Quite a few years ago, when I first read Stephen King’s excellent book On Writing, I thought about how cool it would be to have as many rejection slips as King, the ones he talks about collecting in a desk drawer. Submit a story, get a refusal, into the drawer it goes, out with another submission. […]
Holding Out for Acceptance: Submission, Rejection, Submission, Repetition Read More »
In the heart of winter, I contemplate my winter’s heart. Frigid days bring sinking into slush puddles against the icy wind, starting the day with cold feet, jumping into a dark car only to join the cattle call of the highway. I have to refuse this heart. My heart is elsewhere. I am consumed by
Winter’s Heart: A Sex in the Garden Essay Read More »
One late August morning, I found myself on a rugged dirt road on the east side of San Pedro Mesa, high above the Sanchez Reservoir. I was with a man I had met not two hours before. I had set up this appointment with him to discuss the concerns involving the feral and abandoned horses
Several years ago, before Amazon made book collecting possible with the touch of a computer key, I did it the old-fashioned way. This is a story about cowboys and Indians and a skirmish that took place at the Sand Creek Library Book Sale. I lost. It all started when a
Midnight on a hot July night. My husband and I, sound asleep, woke up in a flash as 50 pounds of panicked Labrador jumped on my chest. Our dog, Sparky, had straddled me, of course! Mom! The one who feeds him, walks him and saves him from scary things. “Sparky! What
When I was a child, we always sped through the Painted Desert in the Navajo Nation on our way to my grandparents’ house in Sun City, leaving nothing behind but the tailwinds from the car. I scanned that vast expanse of land and sky, the colors of the soil rich with brilliant pinks, muted reds,