Lately, blogging has become my obsession. I jot ideas while I’m walking the dog, stopped at a stoplight, in the middle of meetings. I pore over pictures on Flickr to find images that embody the tone or emotion I’m trying to capture. I get excited about writing posts. I write them quickly, with abandon, which I don’t always do with my fiction.
My mother wrote letters whenever she was angry. Pages and pages typed on her electric typewriter, filled with reworked accusations framed by Whiteout and multiple X’s savaged into the paper. Clearly written in a flurry of rage. It was enough to make anyone hate letters.
At least, it was enough to make me hate them. Read more →
When I was a lawyer, work weekends were my worst nightmare. They meant several all-nighters in a row, lousy food, sleeping on my office sofa, begging the partner on Monday morning for a half hour to go home and shower, only to have him say, “When you’re done, you go home.”
These days, the possibility of a work weekend fills me with glee–and fear. Read more →