Addiction is an obsession. It takes over mind, body, and soul. It seeps into your pores, hides between your toes, collects in the corners of your eyes and under your nails.
Dreamers Creative Writing is dedicated to writing that is from the heart.
Sometimes it comes in fits and starts and sometimes all at once in a deluge, but when you’re edging thirty years old, riding passenger...
“Your garden is like a park,” my mother-in-law would say when she came to visit us in Wisconsin from her home in Canada. It was a...
The doctor adjusts his glasses, tells me the news. There isn’t much else. I leave the muted-colored office and beat my hands on the steering wheel.
I was diagnosed with borderline personality disorder (BPD) in 1991 at thirty years-old, following my second suicide attempt. Individuals who have BPD lack the ability to...
Book Review of Anne Lamott’s Almost Everything: Notes on Hope – Book Review by Catherine Lanser – A few months back I had an opportunity to see Anne Lamott speak.
I found in the pocket of the jeans I wore last night a yellow note: from the triple g&t...
David and I were still awake at 3 am. The moon wasn’t full, that wasn’t the reason, but the Perseids were doing their August trick, showering meteors like streaks of sleep dust from the sandman, mocking us.
Days shy of my fortieth birthday, attended a class with master writing teacher Laleh Khadivi: in San Francisco at Christina Garcias’s Las Dos Brujas. A new meaning emerged...
No people remain to lift their hands in farewell. Home does not speak. It does not call out our names as we move up the steps onto the plane. It does not call out as if to say...
Go down the gravel road past the farm where a family lived in a boxcar, past the field with longhorn cattle When you hear donkeys bray, you are almost there.
I have a piece of turquoise beach glass.The second rarest color, after orange. It sits collecting dust between...
i want to stick my fingers between all of your leaves i want to run my hands over your knots : step my bare feet onto your roots : sink against...
Mama and Barry mashed lumpy boiled potatoes into furrows with their forks, spread sour cream on top. I hated it. Mama cooked this every night, except the weekends when we had stringy boiled chicken.
Calling all Canadian fiction writers! Here are 13 upcoming short story contests by Canadian literary organizations. Most offer cash prizes.
Relation ship of fools, the two of us set adrift squared to the sea, no rudder, no captain, no sails to see us through,unclear who is looking ahead the other behind us, just us. There were others but now just us asking...
Writing from the heart, writing as an act of radical empathy, and writing without urgency. Angie Abdou is a Canadian author of numerous...
