 Guest post by Sharon Wagner “I don’t mind a mango falling on my head, but never a coconut.” Wisdom from Patrick, my intrepid snorkeling guide in Belize. After Patrick uttered this humorous phrase, I knew it would be the title of my travel memoir, if in fact, I ever wrote one. The funny phrase embodied everything I love about travel in Central America, where the juiciest mangos lie under a tin roof full of decaying jungle leaves. The rest of the structure may have black plastic tarp curtains that flap in the wind, a mishmash of plywood tables, a dirt floor, and an overall vibe of impending collapse. But you’ve never tasted a better mango. You might find a great curassow (a bird that looks like a feathered dinosaur) strolling among the vegetables and fruit or a stray cat curled up amid an abundance of avocados. Certainly, you’re not in Kansas anymore when the local cops linger amongst the yucca and melons while drinking coconuts from a straw. Patrick’s musing about the weight of coconuts happened before I’d decided to write novels. Since then, my experiences in Central America and beyond have impacted my writing in profound ways. As soon as I wrangled my first manuscript from the ether, I knew my characters would travel from a spooky Wisconsin farm to the melting red rocks of Sedona, Arizona. However, I didn’t realize that traveling to research my first manuscript would ultimately lead to the writing of my debut novel, The Levitation Game. One night, during our Sedona research vacation (the best kind of vacation there is!), I dreamt of levitating over my bed with increasing fear and dread. As my fear intensified, I levitated higher until an enormous pop erupted around me. Sedona’s power grid failed in my dream, plunging the town into total blackness. At the same time, I fell into my sheets. Bad dream, right? I traveled home, but I kept dreaming about levitation until I listened to the universe and began writing The Levitation Game. But, I wondered, where would all this levitation take place? Luckily, a trip to Guatemala solved my setting problem with storybook ease. While touring the Mayan ruins of Yaxha and Tikal, I discovered a real-life location so remote and completely buried by dirt and debris, you won’t even find a road to get there—unless you count the maze of trails trampled by leaf-cutter ants. El Mirador was the perfect location for placing vital scenes from The Levitation Game, which required being off the grid and nearly impossible to access. But believe it or not, Orlando, Florida, also played a role in the same book. My work-in-progress required a trip to Georgia’s iconic river town, Savannah. I sipped many martinis in Forsyth Park, contemplating my manuscript about a coven of witches. After roaming the streets and squares, I selected a location and gathered many imposing structures that, if combined, would encompass their home. Since the novel remains unfinished, I envision another trip there in the future, to concoct dark magic, coven cocktails, and savory spells under oak trees dripping with moss and squares surrounded by ghosts, history, and charm. Research is hard work, but someone has to do it. Isabel Allende’s books, City of the Beasts and The Kingdom of the Golden Dragon, transport readers to vivid imaginary worlds inhabited by magical beasts, lush landscapes, and potentially deadly environments. With this in mind, I’ve created another work-in-progress in which I hope to delight readers with my own jungle odyssey. I put my real-life travels through the jungles of Panama, Costa Rica, Nicaragua, Guatemala, and Belize in a literary blender, and a story about an epic quest to reach the tree of life ensued. I snuck in a mysterious Florida location in this book, too. *** “How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live!” Henry David Thoreau Here are several tips to help you travel like a writer or write like a traveler. When traveling, remember to listen to foreign conversations to improve your dialogue skills. I’ll never forget hearing this irate and downright peeved question from the table next to us in Costa Rica: “Is there a bleu cheese shortage in this country?” Yes, I think there is. On my most recent trip to Dominical, Costa Rica, while dining outside at a fancy new bakery, a group of young men talked about picking up a loaf of sourdough bread. One guy asked the other, “What’s the topping on the sourdough?” I laughed quietly at the next table, since it wasn’t that long ago that the town drew a crowd of penniless surfers, and now slick—but delicious restaurants dot the jungle, bringing tourists with peculiar needs, as in bread toppings. Instead of typical rice and beans, diners can indeed enjoy fancy bread topped with all manner of foodie fare. In A Death in Vienna, Daniel Silva wrote: “It was an ugly boulevard. The facades of the graceful old buildings were scarred by an endless parade of billboards hawking German luxury cars and American soft