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Strippers, Poets and Omar's Restaurant My writing journey has been both long and short. By long, I mean I wrote here and there while marriage and a mortgage interrupted my dreams. I wrote stories from time to time that no one read, and on three different occasions, I surprised myself by getting published—once in a magazine about quilting and twice in newspapers. I started a blog and experimented with style and voice, eventually accumulating a hundred or so followers. But rare

Second Chapters–I know them well. The invention and reinvention of your self, each time trying to get life a little more right than the last time. A longing goes with that, an undercurrent that flutters in the heart that one day all of the jagged pieces of your jigsaw puzzled life will somehow make sense, fit together and reveal the big picture. I cannot mark the day that the picture came into focus, or a specific time where I wondered what would happen to me if I just forgav

Writers are a quirky lot. We spend a lot of time in our introverted creative bubbles, so when we do venture out, it’s kind of a party. “Oh my gosh, you mean I can interact with other human beings?” Usually we are observers of the human condition, but at a writers conference, we are the human condition. We all connect with others through our stories. We spend all day telling each other stories; the story of the plumber who didn’t arrive on time, the story of the tantrum throwi