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It’s December 23rd and I have officially bound off my last knitted Christmas gift of 2014. As I reflect over my projects I have gathered some life lessons. First start early. I started making Christmas presents last summer. I was filled with creativity and time stretched before me like an infinite road. Who cares if…
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Despite my bloggy silence I am still writing as well as doing some research on hoarding to recharge and inform a certain story I’m wrestling with. Despite my struggles, I haven’t given up and I feel encouraged that I will write the knots out my tangled story or die trying. Thank to my writing group…
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Here’s the first paragraph of a new story I’m working. I’m very happy with how the work is progressing which never happens so perhaps it’s good or perhaps I’m loopy. “Signs are very important. You can’t ever forget that,” MaryRose said, fluttering between the coffee machine and stovetop. News radio blared from the tiny, much…
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School has finally begun. And while it has been rough to juggle getting school supplies and going to parent/teacher meetings (I still haven’t gotten the kids sneakers!), I have found the more rigid schedule of fall more conducive to writing than the languid days of summer. Ideas have began to percolate.
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Once at my old house, I climbed up a narrow flight of stairs with a mailing tube full of large knitting needles (don’t ask). The bottom fell out of my tube, the needles followed the bottom, and when I leaned over to pick up a needle I fell down said narrow stairs careening over pastel…
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“Language is to the mind more than light is to the eye.” William Gibson I was on such a good run with my writing but lately my imagination has collapsed into a shuddering heap. On the doors of my office cabinet where I keep my computer and supplies I have beloved quotes on post it…
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Two weeks into the Writing 101 workshop series, and I have not had as much time to write as I would like there is work and the kids’ summer learning sessions, and Sharknado 2. But I did find time to submit a short story to a local literary journal. The first time in many years…
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The cake was surprisingly heavy. A lemon pound cake with soft peaks of homemade vanilla frosting perched on a batter bowl green cake stand. Bea fought back the sudden urge to put flowers–daisies perhaps–around the base of the cake or a generous sprinkle of silver dragees or jimmies or something. But she knew Leo wouldn’t…
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I found an old wooden cigar box in a church office and I was inspired by the treasures it held. There was just an old receipt and the idea for this story. Marty hated the sound of birds. She would lie under her Bratz comforter and listen to them chirp cheerily outside her window. The…
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I never wanted to cook when I was a kid. In my family it was expected that girls would learn to how to cook and help their mothers and take care of families someday. I quickly recognized this tasty trap of domesticity and made myself scarce. But I loved to eat. I truly earned my…
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