My Writing Journey

DROP DEAD LIFE, the blog, must make a shift. Despite my own inse­cu­ri­ties as an intel­lec­tu­ally under-stimulated mommy of four wild chil­dren, ages 2 through 12, my mem­oir, DROP DEAD LIFE, a preg­nant widow’s poignant, heart­felt, and often comic jour­ney through death, birth, and rebirth, has recently sparked enthu­si­as­tic lit­er­ary agent interest. So, what this means, I imag­ine, is that my book will even­tu­ally end up in your local stores. Still dif­fi­cult for me to believe, but it is going to hap­pen. In other words, I can no longer post chapters-in-progress on my blog, for fear that you will not want to stand in line to pur­chase the actual book. A solu­tion? Sug­ges­tions? The best I’ve come up with is to...

Have yet to fig­ure out the descent from these moun­tains I have climbed. Two but­ter­flies, burnt orange in shade, dance fran­ti­cally around me, only an inch away from each other. Bells in the dis­tance, buoys nav­i­gate the way, and the fog horn blows on this clear sun-filled day. There are no whales to be seen down below. No seals doing som­er­saults. No deer hop­ping their way through the golden sum­mer bushes. I turn off my music so that I may hear the moun­tain lion prey­ing on me for her morn­ing feast. I fig­ure if she eats me, it was meant to be my day. Beneath my breasts is now a belly which is softer than it was—a cap­sule recy­cling souls who have been here before. The power of this womb. What mean­ing lies ahead for...