Moving into 2026

While I am not a New Year’s resolution type, I usually try to reflect some on preparing for spring and summer as a means to trudge through the dark, cold months. Winter is the worst. I should probably try to appreciate each moment in its season, but by the time I make it to mid-January (and pass the celebration of my first born’s birthday), I am utterly over winter. This year, though, has been different with the loss of my sister at age 42 in November. I hold no spring and summer dreams. I want to curl up in my bed and forget the world or run away to a cabin in the mountains forever. Too many people rely on me, so those aren’t quite options. My husband and I look at each other with feelings of helplessness and ask, “What are we supposed to do?” And I know my two boys watch us in our grief and are learning how to respond to trauma.

My family and I decided to reply to darkness with all the light we can conjure. Over the past five days, I created a scholarship program in my sister’s name. We will award a scholarship to a local high school senior with plans to study Nursing (she was a nurse). The scholarship program also aims to spread awareness about domestic abuse. Applicants will write a short essay about domestic abuse, and the winner’s essay will be featured on our website. In less than a week, we tripled our fundraising goal for the scholarship. These past two months following the devastating death of my sister have taken me to the darkest of places as I question how we could be enduring such a loss that didn’t have to happen. However, the support we’ve received in the scholarship program has given me renewed hope in humanity. I am not alone in saying that I do not accept domestic abuse.

I will keep doing my best to push through this year. Since I can’t run off to live in the woods, I feel like I at least need to disconnect with a solo backpacking trip and build a fire in the wilderness by myself, even just for a weekend, but it is so dang cold. Maybe in the spring. Maybe there is something I can look forward to.

M.F.A. Complete!

After two and a half years of taking courses, I completed my M.F.A. in Creative Writing with an emphasis on Fiction. Truthfully, it feels anti-climatic because my family is in bereavement following the loss of my sister. She was a constant source of encouragement even though she didn’t quite get why I wanted to work toward a second Master’s degree since I had already earned a doctorate too. She understood it was important to me, though, and always told me to go for it.

After I submitted my thesis and last lingering assignments, I made what I call “super nachos” with left-over steak. My husband said we should celebrate very soon. I asked, “Aren’t super nachos an excellent way to celebrate?” I’m not in the celebrating mood, really, and I think that is normal for our circumstance. Still, I feel it is important to commemorate this accomplishment with at least a simple blog post. I am thankful for all of the excellent literature I got to read, helpful feedback from my professors and classmates, and the push to write more each day.

Release Day for Last Light: Apocalypse Poems

Today is release day for Last Light: Apocalypse Poems, an anthology edited by Alan Parry and presented by The Broken Spine. I am very thankful that my prose poem, “Facing Ruin with Dutiful Companionship,” was included in this book.

“This collection offers a haunting exploration of apocalyptic themes through the eyes of diverse, contemporary poets. The works within navigate the fragility of existence, environmental collapse, and the profound sense of finality that marks the end of worlds, both imagined and real.”

You can purchase your copy on Amazon.

“Our Collective Permanence” in Heimat Review

Heimat Review released Issue 8: What I Wish You Knew today, and I am honored to be a part of this issue. My flash piece, “Our Collective Permanence,” is my first published work with a speculative/sci-fi bend.

“Our Collective Permanence” looks at memory, identity, community, shared trauma, and reliance on technology while windmills stir off-shore. As my grandmother’s memory deteriorated from Alzheimer’s over the past decade, I grappled with questions of identity and self-awareness in relation to memories. How important are memories in defining ourselves, and should we go out of our way to preserve those memories? Or should we trust a natural process that forces us to let go? While the piece does ponder innovation to address the problem, it is not intended to be anti-medical science, but instead leery of the artifice of technology—& maybe subscription services.

A Year of Creation

I used to update this blog with all of my writing and reading strategies with my boys when they were younger along with my poems, stories, doodles, and comics. As my boys grew out of the early reading phase, I hoped to respect their privacy and this place became quiet. I changed all of those previous posts to “private” and plan to focus on posting about my writing. However, I decided to keep up one sweet memory of discussing dragons and Beowulf with my boys. What a fond time together.

This past year has been a heavily creative one for me. While I hold a doctorate and an M.A. in English, working toward an M.F.A. in Creative Writing has been a significant goal of mine. However, with taking care of the kids and working through chronic illnesses (for myself and both of my boys), the timing never felt right. I severely neglected my creative side over the past decade and felt that gnawing hole, like a compulsive itch, that other writers recognize.

When Chris asked my dad for his blessing to marry me 17 years ago, my dad (an IT guy) made him promise to never let me stop writing. Chris stayed true to his vow and encouraged me to enroll in an M.F.A. program in March 2023. Getting back in the classroom has been thrilling. I love interacting with my peers, sharing my work, and receiving feedback. I developed some pieces that I felt proud of and began sending them out for publication. I am happy to say that I received three acceptances this summer. I will be sure to post them as they become available.

It’s been a busy, productive year, and I’m looking forward to continuing to grow in my craft.

“Is Beowulf about a wolf?”

“Is Beowulf about a wolf?”

My husband (Christopher) and I exchanged knowing glances. Christopher was teaching Beowulf to his high school students, so we had been talking a lot about Old English literature. Now, over dinner, our seven-year-old son (Eliot) unknowingly cracked open a door that we were now about to kick in. “I am so glad you asked,” my husband replied as he took an Old English translation book out of his backpack. He went on to explain the plot of Beowulf, the significance of wergild, the anger of Grendel rising while hearing the songs of creation from the mead-hall (“So, Grendel is basically the Grinch, right?”), and the eventual fight with the dragon. It didn’t end there. I read aloud pieces in Old English followed by the modern translation. We talked about how language grows and changes.

After we cleaned up the kitchen, my husband put on The Hobbit movie so Eliot could see the dragon. Jack (age: five) sleepily rubbed his eyes and said he’d rather read Dragons Love Tacos by Adam Rubin in his bed. To each his own. I tucked Jack in with his story and later found Eliot in my room insisting that he must perfect his dragon drawing technique before going to bed. It would be a late night.

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I am so thankful that when my sons show a shimmer of curiosity, they indulge us as we present them with a lecture. Such is the life of the child of English professors.