Iconfess that I never liked, and never warmed up, to the title I had given this publication. For lack of what would, to my mind, be a better term, I stuck with “Un-niched,” which could mean an uprooting, a dislodging, from a place where one was previously stuck.
Come to…
As writers on this platform have shared, there may come a time when one your pieces (in most cases, your least favorite) suddenly gets traction and earns steadily for months, unlike your other pieces (in most cases, your favorites) that get a few reads and then just die in obscurity.
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As a woman who descends to depression for a couple of days every month as part of my premenstrual woes, I’ve become familiar with the stranger within. I welcome her, including the migraines she brings. And the darkness. …
I’ve always been comforted by, and fascinated with, vanishing lines as found near the sea.
I fear the vastness of the ocean, and prefer to stay where I can still find the shore, where a line can be drawn between water and land. That a shoreline is temporal, tirelessly shifting…
Today is for staring at a blank page, at the fullness of nothingness.
I push to the edges of the page, into the abyss, the words with their claws ready to etch themselves again deep into the slate. …
Some class days, when I don’t have the energy to teach, when I’d like to just sit back and make students write something quick and then endlessly talk, I ask them to pull out a small piece of paper and to fill in the blanks:
“My dream is __________, my…
It has become a ritual for her father and I, this taking turns that we do when detangling — by hand, by comb, and with lots of determined gentleness — our daughter’s shock of thick, stubbornly untamable, wildly curly hair.
When Dione was a little girl running around on the…
I’m a writing and literature teacher by profession. But when it comes to writing about writing, or teaching writing, I’ve always found myself veering away from touching on the technicals like grammar or rhetoric, writing habits or “best practices.” One can only say so much about things like constructing the…
My two-year-old son climbed on to my lap, effectively distracting me from the work I was doing on my laptop. Whatever enjoyment I derived from that caffeinated, early morning’s work, before everyone else was up to ask what’s for breakfast, I quickly forgot when Joaquin woke up earlier than usual…
