Tag Archives: Women Blogging

Nine Cent Girl is 16!

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Filed under Writing

Sweet sixteen never felt as wonderful as it does this November! Nine Cent Girl was born out of my frustration with the publishing industry and the tight doorway that seemed to block so many writers like myself from entry. But, I thought, there must be another way to get my words out into the world, and thankfully I stumbled straight into the blogosphere. I am so grateful for all of you reading this post, and so many dozens of others, and invite you to celebrate with a slice of my virtual cake! It is a big birthday after all.

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Graduation, however

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Filed under Life

A few years ago I wrote about graduates. In the ensuing years I thought that was all I ever wanted to say about that topic, that edge of time, that walking off process, that bravery. Until now. Because as wonderful as the notion of moving on is, it is also terrifying. Often impossible. Sometimes only accomplished by crawling. And stopping. And being nudged until you crawl forward again. As we applaud those who boldly walk and do so with ease, there are many who can not. Theirs is a walk of anxiety and missteps. Of not showing up. Of hanging back. Of not joining in. Of fearing what lies ahead far more than driving on. Their achievements seem to pale in those celebratory moments. What of them? I wondered as I sat in the packed gymnasium filled with graduates and their families.

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Write What You Know

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Filed under Writing

There is an old adage, “write what you know,” that has been sounding away in my mind. Not that I ever try to write what I don’t know, but sorting out what story is the story to tell, the story that rolls around in my mind, and has, for years, isn’t always a direct line. To coax it into being I thought to set up a new writing area in my bedroom, away from the kitchen and living room, which although might be perfect blogging spots, tend to distract when one needs more concentrated concentration. To aid the process we carried in a table from my grandmother’s summer home stored in the garage attic. This, I reassured my timid self, is a starting point. And with that I started writing.

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