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.
The Writing Life: Life with a Writer 101 — Oh My! by Lisa Ahn
Category: Issues
Interview: Donald Anderson, author of Gathering Noise from My Life: A Camouflaged Memoir
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 …
Craft: The Internet Conundrum by Michael Suppa
“Our people did a thorough Internet search on you,” the editor from the conservative publishing house told me.
Review: Resurrection Year — Turning Broken Dreams into New Beginnings by Sheridan Voysey
Resurrection Year seeks hope and renewal after a 10-year journey through the trials of infertility
Good Intentions by Penn Stewart
My siblings and I had stumbled down the walk hauling our pillows and blankets to the waiting car… the three of us piled into the backseat and tried to recapture the comfort of our beds.
Blue Eyes at the Wheel by Anthony J. Mohr
My father was an actor who was known for playing outlaws. The ladies loved him, and he had left my mother for one of them. Stan was a balding businessman … who acted, well, like a businessman.
Road Warrior by Vicki Mayk
My father never had a driver’s license during my lifetime. Family photos showing him behind the wheel of a 1950 Buick sedan proved he must have been a driver before I was born. I’d once asked my mother why he gave it up.
Blazer by Camille Griep
When we bought the Blazer, it was a kind of joke…Caught between city lives we loved and the country lives we’d been born into, we were torn between being the sort of people who owned a vehicle like that and people who scorned people who owned a vehicle like that.
Driving Alone by Beverly Offen
It’s a gray December afternoon. There’s dirty forgotten snow on the ground and a warning of rain in the air. It’s the Sunday before Christmas, and I’m going to a holiday party.
Silent Night, Firelight by John Redmond
I don’t remember any of the rides we caught that day between the time we got our jaywalking tickets and the time we were standing on I-80 at one of the Lake Tahoe interchanges.
