Running With Scissors is the memoir of a child who is neglected at best and endangered at worst, written by Augusten Burroughs. Living with his mother’s psychiatrist, Dr. Finch (who has no business tending to the mental illness of others), Burroughs loses his innocence as well… Read More
Reading Autobiography of a Face was much different than reading Karen, and not just because Lucy Grealy (its writer) dealt with Ewing’s sarcoma (cancer of the jaw) instead of cerebral palsy. As I read I focused on the opposite trajectory and mood of the narratives. Karen takes place… Read More
Step one in writing about my own childhood with spastic cerebral palsy has been to read Karen, by Marie Killilea – a book about another cerebral palsied kiddo, written by her mother. I thought it’d be smart to get a parent’s perspective. What I didn’t… Read More
Repeat after me: I don’t think I know what I am doing. I only know what I think I’m doing. Yet, I must act. I must. When I choose a course of action, the idea is not to avoid failure. I am going to fail… Read More
You have to get rejected to get accepted. Stephen King has already said this, in On Writing. Lots of other people have said it. I say it to people. But I thought that sharing the data and drawing conclusions might be useful. Something about looking… Read More
A thought: perhaps the fae wouldn’t be so awful if everyone would stop talking about how awful they are? Check out my flash fiction piece, “In Fairness to the Fair Folk,” featured this week on The Arcanist!
On Saturday, I made a special trip with Other Husband (Legal Husband was working) into New York City. We were going to Gramercy Typewriter, and it was going to be just like being in Ollivander’s wand shop: the right one was going to choose me.… Read More
Their applications in our culture are many, after all — whether you recognize the tower from your Tarot deck, the Browning poem, or by the part it plays in Stephen King’s seven-part fantasy epic. Or maybe you like my writing a little bit?
Dear Self, It’s okay. I know that I’m you, but if I weren’t there’d be all sorts of things I’d tell you now, right now.
It feels wasteful to write about writing. If I’m going to sit here and type, shouldn’t I type the things themselves instead of typing about the things? Yet, up there it does say that this is in part a writing blog. So I’ll bite. Or… Read More