Memoirous

Well folks a few weeks back in an expression of exuberance I wrote that No News is Good News. I wasn’t at liberty to reveal I’d been sent a pub contract. I heard what every author longs to hear: I love this! With the state of publishing in flux and the Big 6 dwindling down to the Big 5 and Amazon gobbling up a chunk of the bookselling market and e-books at the point of outselling physical books (waiting for the most recent stats on this), I, the writer, the maker of “content”, am even lower on the literary food chain than ever. The writer above all is analog. Soon to be irrelevant. Akin to an antique. Then on Thanksgiving weekend I received an e-mail informing me that the publisher was pulling the contract. I know I’m not the first person this has happened to. I know of many writers who have even gone through revisions with editors only to be told their book project has been decommissioned, dropped from the list. Or, I’ve known writers who have gotten through r

Even though I haven't had a foil-wrapped Ding-Dongs in years , I am still feeling nostalgic. I remember as a kid taking a slice of Wonder bread, trimming the crust off like a lawn mower with my teeth, rolling the slab of white, crustless bread into a ball and then eating it. One time I ate half a loaf using this method. We lose another chapter from our life story.

On vacation (a couple of weeks ago, just now getting my land legs) I probably took in 7 or 8 museums a day. Literally. This is easy to do in New York City and Washington DC. There might be one or two we missed. Maybe. So in my crazy circuit of museum hopping (it’s all a blur) we were in the Hirshhorn Museum—one of the Smithsonians—and stumbled into an exhibit on famous Chinese artist and activist Weiwei “According to What?” Exactly—according to what? There was a sandbox of sunflower seeds, or an installation consisting of a conflagration of sand crabs, like scarabs, flamingo pink and shrimp gray, massed up in a small gallery room. It was the kind of art that makes one question: What is art?  It provokes the response—I could do that or what makes Weiwei so great. But, as one turns corners in the gallery, you keep running into things that boggle the mind, until even your own perspective is skewed. His box sculptures are out of the box. His world view is outside the

Last week I was walking through the park; the ground was thick with fallen leaves. Seems the series of recent storms have stripped the trees of all their leaves. I think that particular day the sky was lead gray and the afternoon had already slipped into twilight. A mist was falling gently around me. Even though I am only 8 miles from the loop the ever-looming skyscrapers were lost in the low clouds. I felt totally alone. Just me in the park and the soft thump of my feet plowing through piles of soggy leaves. I remembered a conversation I’d had on the plane coming home from vacation. I sat next to a Chinese gentleman. We had in common daughters in college. He saw I had a book out on my tray-table and our conversation turned to reading. He said this time of year always reminded him of an O’Henry short story: The Last Leaf. I’m not sure I’ve ever met another human being who has referenced that story besides me. It is the story of two friends, both artists, try

Friends, Family, Fellow Bloggers, Reviewers     Flash Fiction (Kentucky Flash) will be available free by download on Amazon this weekend, November 10 and 11 . Click here! * FREE d ownload for Kindle users In addition I have a PDF or epub for you to download if interested in publicizing the release (or my story!!)   The story is called “The Arrowhead” and is an excerpt from my YA manuscript of a forthcoming book, CLOUD OF WITNESSES—more news on this later.   Thanks so much—hope to hear from some of you. Always interested in feedback here at Memoirous.  

Let the party begin. With all 50 states reporting--I can now confirm it is time for me to celebrate my birthday.* YAY! *Paid for by people who appreciate kittens playing pianos and muskrats in birthday hats. ALSO stay tuned for more publishing news SOON.

Yesss!!! Hold on for upcoming announcement. Until then . . . . I’m in  this  And a new story appears here   Now, late at night sometimes, when I’m lonely and afraid to sleep, I find myself thinking of St. Basil, resting there in the dark. link to story Also last night it was A Gift of the Magi—I decided to surprise my husband and went to the airport to meet his plane. I waited at the wrong arrival gate for 2 hours. I got home to find him waiting for me. Just like a turn of the century couple—the last century, not this one—we both have no cell phones. I flew into his arms.