drinks to a populace whose money was suddenly worthless. The limbs of the shade trees hung drunkenly beneath the onslaught of pollution and heat.” Daniel Silvia deftly swept his story through Europe and South America, and every detail felt authentic. Read books that transport you to parts unknown. When flying, notice the claustrophobia of airline travel and the mad dash energy of the terminal. Watching and listening to other passengers may come in handy when you’re writing a scene with characters under duress. However, this can also be true outside the terminal. While traveling in Belize, my husband and I toured an Iguana Sanctuary. Although we thought holding an adult Iguana was thrilling, another woman on the tour became so overwhelmed that she passed out cold. Emotions during travel can range from nirvana to the bitter boredom of flight delays. Watch like a writer. Observe the exotic beauty around you to enhance your distant scenes. Absorb the scents, sounds, flavors, and ambiance to add spice to your writing. Does a tree with razor-sharp quills that resembles a thirty-foot porcupine really exist? It does in Costa Rica. Experiencing new places will add a sense of otherness that only travel can provide. If I hadn’t driven the backroads of Guatemala, I wouldn’t have known about all those speed bumps hungry to wreck your rental car. But the most important thing is to be observant, and you don’t need to travel for that. Treat reading like the part-time job it really is and read everything you can lay your hands on—cure writer’s block with knowledge. If you can travel, however, you might not battle writer’s block again, because you’ll have so many exotic experiences and sensory details stored in your cortex. *** But what about the manuscript that started everything in motion? The one about scary happenings on a rural Wisconsin farm that led to Sedona, Arizona? It became a novel set to launch in March 2026. It’s called Chorus of Crows, and I can finally crow about it! Caw! Travel is my muse, and maybe it can be yours, too. Remember: “The world is a book and those who do not travel read only one page.” ~ St. Augustine.
0 Comments
 Guest Post by Anne Schuchman “Were there any particular dishes your mother was known for?” The priest asks. He must have a fill-in-the-blank eulogy where he’ll add personal anecdotes, something for the family. There’s an awkward moment as my brother and sister and I look thoughtful. Then we exchange darting glances out of the corners of our eyes, silently pleading, Say something! I finally say, “Our mom was a lousy cook.” And we snort with laughter. The priest scribbles something in his notes. *** This isn’t quite fair, as my mother had a few dishes that were memorable, mostly from the years before she went back to work. She had time to let the dough rise, let us punch it down, then let it rise again before baking. I remember homemade pizza, American chop suey (whatever the hell that was), iceberg lettuce shining with bottled salad dressing, and Apple Delight, my favorite dessert. But when I think of my mom cooking, I don’t think of what she made, but how she made it. Stirring a pot with one hand, a book in the other, reading. At the kitchen table, a book in hand, reading. Lying on the sofa as broccoli burned on the stove, a book in hand, reading. I rarely saw her without a book, her glasses perched on her head or carelessly looped through her fingers. She was extremely nearsighted but could read a book without glasses if she held it right up to her face. Then her eyes would become wide and she would hardly blink. When she was reading you knew the world had disappeared for her: she was gone. To interrupt seemed cruel, but we did it all the time. Maybe we were jealous of the attention—the devotion, even—that she gave those books. Maybe we just missed her. “Just let me finish this chapter,” she’d say as she turned another page. I was born with the reading gene, or perhaps I was just imitating my mother the way other little girls played house. She passed words to me like breastmilk. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t read. I may have lived in suburban Long Island, but I was equally at home on the Kansas prairie, in the Big Woods of Wisconsin, and on Prince Edward Island. My best friends were Dorothy, Laura, and the other Anne with-an-e. This fascination with books carried me from kindergarten through grad school. I got married, had one baby and then another, and my time became limited, fragmented, my days full of must-do’s. Reading required a purpose. There was a kind of pleasure in reading dusty manuscripts and secondary criticism, but it was in having read them, not in the reading itself. I had lost some of the joy I had first experienced in the small-town library that contained universes. All this time, my mother and I regularly spoke on the phone and exchanged letters. She used to circulate a family letter that caught everyone up on