It was Christmas Eve and I was miserable. Eleven days before I’d been in a car accident that would lead to neurosurgery, but that surgery would be months in coming. I couldn’t write, I had stinging pain in my neck and back, and I was scared. But my daughter was singing in the angel choir… Read more »
I was looking under my couch trying to find my glasses, when I remembered a time, maybe 25 years ago, when my daughter's gerbil Lassie escaped. We'd looked everywhere for this rodent to no avail and Jean had left for first grade in tears. "If you find her, you'll call the school, right?" I… Read more »
I’m in Chicago, it’s Mother’s Day weekend. I won’t be with my husband and daughter on Sunday, and my mom died a few years ago, I’m here for auditions for the reading of SQUASHED The Musical, the most fun new venture — a musical of my first novel, SQUASHED, the book that got me started in… Read more »
Among the throng of readers devouring books out there, and we writers just want to say, thank you, there is a little realized approach to reading that can bring unique fulfillment: Imagine what the writer was going through when she or he wrote what you have in your hands. For as much drama as the book you are now reading might possess, as much wonder as it might stir within you, trust me, the drama of actually getting that thing to print is a story in itself.
I can remember a cupcake materializing in the midst of a rotten day. A candle being lit despite the darkness. A birthday party planned even though it had been too tough a season to really think about that. My mother, sister, and I made Pilgrim dolls and decorated the house one Thanksgiving, even though our… Read more »
Today is my mother's birthday and my mind is filled with memories of frosted angel food cakes and flowers and books — so many of those — and prayers and courage and kindness. My mother, Marjorie Good, died this year on January 2nd. Her two battles with cancer were the most intimate I have witnessed…. Read more »
"If you stop sucking your thumb…" I said to my daughter twenty-five years ago. She sucked her thumb harder and held onto her koala puppet Qantas and another toy koala named Laurie. Jean said they were engaged. She looked at me knowingly. I had to come up with a serious offer to get her to… Read more »