Every other Sunday night, dad manned the rudder while we rowed the one-eighth replica Viking ship east across the bay.
Whenever I talk of my genre—the chosen field that I have dedicated my life to—my husband puts dangling air quotes around it. As in: “Creative Nonfiction”. We will be sitting at the table talking with his parents about a memoir that his mother and I have both read, […]
I meet my boss for lunch at Kaya Sushi House in Mar Vista. It’s not quite Venice Beach and not quite Culver City either, somewhere in between the two. I’m in a plaid skirt and a grey muscle tee with my leather jacket. I’m trying out the badass LA look, which I feel confident enough today to pull off.
Place built THE CONCRETE and the characters in it. The southeast side of Grand Rapids is the biggest villain in the book. It’s an area of drugs and violence, a place one must survive. While revising I was constantly looking for ways to use language to make it come alive …
Literary movements spark and evolve, ebb and flow together without ever warning the writer. By the time one knows what is new, all too often that new has already become old. Yet there is a sentiment emerging now, wondering aloud—though still quietly—
Personally, I blame the internet.
No peppermint candy filled stockings or pine scented candles to mask the smell of her mother’s Marlboro Lights. Boys crept into her window and fondled her pubis, twisted her tits.
My goal was to write at the same time every day uninterrupted, and to stop binge writing while doing away with bad habits that take time away from writing but that I’d long justified as important or necessary.
I’ve failed. I’ve failed so much.
In less than a second your entire head could explode and just about every thought or feeling you had would be rendered almost completely insignificant. Your skull’s circumference, just a broom sweep of ashes.