Walking into the Scholastic Book Fair as a kid made me tingle with anticipation. All those Apple paperbacks lined up just so, each of them a whole little world contained in its pages. And then there were the scented erasers, which I collected like trading cards but refused to use. Ever. At 9 years old,... Continue Reading →
I'm a pretty shitty feminist. I don't ground my writing in feminism because I'm deeply afraid of doing the whole thing wrong. Like I'm not academic enough. I don't see the stamp of patriarchy & oppression in places where it's so obvious to other feminists. But, look, I'm 45 years old. And I'm focused on... Continue Reading →
I suck at small talk. It's taken me a long time to reckon with that truth. But there it is. I love people, though. I think they're endlessly fascinating. But only if they're telling me about things that mean something to them. This made me ill-suited for office potlucks. But uniquely suited to own a... Continue Reading →
I've been thinking a lot about place lately: how where we are from constructs who we are. And I've been drawn to books that explore place as internal landscape. My mother's family is from South Georgia. Although I grew up in Florida, I always considered myself a dis-placed Southerner. According to my Northern oriented friends,... Continue Reading →
