When I was about eleven, my mom worked at an autobody shop in the desert. On summer break I didn’t want to stay home, but I couldn’t exactly go to work with her, either. Fortunately for me, there was a library only a few blocks away from her work. She’d drop me off, fortified with… Continue reading The smell of books and worn carpet
I had a stroke last week. I was trying to find a different way to start this blog, but writing my way in felt disingenuous. So there it is, today’s fun-filled topic. But I’m not talking about the stroke as such. I want to talk about stories. When the ambulance took me away, I didn’t… Continue reading The good news is that I’ll be okay…
September. The year has gone by in a strange haze. I’ve been baffled and befuddled, oftentimes despairing and despondent. And now, we head toward autumn, and I’m thinking tonight about stories. For all that we’ve had to remain at home, isolated and imprisoned to some degree by fear, both for ourselves and others, there remain… Continue reading Your story matters too
Ah, writing. The cold mistress who beats you with a wet, muddy rag, who demands your words but refuses to help you find them. She of the thesaurus and writers guides and copy editing ilk. She’s really mean. And that’s who I’m blaming for not writing right now. I was writing, before I started on… Continue reading Slapped with a muddy word rag
One year ago, I wrote a blog about the book I was working on, Spinning Tales. It's a fairy tale about fairy tales, and it came out this year. It was fun to write urban fantasy that also left this world behind and then continued to jump back and forth. Tonight I finished the edits… Continue reading On a planet far, far away…
To label or not to label...the lesbian question.
