She’d lift gifts from her suitcase, and I would forgive her desertion instantly.
I’m uncomfortable around ambulances or the overdressed crowds outside funeral parlors.
Our lives need to go beyond looking. Life with nature needs to be meaningful.
It soothes me to think of Hemingway in rough draft.
It’s an odd suggestion, but I go, leaden and lost in the dust of the midway.
Talking Writing is an independent, 501(c)(3) nonprofit publication. No interest group has paid TW to mention the reviewed items here. The opinions expressed by TW writers are their own.
TW reserves the right to delete comments that are personal attacks or could be construed as libel.
TW does not guarantee the accuracy of outside links.
Fair-use guidelines apply for the use of book and journal covers, album covers, website screen images, and other promotional material in TW.
Donate to TW