Archive | August 2011

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Modern Love a.k.a. Dead Babies 2

I’ve been reading essays over at the NY Times archive of Modern Love.  I think most of what I write as essays would fit in there.  As they say: “know your market.”  Two of the most touching essays I read were, “My Husband is Now My Wife,” and “A Lost Child, but Not Mine.” In […]

On Writing as Therapy and How I’ve Missed Mine

So for about the last 5 years, the most writing I’ve been able to muster are intermittent blog posts (you can see how much so in all the old blogs here, I imported them from Blogspot), emails, and 2 poems.  Both poems I wrote for specific purposes.  I also started at least 10 stories, but […]

To Essay To Essay

I just essayed to get all involved in the essays contained in The Best American Essays of the Century Edited by Joyce Carol Oates. Before I get to describing my motivation to essay, I just want to ask these questions: Did J.C. Oates read all of the essays written for the entire 20th century in order […]

A Blog About Blogging

I love blogging. Let me rephrase:  I love the idea of blogging.  The idea of blogging keeps me awake, thinking.  I am always writing blogs in my head while I watch TV, observe Pearl playing, do my work, and print business card magnet promo materials for my First Friday workshop launch. Trouble is, the best […]

Chronicles of Naan

I should’ve taken pictures.  I always remember when it is already too late. So I have this awesome cookbook.  It is a little confusing because the ingredients are given in metric and in US.  Sometimes the conversions are off, so I like to weigh all the stuff.  Also, there are often a few ingredients that […]

On the Compulsion to Write

After my little temper tantrum, which you can read here, and a conversation I had with my sister about artists and art after I told her about this dream, and a brief email exchange with Julianna Baggott, I’ve been thinking about the compulsory need to create. I need to write.  If I added up all […]

Crazy Weird Dream

I’m riding in a school bus down a narrow, urban street, and at first I believe it is my mom who’s driving.  When I realize it’s my sister, Ellen, I am a little relieved, but then panicked, because she’s my (much) younger sister, and I always worry about my sisters. I ask, “Ellen, where’d you […]


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