everyone else’s goings-on, and later, a family email. She would tell me about the books she was reading, and I would tell her about my studies. And sometimes she would chuckle, “You think you’re so smart.” I sent her conference papers to proofread, and imagined her reading them, her glasses looped through her fingers, her eyes wide and unblinking. She always found something: a typo, a grammatical error, an editing mishap. She was my ideal reader. But something happened so subtly that I hardly noticed. The daily emails became weekly, and then even less frequent. Sometimes my father would respond instead. An engineer in temperament as well as profession, he stuck to simple subject-verb-object sentences: what they did and where they went. Sometimes my mother’s emails didn’t address what I had written to her, and I had to go back to try and understand the miscommunication. She no longer told me about the latest book she’d read or magazine articles, because she’d nearly stopped reading altogether. Sometimes the words just didn’t make sense. Her decline into dementia seems obvious now when I look at our last emails: a back-and-forth about forgetting passwords and missing doctors’ appointments and repeated anecdotes. Her very last email to me, written about four years before her death said: I don’t know what I’m doing. —Mom I missed her writing, of course. I was surprised, however, to find myself mourning her loss of reading. I had taken this joy of hers for granted. There wasn’t much we could do during those short, but too long years of decline: visit, chat, make her comfortable. How could I listen to someone whose voice seemed to grow fainter and fainter each time I spoke with her? I had already lost my mother. I could read. I began by seeking out classics that had somehow escaped me back in high school and college: My Ántonia, Anna Karenina, To Kill a Mockingbird. I reread Catcher in the Rye, a book I despised in high school because my friends told me I reminded them of Holden Caulfield. Although I failed to recognize myself in Holden when I was a teen, this time I recognized my children in Holden—he felt like another insightful, wounded, and often infuriating son. Maybe it was because I was reading it as the parent of an adolescent rather than as an adolescent, but when I cried for Holden, maybe I was also crying for his mother, so cold and indifferent. Maybe I cried for the emotional distance that could never be bridged. My mother was placed on hospice during the last six weeks of her life, ending the revolving-door of hospital visits. She barely spoke, barely registered recognition. Our visits seemed to exhaust her, and my children, newly uncomfortable around grandma, became antsy, so I kept our visits brief. Maybe it wasn’t our presence, but the presence of death that sucked the words out of the room. But on one of our last visits, I mentioned to her that I was reading Thomas Merton’s The Seven Storey Mountain for the first time. She lit up in a way I hadn’t seen in months, looked up at me from her wheelchair, and said, “That’s one of my favorite books.” Going through my parents’ house years later, I came across her cookbooks: Fanny Farmer, The Joy of Cooking, The I Hate to Cook Book. Along with the creases and stains, I found notes and comments in her precise, bookish handwriting. Occasionally she wrote simple punctuation (! or ?) in the margins, and once a Bronx cheer—pbbb!—for what must have been a failure of a dish. She had really read these cookbooks, taken them in, and they became part of her. My mother was a great cook—on the page. This essay was first published by Chicago Story Press.
 Guest post by Kim Gottlieb-Walker After a fifty + year career as a counterculture, rock, and movie set photographer, I reinvented myself as a novelist and released Lenswoman in Love – a novel of the 1960s & ‘70s in 2025 at age 78 – a reimagining my early career as a second-chance romance. And to my surprise, I discovered that I am not the only woman in retirement who has become a writer. I initiated a weekly zoom chat for “Vintage” authors, all women over 70, and discovered fascinating feisty ladies who have drawn on their wealth of experience to create wonderful books. Among them are:
As well as:
…and many working on their first books. Our group is a terrific support for each other, sharing our expertise in various aspects of writing, editing, publishing, and marketing, and cheering each other on, commiserating with setbacks and sharing each other’s writing and personal journeys. It has provided a sense of community and created new friendships. The group is overflowing with talent from from women living all over the USA and Canada, writing in every imaginable genre – historical fiction, romance, mystery/suspense, children’s and middle school adventures, self-help and spirituality and more, proving it’s never too late to reinvent yourself! This essay was first published by Chicago Story Press.
