Reflections on Writing, Traveling, and Food
Because I work with young people and have a twenty-something aged daughter, I’m privy to social media culture someone of my generation wouldn’t otherwise be aware of. Most of it is fresh, funny, and gives me insight that helps me connect with my staff and with my students. This knowledge helps me understand in some
Image courtesy of Pixabay I have nothing against AI. Really. I think it’s helping a lot of people. I especially appreciate when writers use it to correct punctuation and grammar since quite frankly, fewer instances of semicolon abuse makes me “hella” happy. I also understand how helpful AI can be in professions such as real
True confessions—I wrote this piece years ago, and after many attempts to find it a home, albeit not too enthusiastically as I lack the time to persistently send query letters, I just decided to publish here. I had a blast writing it and thought it was clever, but I’m not exactly the best judge of
There were all the race medals I was so proud of, years of hard work, training, and memories. Some of those years, I raced with joy, feet pounding the pavement, rhythm in my heart. Others were beset with injury, pain, frustration, even heartache and tears. Then came the coronavirus and a slew of endings. Races
This post is a departure from my usual style, but the need to air these thoughts comes hard on the heels of a blog post written by a friend as well as tales of some recent dating experiences from women friends of mine. Before anyone gets upset, I know there are just as many “bad/crazy”
I’ve been thinking a lot about my old life up north—especially during the sunny winter months here in Florida—and what my life might have been like had I stayed. I even wrote the concluding chapter of my book, The Memory Keeper: A Memoir of Life, Love, and Travel, based on what might have been entitled,
Writers talk a lot about writer’s block. They post about it, tweet about it, cry about it. To be honest, I don’t know what writer’s block is. Am I sometimes unable to find words? Sure, but I don’t know if I should dignify my inability to get words down on paper as writer’s block. After
I grew up with music. It was as much my nourishment as the toasted peanut butter sandwiches and gallons of milk my brother and I would consume daily, much to the annoyance of my mother who was forever asking, “Who finished the milk and didn’t tell me?” Leaving a lone two-ounce sip in the jug
