Hold fast. Now is just now, it’s not then. Hold fast.
“Did you hear that?” I ask Natalie.
“What?” my daughter replies. She is much more practical than me. She only hears what is “visible” to her ears, so to speak. Continue reading
memoir
What Went Wrong Went Right
Any author knows the ins and outs, the worries and woes, the joys and jubilation of publishing.
Most authors love the writing part. After all, that’s the fun!
Some authors tolerate the publishing part: agent? editor? mainstream publisher? Indie publishing?
Every author I know dislikes the last part: PROMOTION. I print it in caps but whisper it in tiny letters since it’s a dirty word to many of us.
But promotion is a necessary dirty function of GETTING YOUR BOOK READ by readers besides your best friend and great aunt.
Summer Zen
My Summer Zen story began as a prompt to my creative writing students: “Write a story that includes the line: ‘I wish I could stay here forever.’ Each writer sunk into the memory of a ‘perfect’ day. But as I wrote my story, I realized that we all could find a perfect moment in every day.
Oh, and the header photo happened this past week – eight little turkey babies (poults) on our deck railing. I think Turkey Mama was having a perfect moment.
As lavender dusk approaches, walk me into the house, put a little music on– Rosemary Clooney, Enya, Vivaldi, the Beatles Rubber Soul– and let the fresh early-summer air meander through the open window. Yes, I’m beginning to get there. Continue reading
I flew in a bathtub last night …
I’d never flown by tub before. Usually, I take off on my own. Well, almost on my own.
The first time I realized I had this capability was when I was 3 years old. I woke up in the middle of a full-moon night and saw a flickering being fluttering above me. Immediately I knew her – my little angel.
I called her Sweetie. Continue reading
Clearing the Cobwebs
“What do you think it is?” my brother Jack asks. He’s in the middle of a 4-mile run even though he’s 68, his knees ache, and he biked 20 miles the day before with friends a decade younger.
I shrug, then take his question seriously. After all, I drove seven hours to visit my brother and his wife, and after perfunctory hellos, Jack takes off for a run and I begin a three-mile walk. Jack and I bump into each other a mile from his home; he pants while he asks the question. Continue reading
roughwighting 