this process so sacred

It is coming to an end, my MFA. A week from Saturday, I will be finished. I wrote to my friend about our loss of this process so sacred, but with the gain of knowledge and motivation and friendship. I met her two years ago when we were new students. We met drinking vodka on... Continue Reading →

wanting to leave is enough

When people ask me for book recommendations, I never know what to say. Because although I read voraciously and have favorites, what we read is a matter of personal taste. It's the same reason that, as a waitress, I hesitate to recommend anything. I hate ribeyes, but my customers might like them. However, I'm reading... Continue Reading →

hauling shelves

Last night I went and picked up some bookshelves from a guy on Nextdoor. "Your profile says you used to live around here," he said. "I did," I said, "when I was married." Divorce is awkward and people don't know what to say about it so usually they just say, "I'm sorry" which is a... Continue Reading →

sitting in the sun

It was not any awakening of the large, not so much as that, only a stepping back from the petty. ~from "The Promise" by Jane Hirshfield I have been feeling myself again, which is to say productive and filled with purpose. I have been positive and happy, much more than I had been. I am... Continue Reading →

at night, under the circle of light

At night, under the circle of light from a cheap metal lamp clamped to the kitchen table, she sits with paper and a pen and pretends she's not afraid. She's trying to live like a writer. ~From the introduction to "The House on Mango Street" by Sandra Cisneros I hate this part of life, but... Continue Reading →

It’s been an hour

It's been an hour since thunder boomed and the boys skittered into my bedroom, into my bed, under the covers. Since then it rained and rained and rained and then the clouds pushed off each other and the sun resumed its role. But before that happened, Holden intertwined his fingers and said a prayer, even... Continue Reading →

incubus cd

There is this little thing David Sedaris wrote--the introduction to a collection of short stories--and in it he describes candidly and masterfully what it is to try to fit in and then to finally, after trying to be someone else, develop a confidence in his own opinion, which is what coming into ourselves is, if... Continue Reading →

different kinds of quiet

There are different kinds of quiet, but we talk about it as if there's only one. You know how Eskimos have all those different words for snow? I want different words for different types of quiet. There is a still, which isn't exactly quiet but is calm. It's birds fluttering in the trees and wind... Continue Reading →

writing as a constant

The thing about writing is that it isn't constant. I say that to mean both it is and it isn't. Constantly, we are in the process of writing. Writers are observing the world around us in great detail, documenting it in notebooks or on receipts or napkins or in blogs or on Twitter. We are... Continue Reading →

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