if the sky won't have me originally published in FEED issue 2.2 the rain makes a river of the road rushing rivulets, eddies all aswirl it goes where gravity takes it & gathers in a low point, getting deeper & wider as the storm fails to relent i step into the river, reluctantly...
MY FATHER WANTED SONS My feminism began with my father, who wanted sons. Had I been one he’d have named me Paul after my mother’s father, or Bruce, after no one he knew. He must have liked the sound alone, the angry strength of it, harking...
originally published in Women Writers, Women's Books I recently took part in a virtual author event with two other women writers. Let me say how much I have come to appreciate the magic of Zoom video conferencing, aside from not having a paid account which meant...
My first short story was written on brown paper using a second-hand Underwood typewriter I picked up at an antiques store. I felt so writerly, perched on my stool at my kitchen counter, banging away. My husband was studying for the bar exam and had...
Chapter One It’s all about family, Angie tells the Greens. An elderly dementia patient can experience significant anxiety on their bad days. Love and support go a long way. The staff at Lindell is wonderful, in fact, they were given an award by the National Alzheimer’s...
First drafts are rotten little beasts. They just don’t behave. They do what they want, and give you lots of lip in the bargain. Revising tames the beast and can, with work, make a beauty. So how do we affect this glorious transformation? First, we drop the hyperbole...
Staying home means finding ways to stay happy and sane. Even with cold summer weather, there’s the garden; another book to read; not to mention another one to write. But sometimes I need to get away from pages and screens and stretch my brain another...
Writing is a private affair. One mind, one hand holding a pen; or two hands hovering over a keyboard. It’s almost always carried out alone. And when the pages are written, then what? This is a key question because it defines a crucial divide between...
originally published in Feminine Collective See how she scuttles across the floor The cold tile numbs, then burns Her palms, knees, shins All portions of flesh pressed on The harder thing—the hardest thing Not cursed yet— —Soon Then there’s this back The thing that holds her together The thing she’s built around Grew up around Now crushed...
Sometimes the best books are the ones that catch your eye on a table at a small independent bookstore. We have a couple of great ones where I live in Olympia, WA, though they’re closed these days, like just about everything else. The last time...