 Guest post by Samantha Brown After I finished high school, I started a transition program. At first it took a long time to see writing as a career path. Writing became a way of self discovery for me, even though I'm special needs. I never thought my writing would be published. The Journey Starts with the First Step I have a dream of using my journey to help others express their emotions about their life experiences. The Turning Point Of Self Discovery Writing had a big impact on my career choice. I first started my new life chapter with a lot of unknown challenges. Now I have a clear understanding of the impact of my writing. I didn't think my writing would be published successfully. My Next Chapter Of The Journey I learned that to be successful you should always believe in yourself. Writing is a craft that for some people is also a coping skill. When I started journaling in high school, I found my writing was more than an outlet for emotions. It helps me to overcome challenges that are not always easy to accept. A Positive Voice Makes a Positive Outcome Writing has helped me keep a positive mind and a positive point of view. The new chapter started: college career preparation . Encourage the Impact Having been published successfully many times, I realized self discovery can be found through creativity. Writing means so much to me. It is an important part of sharing my story. Publishing my writing successfully was a clear sign that my next chapter is happening. Overcoming Challenges College has always been a dream of mine. To be published successfully was only the start of achieving one of my dreams with my sights on the positive impact of my career. Finding My New Chapter Writing made it easier to go through the transition from high school to a college program. This was where I learned writing was a positive outcome for a future career path. That moment I knew my writing was published I was overjoyed with excitement Learn the Impact Your Success Can Make Writing was an important part of finding the direction of my career. You should always use a positive voice in your writing to encourage people. This voice of positivity empowers others to make a difference. I'm never shy about sharing the journey that brought me to this point in my life. Lessons Learned Overtime I saw writing as a clear chapter of my journey for the first time. Writing gives me a chance to express myself as a professional. My disability is not my career, and my career is not my disability. This writing chapter is the craft of sharing experiences with the world. A Positive Outlook Makes a Positive Outcome Writing helped me see I am more than the challenges I face. I use a positive outlook to make a difference in my career path outcome. I can make as big a difference as possible. Coping with challenges became easier in the real world through writing. A Positive Sign of My Future Ahead This chapter started a new positive point of view. It made staying open throughout the challenges a skill within the journey. That started a successful career path as a writer.
 Guest post by Jean Matthews Brain FoodWriters burn through mental energy. A well-balanced writing practice requires not just writing but feeding your brain what it needs to get those words onto paper (or screen). We've all been there, sitting at the desk with an empty stomach, straining to be productive while our body screams "not happening". Fun Fact: Your brain is only about ~2% of your body weight, but it uses ~20% of your body’s energy (and oxygen) at rest. That’s a huge “operating cost” for such a small organ. (Ask the scientists, 2026) “The Flow State” & Sustainable Writing PracticesFlow (often called “the flow state”) is a well-established concept in psychology, introduced and studied extensively by psychologist Mihály Csíkszentmihályi. Csíkszentmihályi describes flow (an “optimal experience”) as occurring when: “one’s skills are adequate to cope with the challenges at hand, in a goal-directed, rule-bound action system that provides clear clues as to how one is performing.” (Jeremy Sutton, 2025) It takes enough mental power just to sit down and write, let alone get into "the flow state". The last thing we want is another interruption—even when it's our own belly growling at us. Other obstacles include money, kids, and our actual day job (for the many of us who can't afford to write full-time), while some of us just don't have the time, energy, or interest to cook. We all need to eat, though—no exceptions, unfortunately (unless you're like some of the characters in my fantasy fiction who "don't need to drink, eat or shit", but that's unlikely—also unfortunate). Budget Friendly Brain StaplesFun Fact: Even when you are “just thinking,” the brain is still running a big baseline budget. Most of the energy is spent on keeping nerve cells ready to fire and maintaining connections, not only on intense moments of focus. (LeCunff, 2025) The healthy eating and wellness spaces overflow with ideas, recipes, and unaffordable superfoods that would overwhelm even the most well-intentioned writer—let alone those who are cooking-averse or on a tight budget. Sadly, your brain doesn't care whether you like cooking. It still needs what it needs. Feed it some of the staples below, and not only will your brain thank you, but it may even gift you back that oh-so-precious mental flow.
