Who doesn’t love being carried away by a story? Cloud Cuckoo Land, which instantly became one of my favorite novels when I read it in October, is a layered, moving story about the power of stories: “ ‘I know why those librarians read the old stories to you,’ Rex says…

Is it a smashed-up Barbie doll head?? I have mixed feelings about writing fiction. First, I have no formal training, other than a class I took as an undergraduate in college 40 years ago. Second, I understand non-fiction, which is journalism adjacent. Having been a PR person for decades, I…

Here’s a long, circuitous story with no clear ending. It’s about becoming “a writer.” In 2008, one of my BFFs took me for a birthday tarot reading with a guy named Howard, who studied the cards he laid out for me and said, “Your job is soul-destroying.” “Why yes, Howard,”…

Here’s to walking toward what scares you . . . “You should rewrite this as a novel.” That’s what my father-in-law said when he read a very early draft of my memoir in 2009. I dismissed that idea out of hand, because fiction — that realm of Toni Morrison and…

Sometimes, lipstick is everything A few weeks ago I was sitting in the foggy morning light in my pale blue bedroom, meditating, when a declaration bubbled into my head. ‘I’m going to wear red lipstick every day when the pandemic is over.’ ‘Yes,’ I thought, even though one is not…

There’s a dangerous power in surfaces . . . Well here we are — it’s 2021. To borrow from the guys at Pod Save America, I feel nauseously optimistic. There are so many daunting challenges to solve, and I believe we can face them. In 2018, at the United State…

Windows, nails, and resilience — I climb the stepladder and manage to unhook the window frame’s dual locks, the pads of my thumbs turning white with effort. When I pull the window out of its casing there’s a huff of dust, a squeal of rubber, a rush of air, a broken spider web glinting against…

Sometimes it takes a pandemic to learn how to take care of yourself — I woke up the day before San Francisco’s lockdown flooded with cold panic. Fifty-seven, single and self-employed as a communications coach, ninety percent of my upcoming engagements had been canceled. What was coming next?? I heard a sing-song voice ringing in my head. “La cigale ayant chanté tout l’été …