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I’m reading an old friend’s poetry manuscript. Something I adore — reading a manuscript as a writer, trying to see what the poems want to say, what the music is telling me. It’s the language of poetry, and I don’t get to speak it nearly often enough. Because I often teach at the beginner level,…

From the moment we turn off onto the rural roads outside of St. Joseph’s, I’m ready. I’ve been anticipating today for days, weeks even. It’s almost writing retreat time! I’m soooo ready. A full weekend of writing. Talking about writing. Talking about POETRY. With other writers and teachers. Being able to relax completely, not worry…

For Mother’s Day this year, I received the following: a promise of tea with my younger son — as well as a lovely note — and the world’s greatest manual pencil sharpener from my elder son. You may think those are pretty disparate gifts, but they accurately pinpoint two very important parts of my life…

I love Tolstoy. And I especially love this very Buddhist saying. Because the writer in me knows that every time I pick up a pen, or sit down to a keyboard, I’m going to change. It’s inevitable, like the sun rising in the east. It may well be why I write: after all these years,…
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