I wish words would fly by me like butterflies and land softly on my page. I wish words would tap me on the shoulder and whisper to me. I wish words would entice me and tease my hand to remember everything. I wish they would fall out of the sky onto my pages softly and with adroitness. I wish they would come out of the bathtub drain — the ugliest words — and crawl into the story in the ugliest part.

I wish words would parade by like Kim Jong-un’s soldiers, fiercely and in a straight line, and tell me what the hell to write. I wish words would lap up from the ocean and make the ink run on my page. I wish words would get tickled out of trees and become my pages.

I wish sentences would grow and expand from words and that they would be boundless and full of poor structure and punctuation. I wish my sentences would curl up gently in my lap and purr the secrets I need to tell. I wish my sentences would get poured out of my teacup and that they would be brought to me on the breeze.

I wish my sentences would snow on me and create large gaps where it would melt. I wish they would telepathically deliver themselves and that my hand would know what to write. I wish my sentences would slither out of my heart, past my shoulder and down my right arm onto the page. I wish my sentences would float into my consciousness and free the trapped canary.

I wish my paragraphs would come together like a Monet painting — perfectly organized with the garden, the lily pond, and the bridge. I wish my paragraphs would naturally sort the words and sentences into gorgeous prose. I wish the paragraphs would jump out at the reader — “Read me!” I wish my paragraphs would be powerful and readable, stopping the reader in her tracks.

I wish my paragraphs were written in good penmanship and typed up into a special font. I wish my paragraphs would pop out at me from the journals full of words, sentences and paragraphs.

I wish they were whole. I wish they were meaningful. I wish that they tell a story. I wish that they are not stuck in my body.

I am from the asphalt in my knees when I fell off my bike and also from rice krispie treats and Hawaiian punch at Bible school. I am from 2 cent milk and 3 cent cookies in kindergarten, macaroni paper plate and hand print turkey art as well as from tempera paint. I am fromContinue Reading

My mother had a real knack of embarrassing her children on a regular basis. She is and always has been a real piece of work. I remember when I was in elementary school and it was Parents Day, the day that moms and dads could come into the classroom during the school day. The dayContinue Reading

Gentle Readers, I started a podcast with my friend Charla a few weeks ago titled STFU: We are not done talking yet. We discuss current events, popular culture, writing, books, movies, and women’s lives. Please give a listen. Below is our most recent episode which you can find on Apple Podcasts, Spotify, Google Podcasts, Breaker,Continue Reading

It doesn’t matter that I last saw you six months before you died. I wanted to come see you one more time but I was traveling between San Francisco and Shanghai and it was complicated. It doesn’t matter that I found out you died while sitting in an airport in western China and it wasContinue Reading

One of my earliest body memories is when I was 6. My family was going away for the weekend with our friends. It was Labor Day weekend and I noticed that my housecoat (bathrobe in American) was missing a button. I endeavored to sew one on, finding the basket where thread, needles and scissors lived.Continue Reading

When I was 22 years-old I moved to San Francisco from New Jersey. I arrived for a visit but in less than two weeks I was subletting a room in the Haight-Ashbury district and had found employment. Less than 2 months after that I got the lease on my own place with two roommates andContinue Reading

There is a pot on the stove, steam rising. A dry smell emits itself and the children ask, “What’s for dinner?” Potatoes and Chicken. Potatoes and beef. Potatoes and a pork chop. My favorite: potatoes and cottage cheese. My mother is a terrible cook. My father has a sensitive stomach which is always called anContinue Reading

I think it’s brave that you go to Whole Foods even though you might run into someone you know and have an awkward conversation about why you’ve been out of touch for months. I think it’s brave that you continue to attend Yoga classes because someone might ask you how you are and you mightContinue Reading

Where I am from (I really wish I had more photos–working on it) I am from the Hackensack River and its tributary, the creek which runs under Baylor Avenue. I am from the dams we built there, to clog up the water flow so we felt like civil engineers. I am from mosquitoes which hatchedContinue Reading