How does an honest day’s work go for an author, singer-songwriter, photographer, and award-winning poet like Nathan Brown?
When I first wake up, I have a strict regimen that involves hand-pouring coffee, toasting a piece of bread, lighting a candle on the writing table in our library, and getting to it, for however long it takes to feel finished for that day. Unless I’m on the road, which has its own set of writing rituals, that will happen every day. No exceptions. Not even for holidays.
Afternoons are reserved for editing and, sadly, marketing, bookings, and self-promotion, which causes me a physical pain.
Photo credit: Russell
The Ides of March are upon us,
so the live oak leaves have finally
started to fall here in South Texas.
They hang on to their dried up ideas
long and hard, as any good Texan.
Then, when new life and growth
leave them absolutely no choice,
they let go in a grumpy resentment,
dropping to the ground like hailstones.
The world needs Texans like theater
needs its critics—or like any decent
construction site needs jackhammers.
They’re the Sound and the Chevy, the Ford
and the Fury, of the world’s great stage.