Surviving A Newborn Novel
My best friend called about four days after the birth of my novel, just as she had called after the birth of my daughter seventeen months before. “How are you?” she asked. I had carried my cell phone out on the
Writing To My Own Beat
The little girls could have been twins with their ruffled peach skirts and delicate, egg-shell bows eclipsing gold-brown ringlets. Their movements on the rustic floor were not rehearsed or even in rhythm. And yet, their dance was far more beautiful for