You know – as the granddaughter of immigrants, I have always been proud of my heritage but as immigrants, my family had not lost sight that we are American. My brother and I grew up here and learned that we were Americans first before we were immigrants or Italians, or Germans (I even have some French-Canadian in me). We spoke to our grandparents and … Read More What My Immigrant Family Taught Me
Recently, my partner and I ventured on a roadtrip up from Georgia (US) to Boston with various stops along the way. I enjoy roadtrips more than anyone I know, having made that trip more than twice in the past few years as well as some lonesome trips out west. Perhaps what I enjoy most of all is knowing how all the roads connect together … Read More A Review: Barkskins by Annie Proulx
There has been a growing knot within my stomach as of late. I walk into work from the parking deck, across the little Buckhead village of high rises and always look ahead of me into the mirrors that line my work building. These mirrors are tall and always clean, so I can see what or who is behind me on my soul death march. … Read More Post-Truth; Word of the Year, 2016
I’m sorry but I thought this was America; where women and men are equal and free, where there is a defined separation between church and state. Clearly, the bricks are being laid to contradict what America has stood for. Clearly, this is more concerning than just a four year election cycle.
I guess maybe in some ways it is a seed of avoidance, planted by someone else, budding within me and spilling a small amount of black vile into my mind. Inequality amongst friends – also sounds like an oxymoron – can happen, much more often than I know. There are wage disparities, family differences in wealth and comfort, education levels, and probably many different … Read More This Sticky Place
‘Don’t cry.. Don’t cry.. Just, keep it together…’
These words, I share with a close friend of mine. We have each sat across from our respective bosses and thought, ‘Don’t Cry’. Of course, in a professional setting, those words should be easily contained and dealt with because people – women in particular- shouldn’t cry in the workplace where emotion is tightly controlled and regulated.
Combing through my GBs of half finished or even a quarter started documents, I have accumulated countless of misfit pieces that would appear to have no meaning and no home. They are samples of what my imagination can do at few and far between times deemed ‘appropriately inspired’. Riddled with incomplete ideas and rhythmically beautiful sentences, they are only delicately crafted scenes. I struggle with picking them back up again, embodying the same attitude and eloquence that is already on the page.
Thoughts on becoming a writer and stepping out of the proverbial writing closet.