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I used to run. When I needed to escape, I would hit the pavement. But first my knees and then my feet rebelled, and running passed from my life. Now? I go outside. Or I write. And while I love to write — that’s not a secret — sometimes writing is just too much thought…

Usually when people say this, they mean bad guys get theirs :). But today I had  lovely news: a former colleague, one of the nicest people you can imagine, was given a prestigious award. I won’t name him, only because it would embarrass him to death — and we’re not close enough for me to…

For my students, writing a personal narrative — even armoured w/ attendant scholarship — is walking on verrrry thin ice. Their toes curl up, I suspect. They go oh-so-slooowly, each word a careful footstep forward. Each sentence almost too much personal revelation. For them, writing resembles strip poker w/ strangers. They write of mean. Mean…

My students are struggling with death. This has been a week where two have lost childhood friends — close friends — within 48 hours. Their grief, disbelief, and questions fill the classroom. Why? they ask me. It isn’t fair. I’m struggling with death as well. My beloved mother-in-law — as dear as my own mother…
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