come in to take rest,
You are the first,
No one of your kind before.
And at daybreak, leave no trace you’d ever been here.
Make the bed.