It’s not that pink is inherently bad. I just see pink as the marijuana of colors, the gateway hue to the harder addictions of princess obsession and vanity.
I am a wretched juggler, often late and usually forgetful. But, for all the balls I drop while writing, my husband and my kids are still my cheering squad, my pit crew, and my refuge.
I’d never thought that someone prepared for war might be open to artistic endeavors until a writer friend of mine – a Vietnam veteran – put aside his inner demons …