out and about

images as pathways in

October 17, 2018

From my journal, November 24, 2003: “Oh, and I’m reading Wintering, a novel of Sylvia Plath. Beautiful, poetic writing. I’m reading the book slowly, savoring the language and Plath’s poetry at the same time. Want to take notes, want to write it all down, want to let it change me.” I always loved the cover […]

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life as a lyric essay

September 20, 2017

My daughter sits beside me, writing madly in her journal, the red journal she bought yesterday at the New York Public Library on 5th Avenue. I made her go inside with me after breakfast, after I flew in from California on a red eye because it’s inexcusable to live in Manhattan without having been in […]

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new york, new york

August 3, 2016

We spent nine days in New York City, visiting the two older kids. Up until now, we’ve always visited for long weekends, moving the kids into their dorms, checking in at spring break, attending H’s graduation. But this was a treat, nine days of just hanging out, being part of their everyday lives. We spent […]

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off the grid

June 30, 2016

I took a trip to the River Teeth Nonfiction Conference again this June. I thought about writing up a complete rundown, like I did last year, but I don’t know that I could bring back the magic of the original. This year’s conference was wonderful, all the same. If you’re a writer, don’t miss Steve Harvey […]

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hanging with the kids

November 6, 2015

Oh, hi! You may be thinking, Where have you been, lady? And I would tell you that I’ve been spending time with my kids. Though not entirely as you might think. For one thing, I’ve been spending lots of time with H and Lulu in 1996. I’ve been taking this The Thirty-Minute Memoir course, and writing […]

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notes from a writing conference

July 8, 2015

I fly into Ohio on the redeye. I get to sit in the window seat, since I have no kids with me, and watch Lake Erie come into view, all misty in the dawn. It’s 6:15 a.m. when I land, and I have a morning to fill. I take the Red Line into downtown Cleveland, and drag my carry-on to the […]

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the hardest part

September 2, 2014

Coming home to the empty bedroom is the hardest part. She took all the things she loved, and cleaned up the rest. Filled bags with old Vans and ballet flats to donate. Now her room looks like a fake teenage bedroom in a suburban housing tract model home. The week before she left, she brought […]

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