“No one is going to publish a first novel by a 45-year-old.” This little curse was spoken recently by one of the members of my writing group. Today it reverberates around my skull. So many of my cohorts seem to lately feel our age like an ankle shackle, while still recognizing that in the grand…
Three weeks ago, the local library suffered a bomb scare. When I tried to return my item on-time like the good girl I’ve always been, the whole place was cordoned off with yellow tape. The next morning, after noting in the newspaper that the library had not been destroyed in an epic explosion, I tried…
If writing were riding, I’d have fallen off the horse and landed in the ER more than once. I seem inclined to cling, stumble, plummet to the ground: Then get back up, like some sort of indomitable horse-loving fool. (Or head-injured, masochistic fool—you decide). Here I am: back in the saddle. In an effort to…
Yesterday at the park we ran into a classmate of Chicken Little’s and his mother. We got to talking about the preschool, how the kids like it, which days they attend. Hers—Monday through Thursday. Mine—Monday and Friday. “How does that work?” she asked. It took me a minute to figure out what she meant. I…
In the pages of the current issue of High Desert Journal is an essay of mine. It’s one that is close to my heart; I am thrilled to see it in print. The Journal is a literary and visual art magazine that once seemed beyond me. To be published by them is to stand alongside…
I needed to dive into my book again. I thought that was because I believed the project had potential. Now I think maybe it was because I needed to be reminded of why I set fire to it in the first place. Other things my consultant said: Memoir is currently dead weight in the…
“When you set fire to something, man, you’ve got to respect that.” The anniversary of my book burning was Monday. I forgot all about it until yesterday. This is very ironic because part of the reason it never crossed my mind is that I was totally focused on the consult to work on the book’s…
The pressures of parenthood seem to congeal around a holiday like grease on a ham. We *should* put the chickens in their matching dresses. We *should* achieve a lovely family picture. We *should*dote on the kids (at least not park them in front of a video). We *shouldn’t* let them eat too much sugar. The…
Chicken Little keeps catching me putting her drawings in the recycling bin. She never once considers that I’ve done it on purpose. She always assumes it’s been a mistake. “Mommy, you accidentally put this in there,” she says, holding it out to me. “Whoops!” I say, and stick it back on the refrigerator. This is…
I have been reading Malcolm Gladwell again: his first book, The Tipping Point. It’s an examination of the factors that kick off epidemics of disease, thought, trend, etc. I am just not getting into it like I did Blink and Outliers. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with the book. The copy is full of great…