Memoirous

Pumpkin latte Pumpkin parfait Pumpkin flambé Pumpkin pie Pumpkin fries Pumpkin chai Pumpkin cheesecake Pumpkin pancakes Pumpkin shakes Pumpkin soup Pumpkin mousse Pumpkin juice Pumpkin oats Pumpkin compote Pumpkin floats Pumpkin spice Pumpkin diced Pumpkin n’ rice Pumpkin gelato Pumpkin dough-nos Pumpkin gumbo Oh pumpkin, late have I come to know ye

Lately thinking about mortality. Maybe it's because I have an impending birthday. Maybe it's because we're beginning to talk about retirement--not actually doing it, but the difficult conversation of "Are we ready?". Then there was the devastating news this week of a friend a few years younger than myself who got a terrible prognosis. It was like a punch in the gut. It's hard to talk about. In a phone call with my daughter who is only just getting started with all the big life decisions, I told her about my friend. Though she empathized and asked how I was doing, it wasn't something she could relate too. not yet. As it should be. I remember as a kid my mom telling me about a friend of hers who had cancer. "In every part of their body." Back then cancer was synonymous with death. Most people didn't recover. I remember thinking that isn't this what old people are supposed to do. Die. But not in their late forties, is what I'd like

Every time I change clothes I notice my tan line—which reminds me of this past summer. Already it is over—after waiting for it to arrive, it is now time to say good bye. Yet— it was the best summer in a long time, for a good long time. It began with a bike ride. Trying to cycle around the south end of the lake, from Grand Rapids back to Chicago. But ended in snow and wind and a phone call from a hot chocolate shop. Come get me. And on the way driving back into Chicago, after being rescued, I got a phone call letting me know that I’d been chosen for an artist residency at a dune shack at the tip of Cape Cod. Mid-May I was on my way to Provincetown. I had no idea of what to expect from a cold, unheated shack without electricity. What I got was sun. Lots of sunny days sitting out on a deck watching the ocean and birds flitting about, reading and writing and tanning. I came home refreshed with millions of words on paper. Some of them stories. This summer I camped out, rode

Imagine here the Edwin Starr song-- War ( What Is It Good For? with that booming Huh? Good God! thrown in. In an article I read on-line for FREE from The Globe and Mail a Canadian newspaper, I learned that Iggy Pop is a poor struggling musician. Actually I shouldn't have been too surprised. A recent survey in the UK says that artists' salaries are collapsing. Seems no one wants to pay to read "content" or for photographs or for music. Not for that pesky TV programming or films that they torrent or download for free. Elizabeth Renzetti in her article " When Iggy Pop can’t live off his art, what chance do the rest have" Answers her own question--with one word. She ends her article with a quote from Iggy, himself:  “When it comes to art, money is an unimportant detail. It just happens to be a huge unimportant detail.”  The Chicago Department of Cultural Affairs is offering grants to artists of all disciplines. Some are fixed deadlines and some ar

Our writing should be about taking the ordinary and turning it on its head. The home movies of our childhood—we love them not because they are unique or exotic, but because of their familiarity. They are the stuff of every-day life. ― Jane Hertenstein, from Freeze Frame: How to Write Flash Memoir NOW .99!! This book is helpful for those of us who are new to flash fiction and flash memoir writing. It is a good reference book to read when we have questions. As a writing teacher, I will continue to use it with my students--Glenda Council Beall I thought this book was quite helpful. Good exercises, to help understand what flash is; prompts to use in writing sessions; and fantastic information on where and how to submit flash pieces.--Linda Schmidt This how-to book looks at memoir in small, bite-size pieces, helping the writer to isolate or freeze-frame a moment and then distill it onto paper.

Emerge Literary Journal Seeks Poetry/Flash Fiction For 2014 Emerge Literary Journal is an annual print journal featuring poetry and flash fiction dedicated to emerging writers and their words. Now in its 3rd year of publication, ELJ aims to publish writers who are currently emerging on the literary scene. We love, prefer free verse and flash fiction—words with passion, voice, and place. We look for succinct images and dialogue that linger, narrative that we can take with us to bed at night, ideas used in magnificent ways. Bring us your castles. Emerge Literary Journal is published under its parent press imprint, ELJ Publications. www.emergeliteraryjournal.com The Drunken Odyssey Needs Personal Essays on Beloved Books The Drunken Odyssey, an amazing writing podcast, needs personal essays for its “Book that Changed my Life” segments. Send pitches for essay ideas to thedrunkenodyssey@gmail.com . Gambling the Aisle Flash Fiction Call For Submissions Submission deadline: Rol

If you say you are an artist, but you make little money from selling your art, can your work be considered a profession in the eyes of the Internal Revenue Service? In a ruling handed down late last week by the United States Tax Court and seen by many as an important victory for artists, the answer is yes. The case involved the New York painter and printmaker Susan Crile, whose politically charged work is in the collections of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, the Guggenheim Museum and several other major institutions. In 2010, the I.R.S. accused Ms. Crile of underpaying her taxes, basing the case on the contention that her work as an artist over several decades was, for tax-deduction purposes, not a profession but something she did as part of her job as a professor of studio art at Hunter College. The heart of the case touches on a situation familiar to many thousands of artists — from visual artists to musicians and actors — who earn a living as teachers or stu

Yesterday was a weird day. I work in an institutional kitchen and a horrible smell was coming out of the AC/Heating unit. Not good. I turned it off and called our maintenance man who took off a grate to tell me, The motors burned out. Just great. I saw an inscription on a panel inside the wall and it piqued my curiosity. This morning our handyman looked into the hole in the wall at the motor and was astonished. He’d written the name Joseph Garang and a phone number on the panel years and years ago. But that wasn’t what was so amazing—he told me, I just got a call two weeks ago from Lual Pach Pach a friend of Jospeh Garang's . In 2000 and 2001 Ted had been involved in sponsoring some young men from Sudan, Lost Boys who came over from refugee camps. They were and are a close-knit group. Maybe because they lost most of their families during the civil wars in Sudan and now all they had was each other. Ted helped them out with food, clothes, and housing until they cou

This year I’ve lost two friends Not lost, but misplaced. Not misplaced, just can’t find. Gone yet with me always. This summer I’ve lost two friends. Not misplaced, but gone. Perhaps forever. This year I’ve lost four friends. Two are gone, but here. Two have disappeared, yet I Look for them, everywhere. It makes me wonder: What is gone and what is misplaced? I’ve lost keys, pens, and rings. Or are they just misplaced? I’ve misplaced relationships— Or are they gone? Lost forever. I still remember the ring I lost, And I still look for that one key, As for the pens, they are easily replaced. But, you. You I will forever miss.

I’ve been trying to tie my thoughts up about my recent 3-week trip to Sweden. There are things I miss and lots of reasons I’m glad I’m home—sort of the reason for traveling. In no particular order: Uniforms: other countries in general do uniforms way better than the U.S. No matter what, Americans in uniforms still look un-uniform. And, often still sloppy. Whereas even the man coming to check the meter in Europe in his bright fluorescent pants looks sharp and clean. Same for hats. We just look like we’re hiding bad hair. Maybe all of the above has to do with size. In Sweden there were a few plus-size people, but with all the walking, biking, and healthy food options most people carried very little extra body fat. Face it, thin people will always look good in fluorescent. And hats. I traveled solo, this trip. And, except for the week I spent with my friend Lotta, I felt like I was seeing and doing cool things, but also at the same time felt lonely. Cool is great