Your brain is a high-cost organ: tiny by weight, but it burns a big share of your daily energy— so consistent, basic groceries (slow carbs, protein, healthy fats, and a couple of plants) beat fancy supplements for sustainable writing. Power snacks for your desk, drawer or backpackKeep these power snacks within reach—whether that's a corner of your desk, a drawer you've been meaning to organize, or a portable bag or backpack. Why? Once we're writing, it's hard to stop until we've wrung out every last word. That's the mind's version of inertia. Multi-tasking and task switching take a toll on the brain, not all of us can afford. This doesn't mean you should skip breaks—we definitely need downtime to reset (more on that in another blog). It just means feeding your brain as you go, during and between breaks. The same goes for hydration, so keep a 32 oz water bottle nearby (aim to drink twice that in a day; coffee and tea count too). Here are three of my go-to power snacks for long writing days:DIY Trail Mix I skip pre-made trail mixes—not because they're bad, but because I end up paying more for packaging than nuts. Plus, the ratio of cheap raisins to expensive nuts is often disappointing. Buying your own nuts and dried fruit costs more upfront, but it's higher quality, more budget-friendly long-term, and requires zero cooking. Best of all, there are no fixed ratios—every ingredient is nutritionally solid, so mix however you like. Here's my go-to mix: 1/2 cup roasted salted peanuts (I always include one salted nut and keep the rest unsalted for flavor balance), 1/2 cup raw almonds, 1/4 cup raw pumpkin seeds (no shell), 1/4 cup sunflower seeds, 1/2 cup pistachios, 1/2 cup raisins or dried cranberries. I love this even more as an adult because I can bring it anywhere—literally brain food on the go. This concept works for overpriced muesli too. Here's a wallet-friendly recipe: 4 cups whole rolled oats, 1 cup raisins, 1 cup sliced almonds, 1/2 cup sunflower seeds/pumpkin seeds, 2 tablespoons chia seeds (optional), 1 teaspoon cinnamon (optional). Adjust the ratios and ingredients to your taste. Power Muffins Dry ingredients base: 1/2 cup whole wheat flour, 1/2 cup ground flaxseed, 1/2 teaspoon salt, 1 teaspoon baking powder, 1 teaspoon baking soda, 1/4 cup white sugar Wet ingredients base: 1 egg, 1 teaspoon pure vanilla extract, 1/3 cup Mazola vegetable oil One-Bowl Banana Chocolate Muffins: 2 bananas + wet ingredients + dry ingredients + 1/4 cup mini chocolate chips One-Bowl Apple Zucchini Muffins: 1 grated zucchini + 1 grated apple + 1/2 cup applesauce (or individual snack portion) + wet ingredients + dry ingredients + 1/2 tablespoon cinnamon (pro tip: grate zucchini and freeze directly in a Ziplock bag or container—best when zucchinis are in season during summer and super cheap!) Oven: Bake 30 minutes at 350°F Roasted Chickpeas Chickpeas, 1 can (15 oz), drained and rinsed (*you can also use canned lentils or frozen edamame) Dry with a paper towel or clean cloth, then remove the skins (tedious and optional, but they'll be crunchier!) One bowl: Chickpeas, 1 tablespoon olive oil, 2–3 teaspoons of your favorite spice mix (I prefer BBQ or chipotle), 1/2 teaspoon salt (optional, especially if your spice mix is already salty) Spread chickpeas on a parchment-lined baking sheet (or silicone baking mat) Roast 15–20 minutes Mix and flip, then roast another 15–20 minutes Let cool 5–10 minutes **Bonus Homemade BBQ Spice Mix: 1/2 cup brown sugar, 2 tablespoons paprika, 1 tablespoon smoked paprika (or chipotle), 1 tablespoon black pepper (or to taste), 1 tablespoon salt (or to taste), 1 tablespoon garlic powder, 1 tablespoon onion powder, 1 teaspoon mustard powder, 1/4 teaspoon cayenne pepper (optional). This also makes a great meat rub. **Bonus Homemade Cajun Spice Mix: 2 teaspoons garlic powder, 2.5 teaspoons paprika (or smoked paprika), 1 1/4 teaspoons dried oregano, 1 teaspoon onion powder, 1 1/4 teaspoons dried thyme, 1/2 teaspoon red pepper flakes, 1 teaspoon cayenne pepper, 2 teaspoons salt (or to taste), 1 teaspoon pepper (or to taste) Bonus: Secrets to power up any muffin, pancake/waffle, or flour-based recipe Flour: Replace half the flour with any of the following for extra protein, fiber, and omega fats: ground flaxseed (my all-time favorite for fiber, protein, and omegas 3 and 6), wheat germ or the more budget-friendly wheat bran, buckwheat porridge, quinoa flakes, oat flakes, or a mix of two or three! Honestly, whatever you have on hand works and greatly boosts the health benefits of any flour-based recipe. If you want to add whey protein, use 1/4–1/3 cup or 1 scoop in addition to the flour. For a budget-friendly option, I use Nestle Boost for the added vitamins and protein (*not a sponsor). Sugar: Most recipes call for more sugar than you need. If you have a sweet tooth, that's a different story—and like salt, you may need to reduce gradually so your palate adjusts. I