Author, Love Earth Now.
Hugging my children a little more tightly today . . . again, today. The news of the latest school shooting brings hot tears and well-worn, knee-jerk reactions. But my heart urges me to resist the temptation to jump into the angry fray. Not that I’m not angry. I’m shaking with white-hot rage. The first draft of this post consisted entirely of effing eff eff eff eff eff. Except that I didn’t say eff.
It’s just that I know what little
…I was interviewed recently and the first question asked me how I got inspired to write my book, Love Earth Now. It made me stop and consider. Truth is, I never intended to write a book until I was nearly finished with it. Even then, Brenda Knight of Mango Publishing had to convince me that my crazy collection of stories could even be considered a “book.”
There’s a much longer, blah blah blah, version of it all in the
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The box is here. It’s an ordinary-looking carton, bearing a simple shipping label. No brand or logo suggest the the contents, but I know. I can hear the thumping inside. Because it contains the outpourings of my own heart.
Writing, for me, is much like childbirth. There’s a lot of groaning, cursing and some leakage of bodily fluids. I have to bribe myself into doing it. Every single time.
But this box reminds me of Dorothy Parker’s quote, “I hate
…I wish I owned a jackhammer. Yes, I’d hate the noise, the fumes, and I surely lack the brute strength it would require. But it would come in oh-so handy right now. After months of weather so parched my internal organs cracked, the first rain of any substance fell like manna from heaven over the last two days. It pained me that I could do more than stand agape in the front yard—until the stares from the neighborhood dog walkers
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