Color associations: blue–my first boyfriend’s eyes and my first new car; green–the Emerald City of Oz; little brown birds, a purple bathrobe, Antarctic white that isn’t all white; history, psychology, and Virginia Woolf.
“The Blue of Doug Wyatt’s Eyes” encompasses all this and more. It was published in the Spring-Summer issue of Concho River Review, a print journal, but you can read it here.
Highs and lows, starts and stops. My running future hangs in the balance. I ponder it in “Maybe Next Time. Maybe.” published in the latest issue of Gravel. Will she or won’t she? Read it here.
Meals and memories intertwined again. I think I’m done writing about food, but there’s always more.
My latest personal essay, “B is for Breakfast,” is published online at Hobart–read it here.
Can lunch and dinner be far behind?
The title speaks for itself. Running presents challenges to everyone, but some are unique and others take on special meaning as the years accrue.
“Running While Old” was published this summer in Raven Chronicles, a fat and fabulous print issue with the provocative theme of “Last Call.” I’ve posted it here.
The Years is a recent memoir by a French writer, Annie Ernaux. The Years is also the title of Virginia Woolf’s 1937 novel. Doubly intrigued, I read Ernaux and marveled at the way she tells her story, never using the word “I,” so that it stands as a collective memoir of a generation, hers and mine. I also found a bridge between Ernaux and Woolf.
I’m grateful to the editors of Bloom, who gave me an enthusiastic go-ahead when I pitched this piece to them and now feature it online here.
I’ve had the privilege of contributing to two of Spry Literary Magazine’s ABCs of Writing Series – the first on writing creative nonfiction (“M is for Mentors,” 2016) and now the ABCs of Flash Writing.
This time I chose the letter “Y” and discuss writing from a second person point of view. Read “Y is for You” here. And if you’re a writer interested in flash, try A through X and Z too.
or, “when in doubt, throw it out.”
Hoarders, unless they overdo it, are looked upon with compassion and empathy, but anti-hoarders, non-savers–there isn’t even an un-negative name for us–are eyed with suspicion. What are these hard-hearted Hannahs hiding?
I’m taking my chances on outing myself as a shredder. My essay in which I tell all (well, not all) has been published by Ascent, and you can read “Jesus Saves, I Don’t” here.
