I was telling my friend about my latest blog, excited about how it came together, proud of the ideas I’d wrestled into words. He listened, and then said matter-of-factly, “I’m not going to read your blog.” Not as a criticism. Just as a statement of fact. Like I should already know this. Like it was …
My husband and I were watching the TV show The Pitt when the main character made a passing reference to Sisyphus. A few days later, I came across a literary publication called Sisyphus. Two mentions in one week were enough to get me thinking about boulders. You probably know the myth: Sisyphus, punished by the gods for …
Last week in Chicago, my hometown, Black Hawk helicopters circled overhead as federal agents conducted raids in apartment buildings, breaking down doors in the middle of the night and detaining residents—including U.S. citizens—for hours. Neighbors began patrolling school drop-offs and pick-ups, protecting children and mothers from ICE agents. In Logan Square, where my son lives, …
I’ve been working on a new novel, and I have to pause here, already, because just typing those few words is challenging.
I barely like to admit it, because once I say those words a barrage of qualifiers come crashing in. Can I say I’ve been working hard on a new novel? No. Never hard enough.
Yesterday I went to an event and heard Marcus Lemonis speak. Marcus is the entrepreneur and investor who stars in the TV show The Profit.
Marcus never even took the stage in front of the 4,000 people gathered at the Sears Center, except during one short segment when he interacted with six women he’d called up. Instead, we heard his voice before we saw him.
In the sixties, there was a TV show called Dragnet with a detective named Joe Friday who insisted on gathering “just the facts.”
If you’re old enough to remember that show, you’ve been around long enough to have lived an interesting life. Even if you’re younger, you’ve most likely faced some challenge worth writing about.
So let’s say you want to write a memoir. Where do you start?
It was a brand new, emerald green Schwinn 10-speed bike. I was thirteen years old, and I’d never owned something so beautiful. The paint sparkled magically in the sunlight and when I rode that bike through the neighborhood, I sparkled too. I rolled easily through a landscape peppered with unhappy parents, mean girls, first crushes, and bad skin with my hands up, nothing to hold on to and, in those moments at least, nothing holding me back.
If you know me at all, you know that I like a good dose of woo-woo in my world.
I believe in following my intuition, prioritizing my spiritual practices, and recognizing divine messages. This is the lens through which I find inspiration and make decisions. It’s also, to me, a way of having fun.
I’ll admit, it’s an odd form of fun that can show up in strange ways.
I attended the Chicago Writers’ Association conference last weekend and, after two full days of workshops and socializing, I collapsed in exhaustion, both inspired and discouraged by all I learned.
Do you know the feeling I mean? Or, rather, feelings, because it was a stew of both excitement and self-doubt, bubbling between I can, I might, I will… and I could, I would, I should…
Today I feel like writing about mistakes. Heck, I’m even open to making some. Not that I haven’t already made my fair share. From the workplace to the home front, as a parent, wife, or friend, my mistakes sometimes include big life moments and, other times, small sweaty details.
👉 Enjoy dedicated writing space just steps from Lake Michigan
👉 Benefit from one-on-one developmental editing sessions