Inside the Dark: A Solstice post
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On Writing
I suspect I live mostly in Apollonian light, so I need to feel the dark, not for its violence, but for mystery, the emptiness before imagination.
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On Mardi Link’s Drummond Girls: A Personal Review
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On Writing
Little has been written, from inside or outside, about groups of women friends. It’s an observation that has cropped up repeatedly in the reviews of Mardi Link’s rich memoir, Drummond Girls, a memoir that describes a twenty-year friendship among eight women, the self-named Drummond Girls who make pilgrimage once a year to Drummond Island, a remote island off the east coast of Michigan’s
Stalking the Writer’s Life: Celebrating “Readings”
In
On Writing
Now I suspect good readings combine the receptivity of the listener with the intention of the writer—that match up. A particular voice at a particular time. So maybe the question is: for which readings has my receptivity met a writer’s intentions in a transformative moment?
Stalking the Writer’s Life: Celebrating Katey Schultz
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On Writing
Anne-Marie Oomen recaps Katey Schultz's reading lecture on narrative genesis and imagination.
Stalking the Writer’s Life. Celebrating Dzvinia Orlowsky
In
On Writing
A poet I have always adored for her spare and fierce poems, full of precisely honed passion, is Dzvinia Orlowsky.
Stalking the Writer’s Life: Celebrating Kathy Aguero |
In
On Writing
How I grapple with my fears about writing about my own book by writing about other writers. Yes, I'll get back to my book, "Love, Sex and 4-H," but I have to work up to it.
From A High Place
On a farm, the most important building is the barn. Barns place the farmer squarely in the middle of dirt and reverence. It is where animals live, and the serenity and stupidity of animals is an experience close to grace. It is where things die openly, but not serenely— stillborn calves, drowned cats, frostbitten swallows. The barn is a place of largeness and work, but the
Michigan Youth Arts Festival
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Events, On Writing
May 16, 2010. Just before lunch, the familiar sound of “Beat It” echoes across the Mall of Western Michigan University’s campus, filling the May sunshine with the contagious Michael Jackson beat. The student dancers, some forty or so, seem to rise from all points of the mall and converge on a clear open area, and in the cool spring air, render an energetic version of