Essay by Therese Beale
I knew this was one of those micro-moments in a marriage when it pays to take a breath.
I knew this was one of those micro-moments in a marriage when it pays to take a breath.
On the Fourth of July, I convinced myself there was hope.
Many sexual trauma survivors find themselves living a messy reality.
An experience of trauma—either long-term or instantaneous—rocks us out of our familiar relationship with words.
My thirst for water brought me to him.
How could you be so creative, so powerful, so prolific? Do you know what you did to me?
Should parents ever censor what their kids read?
I have no ethical problem with writing a bestseller. Like most mid-listers, I’ve certainly tried.
You do need Mom and Dad to fuck you up—or you don’t have much of a story.
Now I can’t decide if the story is worth rewriting, rethinking, or tossing into the burn barrel.