use 1/4 cup of plain white sugar for all my muffin recipes, even ones that originally called for 1 cup (yikes! but not unusual). No one will judge you if you use 1/2 cup or simply half the amount listed. If I don't have plain white sugar (the most budget-friendly option) or I'm feeling fancy, I substitute with maple syrup or brown sugar. Honey and molasses work too, but they alter the taste and texture, so I avoid them. The trick is to enhance flavor with 1/2 teaspoon of salt alongside the sugar. Many recipes surprisingly don't list salt—maybe that's why they compensate with more sugar. I'm no chef, but I do make a lot of muffins. Fat: Older recipes often call for shortening, margarine, or butter. Butter isn't all that bad, but it's typically more expensive. I swap these for oil—avocado oil if you want to go fancy and have the budget for it, otherwise my go-to is Mazola Vegetable Oil since it contains omegas (*not a sponsor). The ultimate substitute if you want something lighter is applesauce, believe it or not. As for the popular coconut oil, if the recipe doesn't contain coconut, I avoid it since it alters the taste too much. Freezer-friendly: The great thing about muffins, pancakes, and waffles is that they're all freezer-friendly. Whether you're feeding yourself or a whole family, extras can be stored for when you need them—nothing goes to waste. For more recipes: I get a lot of inspiration from the Tasty app (*not a sponsor)—it's free and you can search for recipes by budget or ingredient and save your favorites. Whenever I find myself staring into the Twilight Zone of my pantry (after a week of avoiding the grocery store), I open the app to see what decent meal I can make from 3–5 random ingredients on hand. It's a lifesaver, especially if you like variety, have kids, or are in a pinch. Back to writingFellow writer, I hope this post has given you a few nourishing ideas for both page and palate. In our hurry to churn out polished prose, it’s easy to forget the body and brain that power the pen. So honor them: reach for fuel that sustains your focus, breathe, stretch, and then let the words keep flowing—healthy, steady, and true.
 Guest post by Herbert L. Becker There is a common belief that writing is a private hobby. Something creative people do in their spare time. Something indulgent. Optional. For parents, educators, and women especially, writing can feel like a luxury—one that belongs at the bottom of a very long list. Laundry comes first. Lesson plans come first. Emails, meals, meetings, children, deadlines—all come first. But here's a truth that rarely gets said out loud: Writing is not selfish. It is strategic. Writing Clarifies Leadership Parents and educators make decisions all day long. You decide how to respond when a child melts down. You decide how to adjust when a lesson falls flat. You decide how to balance care with discipline. Writing strengthens that same muscle. When you put words to your experiences—even in 500 words—you move from reacting to reflecting. You begin to see patterns. You notice what worked, what didn't, and why. Clarity in writing becomes clarity in leadership. And leadership shapes lives. Your Perspective Is Not Replaceable Many women and educators hesitate. "I'm not an expert." "Someone else has said this better." "I don't have time." But lived experience is expertise. The mother navigating screen time has insight. The teacher managing thirty students has insight. The woman balancing ambition with caregiving has insight. When you don't write it down, that knowledge remains private. When you do, it becomes contribution. Publishing Has Changed You no longer need a traditional book deal to be heard. Short-form nonfiction—500 to 1,000 words, broken into clear sections—is highly readable and widely shared. Digital publications actively seek writing that is reflective, useful, and grounded in real experience. A strong nonfiction piece includes:
You don't need grand theory. You need honesty and clarity. Writing Models Courage Children watch more than they listen. Students do the same. When they see an adult thinking critically, drafting ideas, revising work, and sharing it publicly, they are witnessing courage in action. They see that growth doesn't end with graduation. They see that ideas matter. They see that learning is lifelong. That modeling stays with them. Start Where You Are You don't need hours. You need intention. Start with one experience that taught you something. Ask: What did I learn? Then ask: Who else might need to hear this? Structure it. Edit it once for clarity. Share it. Writing isn't about ego. It's about influence. Parents influence families. Educators influence futures. Women influence culture. Your words carry weight—not because they are dramatic, but because they are real. Writing is not a luxury reserved for quieter seasons of life. It is a way to shape the season you are in. And that makes it strategic.
