It is time. It's been 15 years since I left the book business (I only count the final year and a half for chronological purposes; that place sucked the soul right out of me). It's been 16 years since I had a book release through a traditional publisher (Oogie Boogie Bounce, I'm looking at you). Approximately the same amount of time since I published anything at all (Legerdemain, which I consider my literary, red-headed stepchild; much loved but mostly underappreciated). Occasionally, I run into someone from that previous life who asks me if I'm still writing. My default response is to smile politely and say something along the lines of "Not as much anymore." They usually smile in return, and that's the end of that conversation. Even more rare are the times I meet someone who recognizes either my face or name and says, "Aren't you the writer?" In those times, my standard answer is, "I used to be." Their response follows the path of t...
A few days ago, while scrolling through Facebook, I happened across one of those anonymous memes, cutesy script on a purple background, extolling the virtues of what the unknown author -and by extension, the poster- claimed were the province of a "real woman." In less words than are used to describe a pasta entree at the local franchised Italian restaurant, the nameless meme-maven stated that a real woman eschews drama and avoids wasting time on people that "don't matter." Noble attributes to be sure, but hardly sufficient proof of authenticity. But the Hallmark-lite pablum, composed by someone with a trial version of Photoshop and too much time on their hands, isn't what struck me. I'm certain the mastermind of this web-based fortune cookie had the best intentions, maybe even splashed a few tears on the keyboard, but I believe each subsequent like and share diminished whatever sentiment this person originally meant to express. Which b...
My brother Mikey's eulogy: In the Gospel of John, Jesus tells his disciples: “In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so , I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.” If me quoting scripture surprises you, imagine my surprise at the comfort these words have given me over the past few days. I couldn’t remember the exact wording without looking it up, but the spirit of that passage has run through my thoughts, again and again, ever since Friday morning. It’s something Mikey would do. “I’ll go on ahead,” I can imagine him saying. “I’ll get things ready for you.” It’s what I picture him doing now, in the company of family and friends who have gone before, easing the way for those of us who are sure to follow. Mikey left us too soon, but not as soon as he could have. ...
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