Browsing category blogging

I’ve spent the past twelve months trying to figure out who I am as a writer. This, on the back of a 78,000-word bit of book that’s sat in my desk from then ’til now because I’m just not sure if it fits. I started out at the end of a chic lit binge and

I’ve blogged since ’98. Under names that weren’t my own. Then I ran across Stephanie Klein and got a little gutsy. This week the blogess is staring at belly fuzz (pregnant with twins) and soliciting foodie ornaments for a Christmas tree she’s designing with University Co-Op in Austin. Rick Lee (aka Best Eye Ever) is

The English aren’t so much into Halloween. Sure, the odd little fairy will dance through the street and if you’re not careful hoodlums from across the river will throw a brick through your window. But it’s really not so much about All Hallows Eve as Bonfire Night. The pyrotechnics (think 4th of July in the

There’s a sacrifice to be made for the confidence and good sense that comes with age. My sister says it’s the stomach and points to her I’ve-gone-up-to-a-size-TWO gut. I say she’s insane (because anyone who knows her knows how fabulous that thrice laboured body looks). I say it’s the face. My skin specialist has done

So, I’m trying this thing where I share the love – and the traffic. It’s my new Sunday ritual. Right after worship, food and papers. Jason Kottke’s been blogging about an interesting little competition over at Netflix. How sounds one million dollars to ya? (Yeah, I meant to write it that way.) Bonnie Wren is

Pt 3: I hoped Maroula wouldn’t turn out the same way, but worried that she would. The paramedics arrived, and began checking her vitals and asking about allergies… “Chocolate and nuts. I know. Isn’t it terrible!” Through the window I watched two officers put a bearded man into the backseat of a cruiser. Bobby Loop

Pt 2: It takes a half a man to beat a woman…and I believed that half-a-man was outside waiting for her just beyond the fog… The cops got there when they got there. I moaned about it later but I know the wait wasn’t as long as it felt – Time has a way of

Pt.1: I never said a word when Jean locked the three of us in under the neon lights of the Quickie Mart … Jean asked the girl to repeat her name and then swapped the broom for something a little more substantial in dealing with a man who beat his wife – mace, machete, gun

Her name was Moula. Or maybe Maroula. I couldn’t be sure. You don’t really pay attention to banalities when the next words are: “He is coming to kill me. He is coming to kill me now.” It was Friday night. I was in a service station on a backwood road somewhere west of I77 when

Yesterday I hung out at the DMV- and yearned for French Bureaucracy. I wanted to renew my nine-years-gone license. Only they wouldn’t renew it – mainly on the premise that busing around Europe isn’t quite the same as driving around America – and made me sit the whole shebang. I lined up with a crew