I haven’t written with a pencil in a while, and I forgot about the way the dulling of the point changes the visual of the handwriting. I used pencils until college. In kindergarten, I used the fat, yellow Ticonderoga #2 pencils. Perfect for little hands to learn to grip as I traced dotted letters. When… Continue reading pens and pencils
Author: natbiendara
Hi! I'm Nat. I'm a creative mind looking for new projects all the time. I've recently graduated from SDSU with a BA in Media Studies, and I'm currently living and working in San Diego.
I grew up in Apple Valley, California and I moved down to San Diego for school in 2017. A few of my favorite things include writing short fiction, spending hours on Pinterest, watching too many movies and tv shows, diving headfirst into craft projects, hanging out with my cat, Fig, and the color green.
we will all make it happen in the end
There's an over-caffeinated person eating a chocolate Moon Pie in the corner of the Artifact dining space. She's submitted an application for a remote Social Media Manager position to a furniture company based in Detroit. There's tension and stress and she has thirty minutes before her current location is closed for the evening. It took… Continue reading we will all make it happen in the end
what are you doing the rest of your life?
What are you doing the rest of your life? How does one become a curator or ceiling designer? How do we pick space to occupy that we can walk into with daily satisfaction? How can we alter our trajectory when we are unfulfilled with our current state? How does the concept of a beautiful design make me want to blissfully cry?
field of sweetgrass
There’s an overgrown field of sweetgrass behind Georgia’s childhood home. When it gets cold out, the sweetgrass dries and rough leaves make small cuts on young fingers. Georgia used to go out at dusk and hold a piece under her nose, inhaling as much as she could before her lungs were filled to the brim.… Continue reading field of sweetgrass
Year Twenty-Two, A Week-In Review
I usually try to make an Instagram post on my birthday every year. I want to share something that summarizes the previous year with a sweet little sentiment about how it was challenging but full of love. Additionally, I want to let my social media sphere know that it’s my birthday and they should go… Continue reading Year Twenty-Two, A Week-In Review
poems from april
My creative writing class naturally had a creative writing unit. I have mixed feelings about poetry. There are many rules that are "meant to be broken" which blur the lines of quality. If anything is allowed, what makes a poem good or bad? I always feel like I'm doing a good job, and that feels… Continue reading poems from april
feeling heavy, feeling sure
I'm not sure if it's spring itself or this stage of life, but I've found myself feeling very heavy lately. My body holds future anxiety and reeling thoughts like a box of bricks. Luckily, I've never been one to shy away from feeling however I need to feel in the moment. If heaviness wants to… Continue reading feeling heavy, feeling sure
on the way
The phone rang irritably on Marilyn’s bedside table. On its third ring, she considered that whoever was on the other end of the line might have something important to offer like a publishing deal or congratulations for a sweepstakes win. She read Peter’s name on the screen and decided that, while he couldn’t possibly provide… Continue reading on the way
20201229 – balboa park
I went to the park alone and took notes about the abundance of interesting people I saw. I don’t know any of these people, but they contributed to the positive reflection of the day. The following remarks are merely assumptions. When I get to the park, I walk to the rose garden across from the… Continue reading 20201229 – balboa park
time enough at last
Ellorah stepped inside the office and informed the secretary of her appointment. The woman gave her a numbered ticket and told her to take a seat in the mostly-vacant waiting room. She found an unmarked, plastic-covered chair and sat down until her number appeared on the screen above the reception desk. A voice over the… Continue reading time enough at last
nat biendara 