I noticed her at Gate B1A in the Phoenix Airport — a woman in a black tank top and jeans ripped at the knee, her dark hair in a ponytail, one shoulder swirled with tattoos. She looked around my age, maybe a bit older, her face solid and no-nonsense, her skin used to the sun. […]
May You Never Put A Sock In It Read More »
Tom Spanbauer is on the verge of saying it. Then he does say it. “You are formidable,” he says. He means this with tenderness right now, but in a few months I’ll hear him use the same word to describe his former teacher, editor, mentor and monster, The Notorious Mister Lish. But right now Tom
I am a monster. I lie. Or, I steal. I like to make things up. I am entirely honest, but I never tell the truth. I tell stories.There is a truth to a story that is deeper than the reality of an event or the actuality of a person or even the force of memory.
The email from my mother began: Dad and I are very, very worried about you… Writing has its risks. Sincerely, I hope none of us are in it for the money. Physically (while I appreciate it’s not comparable to logging, cage-fighting or professional dog walking), there are hazards. The prolonged sitting down and typing can lead
1. It’s never neat and tidy. It doesn’t feel comfortable in clothes. While it hurts, it doesn’t hurt in the typical way but is heavy and low and pulling, like roots — not pleasant but real and necessary and satisfying. 2. It doesn’t ask permission, it just comes. 3. It doesn’t always flow. It also
21 Ways Writing is Like Menstruating Read More »
“Listen – are you breathing just a little, and calling it a life?” – Mary Oliver “Your book has a birthday. You don’t know what it is yet.” –Cheryl Strayed The decision to leave a wonderful position with a delightful company where I do meaningful work alongside kindhearted coworkers is not one I take lightly.
This Is Why I Have To Leave Read More »
At the end of last year, I graduated from my MFA program with a degree in Creative Writing and a very small collection of short stories. I felt a great sense of pride at holding my manuscript and knowing that I created something out of nothing. I also felt anxiety. What would I do next?
In high school, I had a vision. I was sitting next to my dad who was driving, in silence, through Danvers, MA, where I grew up, past the white-washed colonial building Danvers Savings Bank dating back to the 1700’s, a revolutionary war cemetery, the Rebecca Nurse house, the witch from the Salem witch trials. All
On Narcissism and Shame Read More »
1. On your birds: You write about birds because they’re out the window. That’s fine. You have to spend a lot of time staring out the window to be a writer, and what moves when you’re staring out the window? In most of the US, birds. I’d just be careful about what your birds do
I’m not sure when it happened, when my words fell away from ordinary, peeling away sneakers to don ruby slippers, starting requesting lemon zest and garnish. I don’t know, exactly, when my words were made to hang back in the green room waiting for a green light to shine.My words don’t think twice about being
