Author Archives: M.C. Easton

On Death and Defiance

A few years back I attended a reading by Carolyn Jessop who had escaped a fundamentalist Mormon community. Piled her children in a van in the middle of the night and made a run for it. She’d written her memoir, published as Escape (2008), and now was reading at Third Place Books. She had receivedContinue reading “On Death and Defiance”

Let Yourself Feel It

People look at me and think it’s my rage I need to get in touch with. But it’s not the rage I’m afraid to feel. It’s the grief. To get through this wall, I have to drop my sword and go into the breach—into the darkness—unarmed. But there’s so much grief in there that I’mContinue reading “Let Yourself Feel It”

The Dance of Perfectionism

The pianist rests his fingers on the ivory keys. He locks eyes with my teacher. She mouths the words. One, two, three— They nod on the four. And the studio fills with a high note that rings along the barre and into my fingertips. A Chopin nocturne rolls through the sunlit air. I push aContinue reading “The Dance of Perfectionism”

Extreme Sport: Facing Your Fears

So I’ve been on a writing retreat with my novel the last few days and am glad to get back to blogging! And from the quiet space of that retreat, I return to say yet again: one of the most terrifying things about the artistic process is its vulnerability. If you’ve ever seen The King’s Speech,Continue reading “Extreme Sport: Facing Your Fears”

The Path of Greatest Resistance

I’ve noticed whenever I start writing a new scene, I feel an initial discomfort. Something in me resists writing it. It’s not a fear of the blank page. It’s something deeper. More like the fear of an empty mind. The discomfort of not knowing what to say. Like the cocktail party where you don’t knowContinue reading “The Path of Greatest Resistance”

Stacking Stones

Library stacks are underappreciated. People come, they browse, they select, they leave. Dusty and solitary, books are left to their quiet existence on the shelves. But I’ve worked in a library for eight years, and I’m telling you–it’s not like that. The stacks are, for me, as sacred and meditative a space as any ofContinue reading “Stacking Stones”

The Middle of Nowhere

“But what happens if you leave?” I was 21 years old and having a hypothetical discussion with my anthropology professor. He knew I was Mormon. Knew I had a complex relationship to my faith. And though we were talking about community in a general sense, he knew I was thinking of leaving it. He shrugged.Continue reading “The Middle of Nowhere”

In the World But Not of It

  Some of my friends–especially those with children–envy the quiet time I have to myself. One friend sank into the cushions of my bamboo chair and listened to the rain drum like fingertips against my attic ceiling. “It must be so nice,” she said. “All this time to write.” No voices. No one competing forContinue reading “In the World But Not of It”

Beyond History

Is it possible? Faulkner once wrote, “The past is never dead. It’s not even past.” Usually, I agree with this line. It’s especially pertinent for anyone trying something new. Technology. Art. A life. Yet if we are living among the ruins of history, navigating the rubble as much as the current moment, how can weContinue reading “Beyond History”