Now with the summer coming to an end, I’m remembering what Labor Day meant to me growing up: the dispersal of the summer community.
Every Three Seconds
I don’t know if any woman is allowed to have two best friends—there may be a rule prohibiting it written in the stars—but I will boldly claim my two.
Endangered
I’m wondering if, as I have suspected, we women writers are endangered…in a novel way.
Small Is…
The little house is the cocoon for my escape, as smallness is and has been for so many others.