It would also be incredibly helpful for all of us to stop worrying so much about how we think other people see us.
A Brief Scene from “Old Music for New People:” how to hold a knife
“First of all, you need to relax,” Mom said. She put her hand on Rita’s wrist. “Calm down. Never hold a paring knife like you want to kill someone. It’s not a weapon. It’s an instrument. You need to learn that. Maybe someday you’ll want to become a surgeon.”
Talking to Each Other Without Understanding Much at All
The tendency to see people through superficial stereotyping has become the norm. And the ease with which we all forget that when simplistically misjudging other people can affect whole families and communities.
Do You Know What You’re Missing?
I’ve had three guest posts up now at my publisher’s web site . Each of the pieces gives a bit of a different take on the origins of my novel, Old Music for New People. The read time for each […]
A July 4th Clip from “Old Music for New People” Chapter 11: Fireworks and Duds
That first shot of light into the night sky feels like they’re offering you a promise of magic that you’d forgotten about all year. There’s a single volley with a tail of faint light opening up a crack in the […]
The Old Music Part of Writing “New People”
More than anything, Murakami seems to use music in his stories as a poetic way to point at ideas of inspiration and emotional grounding for his characters.
The Summer We Are 15
Flash growth and learning to survive. A version of this essay was originally published at Medium.com and then with The Good Men Project “Modern Identities” imprint I was 15 in 1973. It was the year my parents began their divorce. It […]
Writing in a Girl’s Voice
Never tell a character in your head to get lost A slightly different form of this essay was published in Medium.com One morning nearly ten years ago, a voice showed up in my head as I was walking up the stairs […]
Our national conversation about gender identity is one big miscommunication
I had a friend in junior high whose father and uncle decided they’d had enough of his long hair (beautiful, silken, golden wheat-colored, cascading well below his shoulders). They trapped him in the bathroom one Sunday night, held him against […]
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