Crappy holiday songs have invaded my Spotify country hits playlist. My Facebook feed is full of posts about shopping and mall parking and the Griswolds. Thinly veiled participation-intimidation tactics abound from Secret Santas and Yankee Swappers. Because I can’t manage…
Once upon a lifetime that seems far, far away, I met a psychotherapist. She seemed nice enough. She asked me what I do for fun. I told her that I write. Let me just say, I was thrilled that she…
Go Figure: Musings from the Mind of Rob Wilstein It was just past two o’clock on a Sunday afternoon in mid-November, the sun not shining, the cool of the day a harbinger of winter. The wheels of the rented mid-size…
As a writer, I am always looking for ways to flex my metaphorical muscles. In reading about the Red Sox team and their unlikely (by their previous year’s record) 2013 World Series championship, I couldn’t help notice some of the…
Today in the car, my 12-year old daughter turned to me and said, “So, how’s your book?” She phrased the question like she was asking me about a person. The personification felt particularly apt since this book is like her…
I don’t know a lot of people who write full time, only people who wish that they could. The reality of mortgages or rent, cupcake expenditures and socks without holes tends to relegate those wishes to the fantasy worlds we…