Last night I said, “If anyone spills their milk, I am going to cry.” I was absolutely serious. Only moments before, in the frenzied aftermath of unloading two children, two bikes, two backpacks, a pink reusable grocery sack full of fresh-from-the-Earth produce, my purse, my work notebook and a handful of smashed crackers from the…
…and a little hint about my book-in-progress. 🙂 who can name the event? (and for you entrepreneurial sorts, check out that last photo. She’s holding a typewriter, and it’s labeled “poem store”. That’s what I call extreme freelancing.)
An experiment conducted in the 1960s by Stanford psychologist Walter Mischel tested children’s ability to delay gratification. A child was left alone in a room with a plate of marshmallows, cookies and pretzels. She was told that she could either eat one treat right away or wait until after the adult left the room for…
I fear speaking too soon. Four weeks. 13,500 words. 35 pages. Five chapters. And my dominant emotion? Bafflement. At how easy it feels. I know enough by now to realize that initial creation is always the fun and easy part of writing. And I know that I am just beginning even that. Finishing…
My writing group friends agree: there is such a thing as a “good” rejection letter. As I have reported in the past (Boomerang), an unfortunately much-too-common rejection letter in the publishing industry is no rejection letter—no response at all, which has the result of making one feel like pond scum, or worse, invisible pond scum.…
We interrupt our regularly scheduled musings on motherhood, writing and rejection for a taste of summer living. We regret to inform you that this might be a common occurance until mid-September. Please bear with us and enjoy our dabblings into a new artistic format–the photo essay.
J. Robert Lennon nails The Truth About Writers in the LA Times. Happy Weekend!
A picture is worth a 1000 words (left unwritten).
Captain Daddy is professionally inclined to report on topics of disaster and death. In our early years together I named this litany of unfortunate events the Trauma Tour. Everywhere we went he had a story to tell: car into tree, drug-addled assault, slow and lonely decay. I endured it, sometimes even with affection for the…
When I started this blog six months ago, I didn’t put my name on it. I didn’t tell anyone I was writing it. I didn’t announce it anywhere. When it comes to new things, I tend to put a toe in the water completely privately. Or maybe even just a toenail. I try it out…