 Guest post by Anne Schuchman Were there any particular dishes your mother was known for?” the priest asks. He must have a fill-in-the-blank eulogy where he’ll add personal anecdotes, something for the family. There’s an awkward moment as my brother and sister and I look thoughtful. Then we exchange darting glances out of the corners of our eyes, silently pleading, Say something! I finally say, “Our mom was a lousy cook.” And we snort with laughter. The priest scribbles something in his notes. *** This isn’t quite fair, as my mother had a few dishes that were memorable, mostly from the years before she went back to work. She had time to let the dough rise, let us punch it down, then let it rise again before baking. I remember homemade pizza, American chop suey (whatever the hell that was), iceberg lettuce shining with bottled salad dressing, and Apple Delight, my favorite dessert. But when I think of my mom cooking, I don’t think of what she made, but how she made it. Stirring a pot with one hand, a book in the other, reading. At the kitchen table, a book in hand, reading. Lying on the sofa as broccoli burned on the stove, a book in hand, reading. I rarely saw her without a book, her glasses perched on her head or carelessly looped through her fingers. She was extremely nearsighted but could read a book without glasses if she held it right up to her face. Then her eyes would become wide and she would hardly blink. When she was reading you knew the world had disappeared for her: she was gone. To interrupt seemed cruel, but we did it all the time. Maybe we were jealous of the attention—the devotion, even—that she gave those books. Maybe we just missed her. “Just let me finish this chapter,” she’d say as she turned another page. I was born with the reading gene, or perhaps I was just imitating my mother the way other little girls played house. She passed words to me like breastmilk. I don’t remember a time when I didn’t read. I may have lived in suburban Long Island, but I was equally at home on the Kansas prairie, in the Big Woods of Wisconsin, and on Prince Edward Island. My best friends were Dorothy, Laura, and the other Anne with-an-e. This fascination with books carried me from kindergarten through grad school. I got married, had one baby and then another, and my time became limited, fragmented, my days full of must-do’s. Reading required a purpose. There was a kind of pleasure in reading dusty manuscripts and secondary criticism, but it was in having read them, not in the reading itself. I had lost some of the joy I had first experienced in the small-town library that contained universes. All this time, my mother and I regularly spoke on the phone and exchanged letters. She used to circulate a family letter that caught everyone up on everyone else’s goings-on, and later, a family email. She would tell me about the books she was reading, and I would tell her about my studies. And sometimes she would chuckle, “You think you’re so smart.” I sent her conference papers to proofread, and imagined her reading them, her glasses looped through her fingers, her eyes wide and unblinking. She always found something: a typo, a grammatical error, an editing mishap. She was my ideal reader. But something happened so subtly that I hardly noticed. The daily emails became weekly, and then even less frequent. Sometimes my father would respond instead. An engineer in temperament as well as profession, he stuck to simple subject-verb-object sentences: what they did and where they went. Sometimes my mother’s emails didn’t address what I had written to her, and I had to go back to try and understand the miscommunication. She no longer told me about the latest book she’d read or magazine articles, because she’d nearly stopped reading altogether. Sometimes the words just didn’t make sense. Her decline into dementia seems obvious now when I look at our last emails: a back-and-forth about forgetting passwords and missing doctors’ appointments and repeated anecdotes. Her very last email to me, written about four years before her death said: I don’t know what I’m doing. —Mom I missed her writing, of course. I was surprised, however, to find myself mourning her loss of reading. I had taken this joy of hers for granted. There wasn’t much we could do during those short, but too long years of decline: visit, chat, make her comfortable. How could I listen to someone whose voice seemed to grow fainter and fainter each time I spoke with her? I had already lost my mother. I could read. I began by seeking out classics that had somehow escaped me back in high school and college: My Ántonia, Anna Karenina, To Kill a Mockingbird. I reread Catcher in the Rye, a book I despised in high school because my friends told me I reminded them of Holden Caulfield. Although I failed to recognize myself in Holden when I was a teen, this time I recognized my children in Holden—he felt like another insightful, wounded, and often infuriating son. Maybe it was because I was reading it as the parent of an adolescent rather than as an adolescent, but when I cried for Holden, maybe I was also crying for his mother, so cold and indifferent. Maybe I cried for the emotional distance that could never be bridged. My mother was placed on hospice during the last six weeks of her life, ending the revolving-door of hospital visits. She barely spoke, barely registered recognition. Our visits seemed to exhaust her, and my children, newly uncomfortable around grandma, became antsy, so I kept our visits brief. Maybe it wasn’t our presence, but the presence of death that sucked the words out of the room. But on one of our last visits, I mentioned to her that I was reading Thomas Merton’s The Seven Storey Mountain for the first time. She lit up in a way I hadn’t seen in months, looked up at me from her wheelchair, and said, “That’s one of my favorite books.” Going through my parents’ house years later, I came across her cookbooks: Fanny Farmer, The Joy of Cooking, The I Hate to Cook Book. Along with the creases and stains, I found notes and comments in her precise, bookish handwriting. Occasionally she wrote simple punctuation (! or ?) in the margins, and once a Bronx cheer—pbbb!—for what must have been a failure of a dish. She had really read these cookbooks, taken them in, and they became part of her. My mother was a great cook—on the page.
