A young hitchhiker encounters two men on a lonesome Montana road
Two cowboys in a Ford Ranchero pickup truck stop and tell me I can ride thirty miles to Missoula in the truck’s back bed. There have been no cars for nearly an hour. I think for a nanosecond. Then I take the ride.
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I was transfixed by the woman’s stories and could not imagine just walking away
The elderly woman greeted everyone as though she knew them and gave each a bright smile.
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A writer gardens through an existential crisis
If there’s not enough time to read, why am I working so hard to send another book into the world?
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Rockvale Writers’ Colony, a new retreat in College Grove, offers writers the time, space, and support they need
When my agent asked to see a complete revision of my work-in-progress, I didn’t know whether I could face it again. As with that tangle of cords and cables you stash in the back of your closet just in case you’ll need them, even though you’re not sure what half of them are for, I feared that if I pulled on one cord, the others would tighten into a death knot. How would I ever rewrite the whole book and hand it in on time? Fortunately, I had a plan: I’d apply to Rockvale Writers’ Colony.
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Walking a labyrinth for the first time taught me to trust the path
My intention had been to attend a writing retreat, but I suddenly had the feeling that I was actually there to attend a labyrinth retreat.
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I’d never seen a mosque in the South.
On Eid-ul-Azha, the Feast of the Sacrifice, I knew no one in Nashville. I decided to wear my white shalwar kameez to commemorate the festival. What else could be done?
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