The Syrup Store in downtown Johnson.

About an hour drive from Burlington is the tiny town of Johnson, Vermont. Notable features include a wool store, Lovin’ Cup Cafe, a syrup store, a college, and the Vermont Studio Center (VSC). If you’re a writer or artist interested in doing a

So I’m at this retirement party for these two guys my husband used to work with and I’m talking to this woman–another former co-worker of my husband, but also a friend of mine–who mentions she read (at least started to read) the original story I tried drafting in real-time on

So it’s my last day at the Vermont Studio Center in Johnson, Vermont, and I’m already sad. And sappy.

I’ve met the most amazing artists from all over the world, and I hate leaving them.

Did I get a ton of writing done, not really. But, oh! What an experience.

I met Ron

Summer, my thirties, the pears I canned last year…so many cool things on the verge of being gone forever.

Stupid finite human reality. I hate it.

Now I have regrets…like  I should have blogged during August (I’m a slacker). Should’ve made more of myself during the decade of my thirties. I should have savored

Of course I couldn’t officially attend Tin House’s writing extravaganza this past week—it’s like $1,100. And of course I’ve been plotting for months to go anyway.

The thing is, I’ve been to enough of these writing confabs to know they’re a bit like weddings. Everybody’s slightly drunk and blissed-out and wouldn’t know if you’re a

My ridiculous hair.

I need to cut my hair off. It’s long and heavy and ridiculous.

But I don’t want to. Maybe long hair reminds me of being young…

That’s the problem, see? I’m NOT young. I’m on the verge of forty, and the locks need to go before I “cross

Offline. What a weird concept. It didn’t even exist back in the eighties when the most we could do to “disconnect” was take the phone off the hook.

Which I never did.

That was back when I was the social version of myself.

Now I’m more a hermit version, but I still can’t

Plenty of people have stuff I don’t have–big houses, expensive cars, jewelry, and whatever else excessive disposable income buys. My budget has more limits.

But I’m no saint. I’m not immune to the cult of buying. Plastic picture frames, cheap throw rugs, and other unnecessary hoarder-in-training debris are scattered about my house.

Believe me,

I just read my last post about creating quirky characters and groaned. Out loud. And made that hideous pig-snorting face reserved for people who have just done something stupid.

What kind of an idiot makes herself into a cutsie fake character on a blog? To make matters worse, I read this

That’s what it feels like, this writing insanity: exposing yourself, then begging people to distribute the evidence.

The recent news that I’ve actually had my work accepted by a journal is bittersweet.

I’m completely neurotic about what my bio should say, my head shot, if my mother will disown me for the

I know what the Bean is now. The Sears Tower is the tallest building in North America and has, I found out, been called the Willis Tower since 2009.

This is me feeling very afraid to step out into glass boxes hanging on the sides of Willis Tower (formerly

Two more months and I’ll have completed my first year in Pacific Lutheran University’s low-res MFA program in Creative Writing (fiction). Super excited.

I often get asked about the program–What’s it like? Why’d you choose it? Why low-residency?–all the questions I asked when I was trying to decide 1.) if I