DRINKING, A LOVE STORY The book I love (again) this week
“It happened this way: I fell in love and then, because the love was ruining everything I cared about, I had to fall out. This didn’t happen easily, or simply,
“It happened this way: I fell in love and then, because the love was ruining everything I cared about, I had to fall out. This didn’t happen easily, or simply,
“The day my mother killed herself, she had just finished preparing her house on Marlborough Street for the anticipated return of her children after a fierce custody battle with my
Seven years ago my mother called my sister and me to tell us she had cancer. The doctor gave her less than a year to live. Despite years of complicated
What makes you buy a book? Is it different from what makes you watch a movie? Pick a television show? It seems so, because itâs so privateâjust you and the
How many writers come up without help? None, Iâd venture to guess. Most writers can point to someone who made the difference for themâwhether it was as a long-term
Living in a violent home is like growing up in a war zone. When a woman is battered, images of their mother being beaten will be imprinted on them forever.
I belong to what might be one of the longest running women’s groups in the country. We began during the era of consciousness-raising (mothers in our early 20s, we discussed
“Wondering how many powerful and heartbreaking novels would not have been written if there were no dysfunctional families.” Kris The above was the Facebook ‘status’ of a dear friend (in
Whatâs the word for impotent worry activated by reading the morning paper? When your mind swirls with horror at peopleâs pain and you think of how you can effect, perhaps,
In the continuous stream of NPR that is my life, I learned that Jerri Nielson died of breast cancer. Dr. Nielson wrote a book I’ve read more than once, and
For ten years I co-led groups for violent men. I sat in a circle with a male co-leader and anywhere from 8 to 18 men who’d been violent with their
Guest Post by Robin Black (originally published in Beyond The Margins) Itâs almost New Yearâs resolution time. I have a few this year. All the usual ones about less food,
Whatever his politics, and I am certain we’d disagree far more than agree, I bless Senator Scott Brown for revealing the sexual and physical abuse he suffered as a child.
A few weeks ago I followed my usual pre-work routine: I poured coffee and opened the Boston Globe. Then I flinched at the too familiar headline: Two dead, one on life
When I taught in a batterer intervention program—an educational, not counseling program—we’d draw a triangle on the board to help the men look at their belief system. During this lesson
“I am not a hero. I stand at the end of the long, long line of good Dutch people who did what I did or more—much more—during those dark and
Belts being made into threatening weapons — that’s one of the clearest childhood memories. Being called “Hitela” (for Hitler) was my mother’s way of reminding me how awful she thought
WE NEED TO TALK ABOUT KEVIN by Lionel Shriver “I have a confession to make. For all my raggin on you in those days, I’ve become shamefully dependent on television.
TENDER MERCIES by Rosellen Brown “Then how peculiar and painful, to walk across the threshold of his own house and to reclaim it from the anonymous care of strangers.” Anyone
I tried to write this post three or four times, but each time I sort of drifted away . . . online shopping anyone? A few months ago I had
Want to make a writer shudder? Ask them if they’ve queried yet. Last year I led a workshop on The Great American Query Letter and the participants shuffled in with
The first time I looked in the newspaper for a job, the Help Wanted sections were divided into three sections: Men, Women, and General. If memory serves me (I doubt
Having just re-watched Carleen Brice’s brilliant video, “National Buy a Book by a Black Author and Give it to Somebody Not Black Month,” I figure it’s time I add to
Back in the days of the crazy housing boom in Boston, when prices went insane, jumping by hundreds of thousands in a few short years, the Mission Hill triple-decker where