“Be more specific,” I used to tell my writing students. “Don’t say cereal when you could say Cinnamon Toast Crunch. Don’t say your character walked into the room when you could say he sauntered in. Don’t say you were reading a book, say you were...
My grandma’s health is failing. She’s 89 and determined to live on her own, to have her family over for Sunday dinner, for coffee during the week. But she fell a few weekends ago, landed in the hospital, and now an assisted living center. This summer, it felt a bit...
Late last summer, I had myself convinced that I was zero percent sentimental about sending my youngest child off to kindergarten. In a constant race to keep up with his older brothers, he is my bold and brave one. Fiercely independent, he seemed about ready to start...
We were gathered around a table for book club — a book club that does include some discussion of a book, but mainly provides a chance to decompress, to gather a group of women around a patio and chat without being needed or summoned by anyone else for a few...
(A version of this piece was first published on The Twelve.) During the summer, my schedule permits me to take a walk nearly every morning, just after sunrise. I pop in headphones, tune into a podcast, and head for my favorite path. Quiet neighborhood...