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Ella of Arc
My writing spot at Doe Bay A couple of weeks ago, I went to a writers’ retreat on Orcas Island taught by memoirist, Theo Nestor. It was a momentous four days. Four days of clearing the hurdles I’d...
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Beach Houses and Dog Bowls
Being alive is weird. I’m sure being dead is weird, too. Or maybe not. Maybe your consciousness is dead along with your body and so there’s nothing left of you to witness whether being dead is weird,...
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My Key to Freedom
I hate being a lawyer. There. I said it. Out loud. I fucking hate being a lawyer. I dread getting out of bed in the morning. I feel utter despair when I think about doing this job for Ten More Years....
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Gitche Gumee
I just returned from a short trip to my father’s cabin on Lake Superior in Northern Ontario. The last time I was up in August 2011, my father and brothers were still alive. My parents went up every...
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Looking at Rocks
I’ve been home from the family cabin on Lake Superior for five days. My mind had been like the lake when it’s filled with silt–cloudy, murky, particles swirling around, obscuring from view the rocks on...
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The Problem
In her book, Writing Is My Drink–A Writer’s Story of Finding Her Voice (and a Guide to How You Can Too), Theo Nestor talks about the “resonant narrative.” Theo makes the important point that writers...
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Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures
This baby sparrow, an image I captured months ago, is symbolic of the “spring” I’m feeling in my step today. Also, look at his tiny baby bird tongue sticking out. I’ve been worried about myself. My...
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For Steve
Two years ago today, my brother Steve died of acute myelogenous leukemia at age 52. Three days shy of getting his 90-Day sobriety chip. While the cause of death officially was cancer, in actuality it...
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Death by Chocolate
I drove to Houston Mother’s Day weekend for the second (and last) weekend of the estate sale. Mom’s been ill with another infection; one that has hit her especially hard. The new antibiotic, injectable...
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Cat Number Five
Meet Cat Number Five a/k/a Spotty a/k/a the Damn Cat. Spotty came to live with me late in the evening on September 15; the night my mother died. He has settled in quickly and well. I thought I would...
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