Category Archives: Writing

If I have ever written verse outside, I don’t remember when. But here I sit in sunshine, at a table, modified by garden foods and exercise to fit, protected from all vehicles and phones. I haven’t a complaint or grief … Continue reading →

Too many would-be writers I have known, who long for fame but don’t make time to write. Imagining book signings, they postpone the act of composition day and night and week to year and never do complete a narrative. They’ll … Continue reading →

If I have nothing nice to say, it’s best to shut my mouth and keep my fingers still, to give the arrogance a little rest and bide with patient attitude, until a concept comes and wisdom feels no force. But … Continue reading →

When I was 8 years old, I had too much. I owned so many dolls I couldn’t pick a favorite. Most the books I loved had such poor heroines, their toys were either stick- and-yarn creations or composed of rags … Continue reading →

I know I’m not a workaholic, now I’ve stopped the daily office job. I see instead the lists and multi-tasks were how I managed the responsibility my choosing work and husbands, children too, imposed upon the time I thought I’d … Continue reading →

Three times I’ve joined a writers’ group before. It wasn’t my idea, but I agreed to weekly prose “assignments” or the more expansive task of trying what I need or want to work on. But my colleagues stuck to feminine … Continue reading →

I had a strong suspicion I’d succeed. I knew I’d be discovered by the time I hit my 50s. I thought all I’d need to do is make great prose and better rhyme. But I forgot to publicize my stuff. … Continue reading →

My natural point-of-view, when crafting prose, is somewhat like a fly upon the wall inside a place where characters I chose are interacting normally with all the room’s inhabitants. I seek no big catastrophe or comic interlude – I want … Continue reading →

I’ve always had a literary friend or two, who loves to read and longs to write, but never have encountered one who’d spend the time to practice. She awaits a flight of fancy seldom lifting off the ground, while he’s … Continue reading →

I didn’t mean to write this poem today. I mean, I didn’t set myself the task. I sat and tossed a 5-beat line, the way a child kicks a can. So don’t you ask me to defend a word, or … Continue reading →