On a rainy afternoon in the spring of 2011, my five-year-old son dumped a heavy book into my lap and said, “Read.” I opened the book and read the first line: “All children, except one, grow up.” The book was Peter Pan and Wendy, by J.M. Barrie, first published in...
I grew up in the south end of Seattle during the seventies. My childhood home was on 38th street, a block made up of Black families, a Filipino family and two white families – mine being one of them. 38th street sat on the impoverished edge of Mt. Baker’s wealthiest...
Are we writers or women who write? Ten of us gathered for the 2013 Oaxaca Women’s Creative Writing and Yoga Retreat (link to http://wp.me/p1v1Ek-3Aa) in Oaxaca, Mexico, last week and revisit this question repeatedly during the eight days we are together. Our...
I wore black and white checked capris with elastic suspenders lined with protest buttons. Give peace a chance. Make art not war. I (heart) New York. My shirt was an old Hanes undershirt I had scribbled on with sharpie markers. Pictures of a paintbrush, drama masks,...
REBEL WITHOUT CAUSE ‘I am not human, I’m Sarah’ was perhaps my earliest form of rebellion, in response to the taunting of older siblings. But it stuck. To this day I defy rules, cannot sign on the right line, fail miserably at standardized box-filling...
