I write because describing a raindrop or a cloud helps me feel less anxious about the storm. 

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The old woman's socks catch my eye as soon as she lowers herself into the chair. They are detergent-commercial white and covered with small, cheerful ladybugs. In a room whose decor can best be described as Upscale Institutional, such whimsy seems an act of rebellion. I smile with appreciation, but h… Read full post »

This morning I looked out the window and saw an ambulance, the sheriff and two emergency vehicles. I didn't see them take him away, but I soon learned Don was dead.

I moved here 12 years ago. Although the neighborhood was a little more bedraggled than I was used to, I liked… Read full post »

I've been scared for a decade that I'll die without writing a book. My book. Any day now, I could be hit by a bus or diagnosed with a terminal illness. I imagine myself on my deathbed in an agony of regret for my lack of discipline, for my stupid terror of… Read full post »

Mrs. Carpenter took hold of the sleeve of my blue acrylic sweater and marched me to the front of the room. Too terrified to make a sound, I mimed “I’m sorry” in the general direction of the waste paper bin beside her desk. This would not do. Mrs. Carpenter was a… Read full post »

I was 15 when the boy I desperately wanted to call my boyfriend asked me to hold his penis while he peed. I’d been waiting all summer for him to give me a sign that he liked me, and while none of my romantic daydreams had… Read full post »