It's ironic that my essay, Why I hide my truth, posted today at The Sunlight Press. The irony is that yesterday, David and Goliath duked it out within me about that very thing--sharing my truth when I'm most vulnerable. Goliath fought to keep truth in; David fought for its freedom. I've been battling chronic health problems… Continue reading The irony of “Why I hide my truth.”
My memoir, when it's done, will be a tough read, until the very end. There's a lot of pain in it, and I imagine some readers will wonder if they can make it through. When I was living the pain, I sometimes wondered if I would make it through, too. Note to future readers: The… Continue reading The happy ending.
I was a gardener long before I became a writer, and it's still one of my passions. It's why you haven't heard much from me lately--when the nice weather beckons me to the garden, I go. Last year, I wrote about the deer that wreaked havoc on all my hard work (in the garden, not… Continue reading Gardener, writer, writer, gardener, not always in the same order.