GHOSTS AND MONSTERS

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There were many ghosts and monsters in my childhood.

  • My father, an alcoholic
  • My mother, the codependent
  • My father’s drunken friends
  • Having to ride in his truck, being taken home while he drove drunk
  • My grandmother’s pale, white face, when she was dying
  • Hiding places to avoid rage and violence

 

A story that begins Fire Heart seems out of place, about the ghosts of St. Agnes Sanitarium. But is it?

After all, this is a love story. Yes, but it’s how a woman who has come of age, ...

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POETRY IN A NOVEL

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Are any of you like me when you’re writing — sometimes you just want to burst out in a poem?

I solved that urge and have begun each novel with a little bit of quick poetry. I’ve thought about having a character or two write a little bit inside the story as well, but for now, I’ll hang back.

How do you feel when you read a poem at the start?  Does it turn you off? Do you like it? Or do ...

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AUTHORS, WRITING AND MONEY

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AUTHORS AND MONEY

 

Let me begin by saying I am in agreement with all of the professionals out there.

You need a good editor – several in fact: A story coach, a copy editor, and a line editor.

You need a stunning cover.

You need someone to format the book and upload it properly.

You need a business plan.

You need a marketing plan.

You need a marketing consultant.

You should attend several writing conferences.

You need a publicist.

Are the dollar signs adding up yet? You bet ...

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Women who are Fifty-Can you Find me a Magazine?

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Yes, I’m into my fifties now. Hooray! Each morning I look for another line on my lips. Soon I’ll give up. Maybe there will be so many of them they’ll combine to form a nice new lip again. Yes, I’m kidding.

Somehow women in their fifties seem to get lost, don’t they? We’re not climbing the ladder any longer, and certainly can’t claim any resemblance, physically or otherwise to  our thirties and forties.

We’re almost or are done with parenting, but we’re ...

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BOXING HUMANS-MORE THAN VAGINAS AND PENISES

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MY BODY- I LOVE IT/I HATE IT

 

I’ll never forget the afternoon, almost eleven years ago, when I was in counseling. I was getting therapy after my son’s traumatic brain injury.

It had been a difficult few weeks—no, actually the whole damn year had been hell—and I was trying to find peace anywhere I could find it.

The therapist listened as I poured out my pain.

Of course as a mother, I was feeling guilty about not being able to console or soothe my ...

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