For Each Story, Somewhere A Reader

Photo credit: T. Voekler

Newspaper Reader; Photo credit: T. Voekler

I am not biting my fingernails. It’s such a little thing, this book of mine, meant for toddlers to chew on. But a select panel of readers are digging Draft 9 out of their mailboxes right now. I feel the tug of all two hundred ninety-seven words, all my hopes and meager skill tied like kite strings to my wrist. I wonder what it is I have managed to write, after all, and I wonder about the people reading it.

Whom can writers trust to give feedback on their work-in-progress? Continue reading

Better Than a Pedicure

When I started blogging a year ago this time, I swore I would never be one of those bland, self-absorbed bloggers who apologized every time I couldn’t write: “Sorry I haven’t been writing—it was really time to cut my toenails.” But I misunderstood the nature of blogging and have therefore neglected its most important component—you, my reader. I’ll make that singular for now, since there is probably just one of you left after my heartless and unexplained absence.

I wish I had a really good excuse, like a cancer diagnosis or another pregnancy, but in fact I just stopped having good ideas about what to write. So now you know my deepest authorial secret and shame—I am unreliable. I dry up. I get writer’s block, or I just get absorbed in living life and soaking it up, and sometimes my sponge is deep enough to hold it all, nothing leaking out onto the page. Every once in a while it’s like that. But since I’ll always need somewhere to drip, I thank each and every one of you for hanging a bucket under the faucet, confident that someday again the water would flow.

So here I am again. I came back because of you. I have something to tell you.