Memoirous

Soooooo after writing last week about a perception that things were slowing down in regards to acceptances—I got another acceptance. This time from Ink in Thirds . From their website: Established in 2016, Ink In Thirds is a boutique literary magazine that publishes Poetry, Prose, and Photography/Art. The focus is on the emotive, visceral layers of the human condition, bringing artists and writers together in cohesive fluidity. The prompt asked for a prose poem and I had something on hand, in my portfolio. A piece originally written as a free verse poem and that I’d worked on to revise into a prose poem—about cycling at night on an October night along the Chicago Lakefront. I write this to again reinforce the potential for all writing and keeping a portfolio of work on your computer or folder/notebook. You never know when a call for submissions will draw out a certain piece. Along with this I’ve been revising a piece of flash memoir about Opening Day (deer hunting) and have had i

In mid-October my daughter and son-in-law celebrated their anniversary—5 years—and went away for the weekend, leaving me with 2 children who do not sleep well at night. Sooooo, I said to myself, I’m going to tire these kids out. Except for a dry autumn, it decided to rain. On Sunday morning we got up and because everything was so early we had a long breakfast and indoor play until the baby grew cranky and I knew the best way to get him to sleep was to push him in the stroller. There was a break in the rain and we left in milky light for the woods. Early Sunday morning and there was no traffic on busy Grand River Road. Our tires made sizzling sounds on the new blacktop path in the hushed woods. As the sun slowly broke through the clouds the sky between the tree canopy was a Capri blue. A flock of wild turkeys gobbled and ate their way back into a copse of trees. Glittering leaves lined the path, gems red, orange, and gold. After cresting a “hill,” Jack said his hands were cold. I

One of my earliest memories is my dad strapping blocks of wood onto the pedals of a tricycle so that my feet could reach and me pedaling up and down the sidewalk in front of our house. Flash forward. My 3-year-old   grandson Jack on his Strider balance bike pushing his way through the woods—5 miles! When I first got him the balance bike in the spring he was flush with excitement, but then the glow wore off. I realized he was tired of just going on our street; he needed to branch out. We rode around the “block”—he on his bike and me on mine. Next we rode to Playmakers, where I work, then through Indian Hills the residential track next to ours along the Red Cedar River. Then . . . I loaded his bike onto the trailer and we rode across busy Grand River Road and at a trailhead through the woods I’d stop and get Jack out and his bike and we’d ride. The path was recently paved as an extension of the Lansing River Trail. The trail winds up and down some sloughs and drainage ponds and t

I’ve had a few less acceptances this year . . . after a record-setting acceptances last year. In fact, I was growing despondent—there’s always an emotional high, a release of adrenaline when I do receive notice of an acceptance. Through Submittable I saw that HOOT had taken a short-short for their postcard review. These are snippets, text short enough to fit on the back of a postcard. I had Sea of Lingerie ready and sent it in. It’s an odd duck—perfect for HOOT. To go along with the piece they wanted art, which I had on hand and an audio recording—which I produced with my morning voice. A combination of befuddled old lady and smokey, dry throat. Check out HOOT, https://www.hootreview.com/ And my books, sold through EVERYWHERE. Just Google and click and buy.