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novembre 2014

What Happens When You Go Viral: On Wanting to Give Up

Lily Ellyn

I recently found out that the hit count on my Relevant article back in June was over 1.6 million. The editor told me it was the second-biggest traffic day in the history of their website. That’s mind-boggling to me.

If you had asked me a year ago what I thought it would mean to have a piece get that much exposure, I would have assumed it would be my big break. That it would boost my blog, lead to freelance opportunities, help connect me to the right people. That it would be my open door into the world of professional writing and publishing. That it would bring me validation and satisfaction. It would reassure me that what I’m doing here isn’t pointless and that my story matters.

Do you want to know the truth?

It hasn’t done any of those things. For a few weeks I received a lot of…

Voir l’article original 1 166 mots de plus

Setting the Narrative Free: Bill Cosby Is NOT Cliff Huxtable

Why I am Pretty Sure I Have Been Accidentally Stopping the Most Authentic Book Discussions Taking Place in My Classroom

Crawling Out of the Classroom

Every so often, I am struck by the fact that I have been making a huge mistake as a teacher and I suddenly wish that I could run around and gather up all my former students to apologize.

Well this morning, while on a family walk, I had one such realization. My wife and I had taken our daughter and our dog out for a Sunday morning walk.  My wife and I were chuckling as we watched my almost-two year old struggle to hold the leash of my rather unruly lab-mix. And I was struck at the “conversation” that was occurring amongst the three of us.  I say “conversation” in the loosest sense of the word because my daughter has a whole lot to say, but only about 10% of it is understandable to any other human.

Anyway, I realized that all of these words that we had been trying…

Voir l’article original 1 326 mots de plus

Shakshuka

Quiche-a-Week

Shakshuka

If you ogle food photos on the regular like everyone ever, you’ve probably come across Shakshuka. After initial thoughts of « HEY WHAT A FUN WORD » subside, you have a choice: Make the Shakshuka that basically just undressed you with its eyes, or button up and move along to more food porn. Being a BWOACIS (Bitch Without A Cast Iron Skillet) myself, I always thought Shakshuka was just another unreachable dream. The dragon of my post-meal stupors.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, « WOW SHAKSHUKA IS STILL SUCH A FUN WORD, » but also « Hey Molly, just buy a cast iron skillet already. » Excellent argument. But they look so heavy and I don’t have a car. The better, equally extremely obvious answer is just use a baking dish. Dipshit. So that’s what happened. What an exciting turn of events!

Shakshuka

Shakshuka

Let’s talk about Shakshuka (FUN!) for a bit. It’s a Tunisian dish of poached eggs in…

Voir l’article original 526 mots de plus

Being Time in Kenya with Heidegger

Global Sojourns Photography

Kenya Maasai Mara Africa-22

The concept of time is fascinating. From physics to philosophy, the notion of time is difficult to define.

From our normal existence in the world, we often define time as ‘fleeting’ in the sense there is never enough. Frustration builds as the majority of time is spent catching up on work…work that is always running further and further away.

Kenya Maasai Mara Africa-19

The more worry about time, the less there is.

This has been the script for me this year.  Just as I am ready to celebrate and enjoy autumn, this great season is fading fast.

Back in September, I noticed the leaves turning color. But instead of picking up my coat and heading out, I dropped my head for a quick analysis of work and business only to look up a couple of months later to find winter staring me in the face.

Kenya Maasai Mara Africa-15

Pushing open the window, a gust of cold wind…

Voir l’article original 937 mots de plus

Stew for You (or Two)

The Domestic Man

Recently, I’ve been thinking about living a simpler life. The idea started when I visited Mickey Trescott’s new home in the Willamette Valley over the summer, but it really solidified when we moved all of our things from Maryland to Florida last month – over 14,000 lbs worth of belongings. As we started unpacking boxes, I couldn’t help but think that I just didn’t need so much stuff. The worst part about it? We’re still unpacking.

So for the holidays this year, we’re trying to not buy any objects for each other. Instead, we’re gifting experiences. So this week’s recipe is going to be a little different from your usual Tuesday post; I’m going to walk you through how to make gifts to hand out to people that aren’t stuff. A couple years back I made a few gallons of my barbecue sauce and gave it away as…

Voir l’article original 415 mots de plus

Where I Find My Poetry…

A Fullness in Brevity - Adam Byatt

At band rehearsal this week (I play in a covers band for weddings and corporate functions) I scribbled this onto a scrap of paper between songs as the band rehearsed with a drummer who is filling in for me for an upcoming gig.

I’d had the title floating in my head for about a week and an idea of what I wanted to write. Originally I intended it to be a simple blog post about how I, as a writer and poet, find my inspiration and ideas. 

The idea was composting in my head and while I lounged behind the sound desk I scribbled this out.

Where I Find PoetryWhere I Find Poetry

while searching for loose change in my pocket
between the first splash of milk
when I make a cup of tea
and stir in the sugar
waiting for the hot water to come through
in the shower and I’m standing…

Voir l’article original 307 mots de plus

Native, first generation

spanishwoods

photo by Wolfgang Stearns photo by Wolfgang Stearns

We always had to talk in hushed whispers. Occasionally my grandmother would forget, her voice raising, her r’s rolling. We were strange, we were strangers.

Those old farmers, in those old Ohio fields tilled my native state’s soil and yet, I was a foreigner.

To be a first generation American is always an experience in divided loyalties. To be a first generation Latina in the 1970’s in the rural, flat expanses of mid-west corn rows, was a lesson in split personality disorder.

In the summer of 1974 we visited my cousins in Spain. We walked along cobbled-stone, narrow roads while the neighbors shouted, “The Americans are here!” to one another.

Earlier in that very year, I had started school. Dressed in a pristine, pressed dress with patent leather shoes and tightly braided hair, my casual t-shirt and jeans-clad classmates had sarcastically asked me, “What planet are…

Voir l’article original 168 mots de plus

Barbie, Remixed: I (really!) can be a computer engineer.

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