As I filled out “Please vote!” postcards before this month’s election, the hardest part wasn’t correctly copying all the names, adhering to the approved message (“Do not alter or expand this script!” warned my instruction sheet), or drawing pictures on the cards,...

I was editing my book, “Saving Ellen: A Memoir of Hope and Recovery” and could see the finish line. The draft I had handed into Skyhorse Publishing at the end of April had weighed in at 86,000 words. I had written the book over two years starting at the beginning of...

I was not a rebellious child, but by third grade I’d discovered the thrill of occasionally breaking a rule — the stupider the regulation, the better it felt. My elementary school had a decree that students should never step on the grass. The school sat on an acre of...

I write at a desk next to windows that overlook the Mystic River. I can see the changing colors of water and sky, as well as the rock ledge that caps our backyard. It’s a nice setup. The only issue is that my desk also abuts our kitchen, the heart of the house, a...

Euphemisms — soft terms used to replace something that is unpleasant or offensive — pepper our conversations about everything from using the bathroom (“powder my nose”) to illness (the “Big C”) and death (“passed away”). Such disguises and deceptive language can be...

Last September, I flew to Omaha on a research trip for my next book, a novel, Valentine, Nebraska, the story of homesteaders based on my grandmother’s life. At Alamo car rental they said I could choose any Dodge Challenger I wanted. I picked the white one with Texas...

I am the queen of datebooks, calendars, and organizers. You need a list? Call me. I even carry a small reporter’s notebook in my purse. When inspiration strikes, I scribble it down. I have multiple day planners and various systems to boost my productivity, make me a...

When Women’s History Month rolled around this March, stories of women’s achievements were everywhere; I even read one profile on a small, digital screen at a gas pump. Instead of feeling cynical that this celebration was a form of tokenism, or being frustrated by the...

It’s easy at 62 to look backward. Most of my life is behind me. And wistfulness seems to increase with age. As a younger person, I used to be amused by my older relatives who talked about a loaf of bread costing a nickel and the good, clean fun of a high school sock...

I have been thinking a lot about perspiration, inspiration and the maddening ebb and flow of passion in my writing life. The first line of this post came into my head this morning at 5:30 AM after six weeks capturing vague thoughts on yellow sticky notes. At her book...