There are these mornings, when the bus ride is like waking up third world or secondary planet or first fledgling nightmare. Backpack upon briefcase. Every configuration of facial hair and body musk—last night’s alcohol bleeding through perfume, students and corporate office warriors battling the commute and headache and weariness, armed with nothing but burnt coffee […]Read more "Ride"
It’s raining and I’m carrying a cardboard box under my umbrella. This box banged up against my hip squared under one arm, a cube-shaped child waiting to be filled. My moving box straddles the narrow hip saddle where babies, baskets, and boys ride alongside. Women were built to carry the weight of the world. I […]Read more "Fragile – Keep Dry – This Way Up"
We’re standing in the kitchen of my grandmother’s house. It is a room where I spent many formative hours as a child. Behind us is a circle of dark brown cabinets, swirled with the brushstrokes of the original stain, all of which have knobs with a bright orange flower in the center. The dishwasher with […]Read more "Photograph / Memory / Sketch"
Last Saturday Eric and I went mushroom hunting in Sandy River Delta Park. Our goal was to find infamously elusive morels, but after a couple hours we had nothing and Eric had a headache. He lay down on a moss-covered log and I looked under, gasping, “Morel!” But it was only a Verpa bohemica, not […]Read more "Cream of Maggot Soup"
When I was in middle school, my hobby was writing terrible historical fiction. There was the time-traveling doomed romance on the Titanic, and the Oregon Trail epic with no plot. But the tale I thought was going to change the American literature landscape was my revolutionary war novel, Eliza Jane. Eliza became a spy for […]Read more "Eliza in Spring"
“Women have sat indoors all these millions of years, so that by this time the very walls are permeated by their creative force, which has, indeed, so overcharged the capacity of bricks and mortar that it must needs harness itself to pens and brushes and business and politics.” — Virginia Woolf :::::: Today, March 8th, 2013 […]Read more "International Women’s Day (IWD) – I Write Destiny"
As a young girl, I sang with my mother. We listened to the radio in the car, played vinyl records at home, or even better, my mom would pick up her guitar and we’d sing a folk song. I remember when I first heard Phoebe Snow sing “Poetry Man” from the backseat of our car […]Read more "Lady Listens: Stories and Interviews from Women in Music"
My mother always told me when I came out of the womb I tried to emerge upside down and ass-end first. Posterior, facing the wrong way up and Frank breech, like a folding chair or a backwards diver in pike position dropping out of the safe water and into the high, bright world. Once they […]Read more "To The Top"
“One of the things I know about writing is this: spend it all, shoot it, play it, lose it, all, right away, every time. Do not hoard what seems good for a later place in the book or for another book; give it, give it all, give it now. The impulse to save something good […]Read more "Here Be Dragons"