Well, friends, my decades-long obsession with revision has reached a new extreme. I’ve shamelessly messed with…

A few years ago I submitted an essay to an anthology of queer Minnesotan writing….

Years ago I coached a Buddhist priest in the development of his memoir.  Unlike most beginners,…

Perhaps because my first big writing project gave me room to articulate my sexual longings,…

Twenty-five years ago, I met a woman in the Loft mentor series whose feedback was…

As I write, Gwyn’s at the piano practicing a Beethoven Sonata, repeating trills, stumbling on…

My family occasionally prays down by the Mississippi River with the Nibi walkers, a group…

As a serious practitioner and teacher of one art form—writing—I don’t often share that I…

This July, my fourteen-year-old daughter, who’s bug- and sun-adverse, who is obsessed with fancy hotels…

These glorious summer mornings, I grab my cereal bowl and head out first thing for…

For how many years now—twenty? thirty?—I’ve quoted Anne Lamott’s snarky bit of writing advice, gleaned…

Despite five years of plugging away on a new book, I still feel tongue-tied whenever…