 🎄 Family, Fiction, and Festivities: Weaving Holiday Moments into Your StoriesAs winter approaches and the holidays draw near, many writers find themselves caught between to-do lists, seasonal commitments, and a deep desire to tap into the emotional richness of this time of year. But what if the chaos and coziness of the season could actually fuel your writing?
Why the Holidays Are Prime Creative Real Estate Winter holidays come wrapped in emotion—nostalgia, joy, grief, laughter, tension, hope. Whether you celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, New Year’s, or simply enjoy the stillness of winter, these months are steeped in story potential. Think about it: complicated family dynamics, unexpected reunions, heartfelt traditions, and once-a-year magic? That’s gold for any genre. Use Family Traditions as Story Sparkers Writers often draw from real life. Revisit your own memories or ask friends and readers about their holiday traditions:
Tap Into the Tension Holidays aren’t all warm fuzzies. They're often filled with emotional weight: financial strain, unresolved conflicts, grief over missing loved ones, or the pressure to “perform” happiness. Let your characters wrestle with these tensions. A heroine trying to recreate her late mother’s holiday recipes can reveal more about grief and healing than a dramatic monologue ever could. Elevate Setting with Seasonal Sensory Detail Winter is a sensory playground:
Lean into Found Family or Chosen Family Themes Not all characters (or readers) have joyful family experiences. The holidays can also be a powerful time to explore chosen family—those friends, partners, or coworkers who become home. These themes especially resonate in YA, romance, and fantasy genres. Use the Calendar Creatively The ticking clock of a holiday countdown can add stakes to any story. Whether it’s a New Year’s kiss deadline, a Christmas Eve delivery, or a magical solstice event, the seasonal timeline can push your characters to grow, choose, or confess. Try This Writing Prompt: A character receives a mysterious holiday card signed only with “I forgive you.” They have no idea who it’s from—but they really want to believe it’s true.  Stories by the Fire: |
 | pullenplaywright.com, linktree.com/robinpullen Robin Pullen's...Women of Roswell earned “Best New Play” at the Georgia Theater Conference, Finalist at New York’s American Globe Theater, Kennedy Center participation following a ACT/KCT nomination, and Finalist for the David Mark Cohen National Playwriting competition. Paint!, Marc Chagall’s Colorful Musical Adventure, a National Children’s Theatre Festival winner, was produced at Coral Gables’ Actors’ Playhouse, and is published by Samuel French. Teachers, the Musical, winner of a Metropolitan Atlanta Theater award, has enjoyed many regional productions. Bullies, the Musical! toured Atlanta area schools. Robin's short story, Mysterium Tremendum, won first place in Creative Loafing's annual story competition, and was published in O’Georgia. CARO'S COMET, The Celestial Cinderella (also a picture book) earned Semifinalist in 2024’s Eugene O Neill National Musical Competition, and is published by Plays for New Audiences. A gifted teacher, Robin has served on the Advisory Boards of the Process Theatre and Working Title Playwrights. She participated in New York’s ASCAP Musical Theater Workshop, and DC’s Kennedy Center Playwriting Intensive. She is a member of the SCBWI and the Dramatists Guild. |
Author
Arielle Haughee is the owner and founder of Orange Blossom Publishing.
Categories
All
For Parents
Getting Into Writing
Giveaways
How I Met My Other
Picture Books
Publishing
Revision
Writing Craft
Writing Goals And Routines
Writing Life
Writing Picture Books
RSS Feed