Compiled May 2016; still relevant. 1. The Wanderer Sharon Creech, 2000. I read it first as an eleven year old, and wept. And then just now, twenty-eight, in the space of one morning at the… Read The Post
This essay first appeared in Latitudes, Longitudes. It is republished here as a file archived, and in a fit of irreparable suadade. _______________________________ They say we all have a little bit of the obsessive compulsive,… Read The Post
Some days I have to invent reasons to get out of the house, to walk away from my desk and dissertation in the name of sanity or fresh air or just another human’s face, if… Read The Post
I am in a plane and I am a prayer. That was my first sentence. Every sinew of self stretched to silent supplication. The beginning of the essay about the time I moved to London, that… Read The Post
This past Mother’s Day I was asked to speak at my church meeting, which I did, somehow, despite a whole lot of panic and procrastination in the weeks leading up to my ten minutes at the podium. Mostly my friends and family did not understand this. “What do you mean, ‘what do I speak about?’?!” they’d say. “It’s Mother’s Day! You talk about mothers! Why is this hard?”
Thing is, it’s just not easy. Mothers, motherhood, mothering. I think about this often, mostly confusedly, seeing as it is both my mortal birthright and eternal inheritance, and here I am in the middle of it, very much single and researching travel writing stints in Nepal. It’s a whole lot of in-between to fathom.
Which is all just to say that this was my first official time writing about motherhood, but it can’t possibly be my last. And if you’d like to read what I’m thinking, you can catch the full essay after the jump or download the PDF here.
This is, by all accounts, a first draft. There are days when I think I will rewrite it entirely. This morning is one of them. But here it is anyway, because maybe a nine-page essay… Read The Post
Sometimes on stairs or in elevators I think about the concept of up and also down, seeing as those are the choices, and how often I take the latter or occasionally neither, not moving any… Read The Post
I want to write words tonight but I cannot seem to catch them, they are twisting all around me formed and unformed, absurd. I do not know where this is going. Write a haiku to… Read The Post
In the end the solution is equal parts motorbike and picnic plus a double dose of true-blue friend and I feel like thinking in scientific terms because that is how he talks, progeny of the… Read The Post
In my dream it was beautiful, the way Indonesia is beautiful in that green has never been so green and sometimes broken is the only beauty. But in my dream I am not in Indonesia,… Read The Post