My Memoir. . .

—From EF— Elizabeth: One of Many—A Memoir of Discovery. Hey, my book is in print! It’s here. And I’m still here, although given some of the twists and turns, I think I’ve been very lucky. This memoir has been a long road, but now I’m holding...

David. . .

—From CB— I wrote earlier that I’d started a novel based on the King David story. It’s a few month later, and I’m on the third draft, middle of chapter 11. Once starting rewrites, they tend to go on and on. Meantime, I’ve read two King David novels. One, by Joseph...

Silence and Connection…

—EF— I love silence. It’s hard to come by, given that the inside of my head can spew things on so many different levels, but it can be had. I have a process I’ve thought of as “stopping time,” but I could also call it “claiming...

Freedom?

—From CB— A question that progressives constantly ask, fluttering like a moth at the candleflame, is: why do people choose to support policies against their own interests? The proposed answers: They’re stupid. They’re deluded. They’re intrinsically racist or sexist or...

Joy. . .

—From EF— When I planned to take the periodic solo day we each do about once a month, I wasn’t paying attention to the calendar, it’s just that February first was the first day that Bicentennial Campground was available and I grabbed it. I love that place,...

Joan. . .

—From CB— This week, our friend Joan Schirle died. Elizabeth read it on Facebook. She’d had a long bout with colon cancer. We had no idea. She wasn’t a frequent friend—she lives two hundred miles to the north—but we stayed often at her place when up there, drank a...

Empathy. . .

—From EF— I’m getting ready to perform Dessie. It’s somewhere between 1975 and 1984, and I’m changing clothes in a little ladies’ room in a community college or a high school or a conference center or a church basement or a prison. I’m...

Begetting. . .

—From CB— I’m mindful of those long-ago days of church when the minister would begin his sermon with “Our text for today is…” and then stumble on through twenty minutes of restful homilies that preceded the jingle of the collection plate. But he normally chose...

It Ain’t Over. . .

—From EF— I jumped the tracks hooking up with Conrad Bishop, and I didn’t know what I was doing. He wasn’t like others I’d fallen for, and I knew he had a dark surreal streak that I might never understand. Our first theatre work together was a...

The Toilet Seat. . .

—From CB— Normally, when encountering a Facebook post starting with “Men!” I skim past. I don’t really want to deny anyone’s actualities; nor do I want to defend any indefensible demographic; nor do I want to feel personally superior to others of my own gender. That’s...