This story is from a book I wrote in the 1990s. It’s my most vivid childhood memory of Christmas.
I couldn’t forget the look on my mother’s face when I opened my Christmas present from my grandfather. I was about 12 years old. My mother’s father lived in California; we now lived in Georgia. Gifts and letters had replaced lively visits to his apartment. Read the rest of this entry »
Isn’t it time to get on with it? Let the past be the past? I understand these questions. I know the feeling. If I open up that can of worms it will devour me! And cause anguish to other people.
Henri Nouwen opens the first section of his small book, The Living Reminder, with this story about Elie Wiesel. Read the rest of this entry »
It’s summer, 2012.
I’m speaking in public
about things I’ve never described
to a live audience. Read the rest of this entry »
It’s April 2011
Diane is in my dreams—
tall, beautiful
wearing a long, full
light mocha winter coat
that’s gently flared
in the back.
I see her
from the back,
looking over her left shoulder,
smiling at me. Read the rest of this entry »
September 2009. I’m still working on Week 1 in The Artist’s Way by Julie Cameron. The writing exercise asks me to name the voices of my Allies and Enemies. Not imaginary voices, but voices of real people who in one way or another encouraged or discouraged my creative self-worth.
My top three Enemy voices
When I was young I never told anyone I wanted to be a writer or an artist. Read the rest of this entry »
It’s September 2009. I’m beginning a long-overdue sabbatical, and am determined to get back to personal writing. I’m excited about using The Artist’s Way as my guide. Twelve weeks of structured exercises every day. I love it!
Well, maybe not all of it. Read the rest of this entry »
She remembers me
From long ago
A stranger, yet a friend
She says she was there
The day the war ended.
I don’t remember her. Read the rest of this entry »
I keep asking myself this question. When I wrote my About Me page, I knew who I was. But not yet as a blogger.
I’ll likely never meet most of you in real life. Furthermore, you come in all styles and sizes. An unmelted pot of humanity. Read the rest of this entry »
Telling the Truth 