yesterday i drafted 250 words, 8 different ways and called it a day. technically, that's like 2000 words. anyway i ended up scrapping it.

“you look tired” yeah I haven’t slept well since I was like 10 years old

is it just me or has it been quiet here? lowk wanted bsky to be home (over X).

i'm just saying everything is unprecedented until it happens

there's never gonna be a better time to write it down.write it down.write it down.write it down.write it down.write it down.write it down.write it down.write it down.write it down.

omg struck gold - thanks Erika Krouse for your work on this!! www.erikakrousewriter.com/erika-krouse...

the whole ai scraping, read-for-me, think-for-me thing is a CONSENT issue. no fucking wonder people aren't getting it still, humanity still hasn't quite figured that out. speak whatever into your algo-friend, but use your own words pls, ty, ilysm

New @bendinggenres.bsky.social weekend workshop with @cardewjcardew.bsky.social on July 17- 19: Found, Broken, Remade: A Transformative Hybrid Writing Experience: bendinggenres.com/writing-grou.... Come play with us in this safe, exciting online turf!!!

ok i'm keeping my em dashes and metaphors involving inanimate objects. ai is just a mean reversion of linguistics, as long as i'm weird enough i think i'm gonna be okay.

"How I Became a Motel 6" is now hosted on my own site. This piece was originally published in Same Faces Collective on December 12, 2025 RIP SFC, who embraced the ugly and true, led by an exceptional team and vision. -M. mitchellny.com#motel6

there's something so genuine about "!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" because there's no way to do that without working for it. and AI can't or wouldn't do it organically

but when will the magazines submit to us?

"A Jar of Dirt" will be published in @trampset.bsky.social's July 31st issue. Best news to wake to!

my protagonists are liars and i just want to say here and now, i really hope this does not reflect poorly on me.

i've been finishing pieces lately thinking "wow this is the best i've done" and then getting placed for pieces i wrote a year ago. that was a diff me, please understand.

"it's bland" "ah shit ok: funeral, eulogy, cigarettes, ripped jeans, 40oz, rickety sedan, anti-preciousness, smoke, ash, ochre, stench, prozac, ozempic, red lipstick"

"katsu." is shortlisted for the @fracturedlit.bsky.social Micro Prize, judged by Steve Almond.

for me, part of being a writer is constantly resisting the urge to turn irl drama into material. people are so messy. it's gorgeous and beguiling and i refuse.

you can (1) order a cheeseburger or (2) send tens of thousands of AI queries like "what's the word that means... but kinda isn't.... but has that vibe." it costs the same water; has the same impact. anyway, i've got 10,001 ambiguous units of water idk what to do with.

so it turns out the piece that has seen 30 rejections can be the same piece that is currently on the shortlist for a contest and that the volume of rejections received is not representative of the underlying work because. it's the same words!

the corpos are frothing at the mouth for AI. but in a professional context, it's inept and non-deterministic and i don't trust the results. in a literary context, it's inept and soulless and i don't want its results. but still, everyone's saying i should be more scared.

english isn't for cowards. if you're not saying 'torpify,' that's a skill issue. there's no Académie Française telling you what to do. if you try to type 'pallific' and freak out when you see a little red underline, maybe you're not ready to roll with the big dogs.

my wife told me her therapist told her that she is "like god". i'm not sure what to do with this yet or what this means for us.

wow i really love when i start writing in the depths of my despair only to revisit when things are totally okay and not be able to finish it

very few things so copacetic as slurping on a mango over my kitchen sink in my underwear

looking at some ducks

big respect for editors digging through AI slop in the slush

Kenichi Nakaya

Fiction "Until Nothing Osmosed Out of Pickles" by Mitchell Ny “Hup hup. Feel your chest expand. When it’s all-the-way full, take two more little sips and hold. Count to three. And whoosh—let it all out. Imagine your lungs shriveling like raisins.” www.bloodhoneylit.com/fiction/unti...

saw something about booktok only reading dialog bc it’s more efficient and I’m sorry but it makes me ill thinking about “consuming” art “efficiently”

"Until Nothing Osmosed Out of Pickles" is out now in Blood+Honey @bloodhoneylit.bsky.social #flashfiction

but i’m a crepe i’m a weird dough what the challah am i doing here i don’t boulanger

By Jane Fisher Medium Oil painting

a delicious breakfast of redbull and prozac

i made me a website okay mitchellny.com

there will be a time when american stories begin with "back when i was imprisoned as a child"

"Until Nothing Osmosed Out of Pickles" is going to be in @bloodhoneylit.bsky.social. i feel so punk. 5/14

one thing i really love about being an actuary irl is that other actuaries say stuff like "let me think about it and get back" --- in a world where bullshit reigns supreme. thank you.

"separate the art from the artist" only works in a nightmare where everyone is interchangeable. for now, i want to know who's bleeding, who's laughing.

i've been away, reading joy wiliams and my destruction saw me "dreaming and went back to where it was"

The abstract is what hurts the most because it is unknown. Not palpable. That is what makes it terrifying.

there is an unpleasantness in the intermittent whiplash of wanting everything and nothing always

my tiktok shop purchases include: a scent diffuser i'll never use, 100 tiny duck figurines, and a toe separator. my algorithm definitely knows something about me that i don't

no version of fooling someone into loving you that doesn't end with you loving a fool

all my plants are either thriving to spite me or dying just to prove a point. where are the plants that just do okay?

man, being in your 30s is basically just your knees complaining about your life choices every time you stand up.

"Hello, I love you. This is love." My lyric essay "How I Became a Motel 6" is in Same Faces Collective.

i told myself today i would rest and spend all day playing stardew valley and here i am 2000 words deep drafting a story about a hot hole in the floor. i didn't even know i had that much to say about a hot hole in the floor.

last week I finished a story about a tiny pink man that lives in a bellybutton and I still feel like my work could be weirder

my cat weighs 14 lbs (pushing 15, if we're honest) and lands on my bladder every morning with the precision of a guided missile. she knows what she's doing.