​This past January, I wanted to attend the AWP writers’ conference scheduled for the end of March to thank the editors in person who have published my work and to help grow my business. But as time passed, I felt conflicted. My writing was flowing, and I didn’t want to jinx it.

​As some of you know, I’m writing a memoir in micro and flash stories—revising a manuscript I drafted over thirty years ago. This month, I’m sharing my process. Perhaps, like me, you’ve got old writing you’d like to revisit? Or maybe you’re revising a recent draft? As Hemingway once said, “the only way to write is to rewrite.” When we approach revision as a generative practice that invites discoveries and deepens meaning, it is joyous work! I’m captivated by returning to my old pregnancy memoir. Being in conversation with my younger self is enlightening. I’m grateful she recorded her experiences. I couldn’t do the work I’m doing now without her diligence.

​Last week, we celebrated my daughter Helen’s birthday. It was especially meaningful because I’ve been writing about being pregnant with her twenty-eight years ago.
 
In celebration of our combined birthday seasons (my birthday is next week), I’m sharing an excerpt from my work-in-progress: RIPE: An Intergenerational Pregnancy Memoir in Micro and Flash Stories. In “Torch,” I am five months pregnant and recently learned I was carrying a girl.

On January 7th, blustery winds blew open our front doors and busted the locks. I felt like my husband, daughter, and I were the three little pigs, and the wolf had huffed and puffed his way into our humble abode. It took all Helen’s strength to hold the doors closed as Jim secured them with rope while I duct-taped a collapsing window in another room. ​

Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote “The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be.”

Over three decades ago, I decided to become a writer after a back injury defeated my dancer dreams. I’ve plodded through more rejection, fear, and self-doubt than anticipated, but writing has been immensely satisfying and sustaining.

If you’re among the 132 people who subscribed to my newsletter this month, welcome! I’m glad you found me. I hope you’ll find inspiration and support in my posts. 
 
Most months, I receive around five new subscribers, at most ten. I’m not sure what’s changed, but I’m grateful.

​A cleaning service sent a new housekeeper to my home. I set her up at the kitchen counter, covered with tarnished platers, flatware, and serving bowls. I’d also procured a mound of soft rags and purchased a new bottle of silver polish. 
 

​I’m sure you’ve heard the expression Be careful what you wish for….
 
Four weeks ago, driving home from Camp Scripps, I thought, I need a three-week vacation. ​

​​Years ago, on a solo trip, reeling from rejections in my writing practice, I met a hunched, elderly shopkeeper at Taos Pueblo who winced with pain as she rubbed her neck. I offered her a massage. Her dark eyes twinkled as she nodded and led me to her small back room. The warm air smelled of earth and woodsmoke.