I’m a writer. And an author. A reluctantly published author. I’m disappointed with myself in that way. If I wasn’t reluctant to publish, I’d do it more. If I wasn’t reluctant to publish, I’d shout to the world that I love to write stores. If I wasn’t reluctant to publish, I’d share my stories far and wide. Continue reading
You’re Not Going to Believe This
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
When was the last time you were embarrassed?
Embarrassment is defined as mild to severe levels of discomfort, usually experienced when someone commits a socially unacceptable or frowned-upon act.
The older I get, the less embarrassed I am. Hey, take me as I am, or don’t take me at all. But one of the stories in my just-published “flash memoir,” Flashes of Life: True Tales of the Extraordinary in the Ordinary, includes a tale entitled “How to Embarrass Your Kids.” Readers have told me they relate to my (tee hee) gleeful moments of embarrassing my progeny. Not in a mean way, but ….
If It Didn’t Sound So Crazy…
IF IT DIDN’T SOUND SO CRAZY, I’D WRITE a story about a mermaid and a farmer.
IF IT DIDN’T SOUND SO CRAZY, I’D WRITE an essay on a magical moving pen.
IF IT DIDN’T SOUND SO CRAZY, I’D WRITE a book about a ghost with a moving murmur.
IF IT DIDN’T SOUND SO CRAZY, I’D WRITE a tale about a wolf and a wren who share a den. Continue reading
Bodacious Loquacious Original & Gratifying
Of my five-year blogging anniversary.
My mind automatically flew backward five years ago, when I lived in the SF Bay area, creating stories for the writing classes I taught, spending hours writing chapters for my novels, and stuffing it all in computer files and sagging file drawers.
And then my nephew arrived. Continue reading