When I was young I would pray for silly things: that I could stay up late to watch TV, that we would have pancakes for breakfast. I also prayed a lot for boys—make him love me, make him not leave. I prayed for world peace, because that’s what you did. And I prayed for my… Continue reading Asking for Directions: Part 1
I’d rather be… walking wandering napping dreaming eating pizza or pasta or chocolate cake reading driving (and singing) writing making art making love • • • Photo of the art room where I’d rather be today…by Jen Payne.
I’m sorry, I don’t want to work with you. You drank the Kool-Aid, didn’t you? I wouldn’t be this person if it wasn’t for you. I had a dream I kissed you. It’s a pyramid scheme, stupid. Do you know how lucky you are? It’s not about the money. Please take care of yourself. I… Continue reading The Things I Didn’t Say (this week)
“Something’s wrong,” I said to a friend of mine, as I stared, slightly bemused, at my computer screen. I was going away for the weekend, and researching the hotel online. “Oh no, what?!?” she asked dramatically, looking around for whatever had just fallen out of alignment. “The first thing I thought was They have a… Continue reading The Gee Why Em
The voluptuous Emily with bodacious late-summer squash. • • • Photo by Jen Payne. *Copies of The Old Age of El Magnifico by Doris Lessing can be purchased here.
Emailing a friend this morning, exchanging thoughts on writing being published being an artist death, bad poetry and confidence. Big steps. Baby steps. Steps in…oops. “I don’t know what the next step is,” I confess. “Next steps seem to take care of themselves better if nobody watches them too closely,” he reassures me. He always… Continue reading This just in.
It has been 15 years since my Dad died. Tucked away in a small box in my living room is a collection of reminders of him—an old watch, a letter her wrote me when I was five, Christmas and Birthday cards, some photos, and a handful of sympathy notes from friends and family. This weekend,… Continue reading August 31, 1995