When a Poet Writes a Novel
When a poet writes a novel the moon coils up into a copper-headed snake and hisses secrets. The horizon line bends like a cello string after the sun nods off into the thinning green sea to sleep. When a poet…
When a poet writes a novel the moon coils up into a copper-headed snake and hisses secrets. The horizon line bends like a cello string after the sun nods off into the thinning green sea to sleep. When a poet…
Back when my children were babies, they got to an age where people suggested a “lovey,” a transitional object, meant to give the little guys something to snuggle with that isn’t my husband, me, or more accurately, my boobs. Often,…
When I set out to write a novel inspired by the case of Charles Schmid, the “Pied Piper of Tucson,” I knew from the start that I was not the only writer to find a story in this case.
My Novel Incubator instructors loved to tell us to kill our characters. Most of us came into class with drafts bloated with characters who served no purpose, so it was sound advice. During revision, I created a giant diagram of all…
You’ve finessed an invitation to your crush’s house. It wasn’t hard. Your best friend (is she your best friend, do you have a best friend?) was invited, she mentioned it, and now you’re going too. Not difficult. Choosing what to…
After I jubilantly signed with an agent I met at last year’s Muse and the Marketplace conference in Boston, well-meaning friends and fellow writers began bombarding me with advice. You need more Facebook followers. You have to be more visible…