Category Archives: memoir writing

Dead. Line.

I’m working on a project. That is to say, I would be working on a project if I would just sit down and start writing it instead of fiddling out all the details during the regular parts of life-life, know … Continue reading

Posted in coffee, memoir writing, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 7 Comments

The Surreality of Home

  I went home today. I don’t know what I can tell you about the surreality of it. Some things were so familiar. Some were much smaller. Some were a sucker punch. Some I’d like to bottle. Some were gone. … Continue reading

Posted in memoir writing, penny jar, places, red house, Weird | Tagged , , , | 12 Comments

Of bridges and magical things

And there’s more. I walked along the bike path that skirts the empty field next to our old house. The path wasn’t there back then, the trees and brush had only rudimentary foot paths worn down by kids and teenagers … Continue reading

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Writing to strangers

It hasn’t been a month since I sent this letter, but I’m feeling apprehensive. I’m feeling frantic. Because of my personal connection with the house, because one of my sisters met a (former?) resident a few years ago who offered … Continue reading

Posted in memoir writing, places, red house | Tagged , | 13 Comments

Pastiche

In November, I began experimenting with scent memory and the effects of different musical styles to get me in the mood. Then there was a great and heavy sigh from my inner critic when I finally told her off, that … Continue reading

Posted in Creativity, memoir writing, memory, muse, music, wildness, writing | 8 Comments

What are you spending all that time dreaming for, Dorothy?

This is writing. This is what matters. In the northern California Redwoods nearly 7 years ago, we rented an unremarkable cabin. There was a small bathroom with a shower, a main room with a T.V. and bed, a kitchen in … Continue reading

Posted in coffee, Creativity, memoir writing, places, Project Placement, truth | Tagged , , , , | 14 Comments

Chewing the Creative Cud

We found our house in midwinter, a sugar topped cookie on a plate of white butter cream, number 19 on our list of showings. When we closed in late April, the daffodils were up in cliquish seclusion, the old man … Continue reading

Posted in Creativity, memoir writing | Tagged , , , , , | 20 Comments