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Dogs and the Dead

Dogs don’t visit the dead. Lord knows, I’ve tried to get them interested. When we lost Lucy, I yanked Atticus and Providence down to the river bank where I stood gazing at her grave. They mostly sniffed and peed. When only Providence remained, she telegraphed her boredom loud and clear, even when I told her she would be lying...

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How Have Your Dreams Changed?

(Written today at Door of Hope Writing Group) When I was in junior high, I wanted to be a Viking. A Viking wife, actually, who stood on the deserted beach and threw logs on a blazing bonfire as I gazed out to sea, awaiting the return of the long-unseen ship. In high school, I dreamed of moving to Maine and living on the pounding coastline...

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As It Is Written

I have failed, utterly and totally. Yet I feel irrationally exhilarated. The agent I’ve been trying to please with a rewrite for the last year and a half (!), just sent me a final rejection, door shut, not even opened a crack. Instead of feeling stomped on, I feel relief. This is so strange. As a result of the revision process she...

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Becoming a Writer

Way back at the beginning, I was puzzled about how 15 writers and a nonprofit could publish a book. What would be the arrangement between the authors and the nonprofit? What about the understanding among the writers, some of whom had many entries, some of whom had few? How would we make this fair? The questions overwhelmed answers. My...

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