Life
Real men drink, right?
He has a problem. He’s felt it for years now, but he refuses to face it. He doesn’t want to admit it, to himself or to the people around him. All his heroes were the same. He likes to recall the scene where James Bond sits in a dusty pub in Latin America, a glass of whiskey in hand, his gaze fixed on a scorpion crawling across the bar. When he first fell for literature, it was Post Office and Women, which he read over and over again. Without those cans of beer and bottles of cheap whiskey, Bukowski’s work wouldn’t have been so raw, so honest. Even Vaclav Havel spent most of his nights in Prague bars; without that, he wouldn’t have been who he was. Those were the real men.
By George Roastabout 14 hours ago in Writers
Knives and Forks
Alright, it’s enough, I’m not going to fall asleep anyway, and I can’t stand another hour of staring at this ceiling. Thoughts just drift through my mind, and from all this lying around, my calves start to cramp again. At least I slept through most of yesterday. Paying that debt I built with lifestyle. That helps. With that, I can push through today until the evening, as I did so many times before. I blame her for it anyway. It was definitely her who tore me out of my dreams at half past two in the morning. She did it, and now she’s pretending that nothing happened.
By George Roastabout 14 hours ago in Writers
Writing for the attention span
I've just started to write a story. Not this one. A fiction. I am often contemplating now why I write on Vocal: do I have a message? Sometimes. Is it for the joy? Always. Is it for engagement? Maybe, depending on what form that engagement takes.
By Rachel Deemingabout 15 hours ago in Writers
Turning the Ephemeral into the Concrete
Some experiences feel real while they are happening and unreal almost immediately afterward. A conversation that sparks clarity, a realization that reframes a problem, a moment where scattered thoughts suddenly align. In the moment, there is a sense that something solid has been grasped. But without capture, that solidity dissolves. What remains is a faint impression, detached from the reasoning that made it meaningful. The experience was real, but it left no durable trace.
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcastabout 23 hours ago in Writers
In May, I Will Have Written And Read On Vocal Media For Five Years
There are some extremely good writers on this site! It has been almost five years since I started in May 2021 on Vocal, and I continue to feel like a beginner. I was a new writer, then, even though I was an older woman.
By Denise E Lindquista day ago in Writers
A New Song
A New Song I woke up the other day and heard this new song. It seemed a bit familiar, but I could not place it. I don’t know where it was coming from either. So I smiled and listened to it. It was one of the most beautiful songs, I have heard in a long time.
By Alexandra Granta day ago in Writers




