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photo by Meme Binge

Nestled peacefully under my comforter, I heard my bedroom door swoosh open with a sense of urgency. A second later, inches from my head, I heard, “Honey!” It was my husband’s aggressive whisper. The kind that’s meant to be in a hushed tone but comes out louder than a normal speaking voice.

I was in that perfectly-aligned-body-parts guaranteed-deep-glorious-sleep position. My limbs were at the melting-into-the-mattress stage. My mind was not far behind my body, already in a half-doze. The timing was crucial. I couldn’t move a muscle, lest I wake myself up. That included my mouth. Responding to my husband would be limited. A grunt was all I could offer.

He took the grunt as a sign to converse. “There’s a parental lock on one of the TV channels. What’s that about? When did we have a parental lock? What’s the code?” continue reading

 

A Nightmare Author Reading Saved by Rachael Ray

Last night I had a nightmare that I was at the Cornelia Street Café to do a reading from my novel. I stood at the microphone on the small stage in front of a packed house. I had just been introduced to the audience, and in the wane of the applause I was horrified to discover I had forgotten to bring my book. In a panic, I rummaged through my handbag in front of everyone. No book. In fact, my bag was virtually empty. How could I leave my house with an empty handbag? Terror mounted as the patrons settled into an attentive quiet. All eyes were on me. Sweat began to spew from my every pore. The reading was to last twenty minutes; what was I to do? I took one last futile look into my handbag and found one single sheet of paper. continue reading

 

From the real reading:

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The Night I Slept With Kurt Vonnegut

Did I ever tell you this story? No? Here it is in the Huffington Post:

The Night I Slept With Kurt Vonnegut

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photo by katiemarinascott

It was a nasty night in New Orleans. Torrents of rain–at once pounding and windswept. Filling and rising. We were sheltered, on the floor. The carpet was damp. My clothes were matted beneath me.

That night was unforgettable. But, the best part of the story happened ten years later in New York City, 2005.

It was the first day of the fall semester at The New School. I registered for a writing class as a continuing ed student. It had been over twenty years since I was in school, back then a psych major. I had recently started writing a novel (it chose me, I did not choose it) and it was time to decide what to do with this living, breathing thing that had taken over my life.

I took a seat somewhere in the middle of the tiny classroom and noticed, as the others trickled in, many of them looked like freshman. It would be hard to blend–best not do anything to bring attention to myself. continue reading

What Would MacGyver Do?

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photo by John Poulos

Don’t you just hate it when you’re grilling burgers in the backyard and because it’s late October it’s pitch black dark at 6:30 and you can’t see a blasted thing because the light on the deck just went out and you don’t have time to replace the bulb because you’ll burn the burgers and who knows if you even have those kind of bulbs and in a flash you remember the lanterns you bought right after Hurricane Katrina so that you’d be ‘prepared’ –no, wait, Katrina wasn’t our hurricane, Sandy was, yes that’s the one (though some people downgraded it to a ‘superstorm’ but you never jumped on that bandwagon, it was a hurricane if you ever saw one)

Continue reading