After a lengthy hiatus from writing memoir to write a second book, my first of fiction, I returned to memoir, and recently completed an essay about my mother and I during her final months of life . . . or so I thought. Yes, grief was palpable throughout the paragraphs, yet, when I read the essay a final time before [...]
Early one sticky morning while on a walk through the woods, I tried my dexterity at selfie-videoing (is that what it's called?) I found it takes practice, and an artistic eye. My face moved in and out of the frame, my head moved up and down, though I was not agreeing to anything. Perhaps it was a lack of hand-eye [...]
I’m in a slump. The Wisdom of the Willow is completed, polished, shiny and bright, awaiting publication; the momentum of writing an outline for my third book has slowed to a crawl; a documents file of half-baked writing projects has been left to bake further; and I can’t think of a thing worth reflecting on for any meaningful monthly blog [...]
Before my memoir was published, I did a lot of searching. Not to be confused with a figurative searching of the soul, for connections, for my place in life, but a literal internet search. My due diligence was to see if there were books like mine with similar titles, stories, or themes. I would publish my work in a competitive [...]
The other day I opened a plastic bin filled with my mother’s personal things. When emptying her apartment months ago, I had stuffed into them files and papers and notebooks and photographs and more notepapers from drawers in her desk and nightstand and metal files. I then covered the bins with their tight lids as if to preserve her life, [...]
The sun rose just enough above the horizon that morning to obscure my vision. My morning walk through a path in the woods was brisk in pace and in weather as I carried a load of thoughts from the weeks of stuffing bags with my mother’s clothes to be given to the church, a plastic bin with photographs of her [...]
She handed to me a shoe box patterned in stamps from around the world, only the box wasn’t for shoes but was for photographs, and it wasn’t to hold memories of global travels but to house snapshots of the journeys in years of my family. I had placed it among similar boxes in a narrow closet among unused coffee table [...]
If you’ve read my memoir, Under The Birch Tree, you’ll learn that as a young girl, I was a walker, circumnavigating the yards that surrounded my home as if to plot memories with every footprint. And to this day, I walk, traversing the woods along curvy earth trails marked by bumps and dips, or meander through the neighborhood, pivoting on [...]
When I was seven or maybe eight, summer vacation was freedom. I would be free of classes, sitting, listening to a teacher, reading from a book, studying a blackboard. I would be free from test-taking anxiety and fear of maybe failing them. Having nothing required of me that would elicit emotional responses was my definition of a summer vacation. Until [...]
I sized up the sock I was knitting. While following a standard pattern—a one size fits all—I realized my almost-completed-sock would not fit my smaller-than-average foot. I thought about how the term sometimes can’t be taken literally, as for clothing, for example, or figuratively, like for a weight-loss program. I was reminded how “one size fits all” didn’t apply [...]