Preparing for the At-Home Writing Retreat

This will be my first staycation without a bouquet of flowers on my desk. But it will also be my first writing retreat in years. In fact, the next seven days will be the very first official writing residency of my Accessible MFA. So to say I’m excited, even with the complications of COVID-19, wouldContinue reading “Preparing for the At-Home Writing Retreat”

Grandma

Out of all the places I’ve lived, only one has ever meant home. My grandparents’ house on South Fruitland Street. It’s not much to look at. Built in 1949, the house is a three-bedroom ranch. A white gable spans the front door and the bay window. My grandmother had the clapboard painted a powder puffContinue reading “Grandma”

Home Has Magnetic Pull

When I was living on my own, it didn’t matter what time I got home. Or whether I came home at all. I took bus rides just for the fun of it and hopped off when I felt like it, boots slapping against the pavement of some new street in an unfamiliar city. I wandered.Continue reading “Home Has Magnetic Pull”

Passing Your Edge

So I don’t know about all you other writers and creative-types out there, but one question I can’t seem to answer is this: How do you know when to push past your edge–and when to accept this edge as part of who you are? After twenty years of shame and frustration over my introversion, I’ve finally made peace withContinue reading “Passing Your Edge”

When Memory Overtakes You

Where I was born. Where my grandparents’ ashes are scattered to a wind that whips up the dirt in fallow fields, sending great clouds of dust into the air. Home. A friend of mine just got back from her first trip to the Philippines in 16 years. She visited her elementary school, her childhood home,Continue reading “When Memory Overtakes You”