Creative boundaries. That’s the burden of bearing witness as a writer. You don’t quite know what story is yours to tell and which ones demand your silence. The assumption is that if you are in a room, it’s fair …
You marry someone. You share a bed. A table. You know how many sugars they like in their tea. You learn to live with how they unroll the toilet paper like a child with Parkinson’s Disease. How they leave …
“I didn’t need to wear a bra until I was 18. This was a year after I got my first period, and 14 years before I got into a serious relationship, and decided I wanted to have babies at …
I love a good love story. And a good love story isn’t good if it doesn’t have pain and desperation running in its veins. It’s not a good love story if one of the characters doesn’t sigh and say, …
No sooner had she put a cigarette between her lips than a willowy waitress with a tremendous smile blew over to our table. “I’m sorry,” she gasped, “smoking isn’t allowed in the cafe.” She couldn’t have been a minute …
