I wanted brothers. Two, maybe three, but one alone would have kept me safe from my sister’s abuse, her never-ending rage at my being born. This necessary brother would be in the middle, between us age-wise, a willing defender. He’d always take my side. This brother would...
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...
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...
This essay originally appeared in my (small press) writing day I come into my office each morning with one goal—to calm the chaos in my head. I don’t sleep well these days, probably my body telling me I need fewer hours in the sack—and what I’m...
originally published in Medium|culture I used to watch Perry Mason on television a lot when I was a kid. I loved the edgy black-and-white film; the unlikely plots; the relentless drive for truth. Not to mention the cars. What ten year-old girl immersed in rerun after...
This essay also appeared in The Startup on Medium In the fall of 1985 I sat down at an ancient typewriter and called myself a writer. I wrote short stories, one after another, and nine years later published my first one. Eventually I collected the best...
A long time ago, when I was a wild rebellious eighteen-year-old who left my mother’s home with a young man I would soon marry, I liked to experiment with LSD. Not as often as some of my generation did, but often enough to learn that...
originally published in Women Writers, Women's Books Susan Cheever, daughter of the famous author, John Cheever, once said that fiction is not a competitive sport. Also a writer, living in the shadow of her father’s reputation and achievements can’t have been easy. I believe she made...