Tag Archives | things I know for sure

Climb A Mountain

The mountains are calling and I must go ~ John Muir I once lived in the mountains fifty miles east of San Diego, at an elevation of about 4,200 feet. Deer and wild turkeys are common there. The hills are lush with grass, and native oak crave the rain that (sometimes!) falls in winter and […]

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Thinking Season

Autumn is quickly making its way again to the Southern California mountains. Those familiar with this place are already admiring the changing light and the crisp, cool night air. The leaves have not begun to turn, but the apples and pears are ripe and delicious, mine sweeter and more dear to me every year I […]

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Home is Where the Heart is Open

by Laura Zera “When the babies wake up from their afternoon nap, you probably need to change all their diapers,” Ayelet said to me during one of my first mornings working in the daycare. I didn’t tell her that even though I was 18, I had never changed a diaper, for fear I’d be demoted […]

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Yeah, I’m Overwhelmed. So What?

A post from winter 2012 that stands the test of time … I wore myself out clearing snow all weekend. Between stints with the shovel, I turned my brain to mush completing Edit #547 of my novel, Mark of the Loon (and almost cried, because surely there will be 453 more). This morning, full-time job […]

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The School of Don

I once flew to Colorado to join friends for a long weekend in Denver. It was the first time I’d spent more than one night away from home in three years, and I had traveler’s remorse for leaving so much undone to take this spontaneous trip. I got over it once we arrived at our […]

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Writers Are Readers Who Write, Right?

I’ve caught a couple articles via Twitter advising writers of the need to cultivate readers in our genre, or be active on venues that are heavily used by readers alone. And hey, of course I understand the reasoning: Readers buy books. I hadn’t intended for it to be, but it turns out my blog, in […]

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Training Wheels

The year I turned sixteen, I was shocked and thrilled when I wrangled permission from my parents to summer in Mexico – with one caveat: that I’d be kept in tow by the daughter of my mother’s lifelong friend, Judy McCoy. Kathy had ventured south the prior June to attend a gringo-specific university summer session […]