October 2015

From age five, Sara believed she could own the world. She believed it even when her parents lost their house and they all had to move into a cramped apartment with peeling paint and missing window panes. She believed it until she was twelve and her eight year old sister Penny died. The cause had […]

Be alert, smile like you won the lottery, say cheese, do it, do it now. There is a photograph of me. I am at a beach. Behind me the sun is beginning to set over the Gulf of Mexico. My lips are smiling. My eyes are not. Right before the display, one of the friends

I had a friend who when she did not like a book was not content to merely dislike it. She was ready to tear the book to pieces and consign it to the lowest levels of hell. Sometimes the books she hated were books I loved, and her gagging fits baffled me. How could the

My growth as a writer has depended upon learning ways to protect myself from myself. Having bipolar disorder, I have had to learn to see flaws without self-abuse, and to correct my work while keeping despair at bay. While trying to avoid mood crashes during painstaking revision, I stumbled on a way to improve my