So many times in my youth I felt awkward, in so many ways. But I’ll start with the first indication that for my entire life I’d be …. awkward. Continue reading
No, you may not believe that I – a writer, an author, a consummate reader – rarely (as in hardly ever) read the reviews of my books. How gauche. How extremely weird. Or, you may say, how cowardly.
But when I wrote Flashes of Life (my latest, now a little over a year old) it was nearest and dearest to my writing heart because it’s …. memoir. Fortunately for my readers, it’s flash memoir, which means you can sit outside on the front porch in your rocking chair, and within five sips of your iced tea (or Diet Coke, or lemonade, or beer if it’s almost sunset) you’ll have finished one of my stories in this flash(y) compilation of my life’s anecdotes. Continue reading
I meant it.
But you didn’t believe me. Or, you believed me, but you needed me to make a home with you. To create a space together. Continue reading
For days I’d heard the soft knocking that I couldn’t place. Had Rocky returned? Last year I named the large woodpecker that pecked on my living room window, “Rocky.” I finally googled what to do about birds who nearly kill themselves knocking on windows, and I closed the curtain for two months until the light changed the reflection. I haven’t seen Rocky since.
But still. Knock Knock. Knock. A light tapping.
“Can’t you see where you’re going?” a tiny voice asked.
Darn, I tripped over something that seemed more stump than human, yet whatever it was had chastised me! Earnestly looking around for the victim of my haste, I felt a tug at the bottom of my jeans. Continue reading