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 →
No one talked periods in my house growing up. Here's what I remember: being about 8 years old and climbing around in the backseat while we were making the never-ending drive from South Florida to North Florida to visit my grandparents (y'all, Florida is an exceptionally l-o-n-g state. Those drives went on until the second... Continue Reading →
