A Day

The Wisconsin landscape is ablaze with white, our fields scoured and glistening under the intense chill of a sub-zero day. The library was closed today, so the Norwegian church records and the obituaries in piles on my desk must wait one more day. I miss them already. Continue reading


No Rules

The conversation flew like the snow outside the window as we tossed words from one to the other. Without leaving our chairs, we wandered down the paths of womanhood and motherhood and jobs and passions, poking our heads around bends in the road and relaying our observations. Distracted as I was when she walked through the door, I felt that skip of delight that I had almost forgotten. Most of my soulmates live miles from my door and after awhile, I don’t even realize I’ve gotten used to that void and forget the face-to-face. This morning, I remembered. Continue reading

The Worktable

The words in my head simmer and bubble and boil. I give them another quick stir and lean in to observe the ways they twist and reshape themselves. Ideas still sit on the counter, rising slowly under their tea towel. Hot with impatience, words start to jump from the pot. Why are they always ready before the ideas are? Continue reading

The Beginning

Several days ago, I came upon a quote from Zora Neale Hurston: “There is no agony like bearing an untold story inside you.” I bookmarked it, wrote it in my quote journal, shared it with friends because that is a truth that I know all too well. I have no novel simmering in my head, but that urge to write is one that follows me from dawn to dusk. Too often, I feel the itch in my fingers that begs me to pull out my journal or clack away at my keyboard. But for the past several months, I’ve found myself ignoring these impulses, pushing them out of mind, not because I didn’t want to write but because I couldn’t settle on what to write about. I needed to write, physically suffering from the lack of creating words, but I had dammed the flow because I was stuck. Continue reading