Originally published by 49 Writers. Photo by Clark Fair.
I bet not a single family member, friend, or even social media contact is unaware that I wrote a book that’s coming out this fall from Portland State University’s Ooligan Press. There’s been plenty of social media hubbub.
My own story as a writer is one of achieving a dream. Mine is
Did I mention that I have a new author website? I do thanks to the excellent Jodi Chromey. There’s stuff here about me and the book–look around!–and thanks to the talented Jo Arlow there’s a lovely shot of me and my dog, and if you look close, I’m sitting on a toilet.
Margaret Atwood’s themes of survival, images of the body, and the implicit questions about what it means to be female reached inside me and shook me. Slowly, on the cusp of twenty years old, I began to wake from a dark, oblivious sleep.
I was all dreamy over Ooligan Press after pitching my book at the 2016 Write to Publish Conference. Then this happened…
Ooligan’s amazing Acquisitions Editors, Molly and Bess, emailed in March that they were excited about Conspiring to be Meri and wanted to pitch the novel to their executive committee. I had no idea
My friend Karen and I road-tripped to Portland last month. We stayed in a skanky-ish hotel, and what we saved on lodging we spent on food. Totally worth it. We also went to Ooligan Press‘ Write to Publish conference at Portland State University.
Here’s what I learned: 1.) I suck at driving in Portland, 2.)
I did a big dumb thing today. Bigger than regular, I mean.
Today was busy. I’m still adjusting to my new job–this is week four–and every day my brain is rapidly recording new names and faces, the organization’s processes and systems, and all the little things: how to make the printer staple, where the bathrooms
This post describes what I’m feeling today, expect the cat hasn’t pooped in my chair (yet). Sooo…for the first time in the history of me blogging, I’m reblogging one of my own posts. Fittingly, it’s about God. Also, I think I should edit out the word “millenniums.” Pretty sure it’s
I try not to make a habit of wanting things, especially the desire-in-my-loins-can’t-sleep-until-I-have-it kind of want. Because wanting something THAT bad creates the possibility of profound disappointment, and like most humans, I’m averse to
I’ve come to greatly admire my daughter’s cello teacher. The woman is unrelentingly positive. And good at playing cello. During the teacher’s lesson my daughter’s fingers move deftly over the cello’s four strings, as if under a spell, and I’m shocked at how the sounds often don’t match those made at our house.
I don’t know squat about playing
Things are happening in my country. Bad and probably good things, but mostly big and heavy and hard to carry things. Everyone’s “taking a stand,” posting rants and heartfelt messages and quoting dead people. A few are actually doing something—walking in marches and holding candles.
But not me. I’m just sitting here grinding