My family occasionally prays down by the Mississippi River with the Nibi walkers, a group of Indigenous women and other water-tenders. Water is life, so we plant our feet in the sand and offer thanks. One morning, the Anishinaabe elder Sharon Day translated her prayer for us: “Great Spirit, Gitchi Manitou, have pity on us.” …
As a serious practitioner and teacher of one art form—writing—I don’t often share that I also play piano. Actually, I keep it secret. Why say anything when there’s no way in hell I’ll ever perform for you? I started taking lessons at age seven, two years before I began writing, and studied it relatively seriously, …
For how many years now—twenty? thirty?—I’ve quoted Anne Lamott’s snarky bit of writing advice, gleaned from Bird By Bird: “You’ve got to write a shitty first draft.” I teach it to students and recite it to myself (even as I write this!) as a balm against revulsion at my mess of bad prose and half-baked …
Despite five years of plugging away on a new book, I still feel tongue-tied whenever anyone asks me about it. Here’s my usual elevator speech: “The Release helps writers navigate the period after they finish a project with integrity, creativity, and grace.” Adequate, except the book likely will not be called The Release and most …
At my daughter’s swim lesson a few years ago, an enthusiastic teacher stood hip-deep in the pool with a plastic clipboard, laminated sheet, and wax pencil. The eight-year-olds water-wheeled by, chins awkwardly raised above the surface in desperate attempts to doggy paddle their way through the crawl. As they passed he shouted, “Relax! Relax! Relax!” …
With some regularity I’m overtaken by timely, pretty-darn-good (I almost wrote “brilliant”) inspirations bursting with agency—that I don’t want to heed. The first time this happened, I’d submitted my MFA essay to the editor of my memoir, hoping she’d publish it as an afterword. “The memoir should stand on its own,” she insisted. “Why don’t …
Snow began at 8 a.m. and is coming down fast and furious. My thirteen-year-old languishes upstairs with a head cold, missing school, although I suspect the kids will be sent home before the day is up. My creative work is also at a welcome standstill, one writing text under an editor’s review and my middle-grade …
The writer’s life is anything but glamorous—mostly staring out the window, then crossing out what I’ve just written. Nonetheless, readings and author interviews are inevitably peppered with process questions: Do you write by hand or on the computer? How much do you write every day? How long did this book take you? The nitty-gritty aspects …
At the close of the year I like to pay tribute to those books that have moved me, molded me, transported me, and made me laugh. After all, books usher me into sleep each night and ground me each morning; they are my abiding, faithful companions. Isn’t it amazing that we can sink into another …
The question that presses at me daily now is this: Will I allow myself to be changed for the better by this pandemic? Today? Even