I want to write about tulips today. I don’t want to write about sex. The trouble is, for me, writing about tulips means writing about sex: something about their juicy curves brings erotic metaphors to my particular mind. I had thought that once my mother — and father — were no longer alive and reading over my shoulder, I’d be able to write my heart out, but . . . Read more.
I’ve attended the Community of Writers at Squaw Valley summer conference three different times and loved every moment. It’s a great chance to meet writers, editors, agents — and work on your writing.