Juliet left school, through the 8th grade double doors, on Tuesday at 3:52, according to the big, round clock in the hallway. Her last class, English, had ended early, at 2:55, when Mrs. Wimmer had grabbed Catherine, caught passing a vulgar note, and marched wordlessly to the principal’s office. They had sat at their desks … Continue reading The maidenhair tree.
Perhaps the real purpose of keeping a journal is for the assurance, at some later date, that one is still oneself - voice, hand, and eye as distinct as fingerprints. The years spanned are a blur, but each minute is frozen in crystalline precision. Only in time do the entries divulge what they always were: … Continue reading The beauty of an ordinary life.
Although the notion might meet with disagreement from my friend who birthed a real live human this week (Mazel and welcome, little peach!), producing a piece of writing is, for me (and a few thousand others), a little like having a baby. Or at least like laying eggs. It always starts with a fertile idea. … Continue reading To me, on my third… birthday?
Here's what I know about writing fiction: it's harder than you might think. Last summer when I hit a dry spell working on the memoir/essay/cookbook project I started, I decided maybe I'd take the hint offered by a writer friend and try my hand at fiction. What she'd actually said over lunch, journalist speaking to … Continue reading Southern storyteller syndrome
Jackie looked, by all accounts, like a female Johnny Cash. Dark-haired, dressed always in black, face etched by nicotine and whiskey, she apparently made quite an impression. She was unconventional and wild in her youth, mellowing with age and kinder on the inside than many would have guessed from her appearance. At least this is … Continue reading Ghost threads.