The logical solution would be to make a spreadsheet, but, you see, I like spreadsheets about as much a a cat likes taking a bath. So, of course, I took no action.

I wound up with a huge bruise on my chest, torn pajamas, and knees so swollen I could only creep like a slow leak when attempting to walk our dog.

As a teenager in the 1960s, taking the Burlington Northern to downtown Chicago and Christmas shopping in the Loop was a breathtaking experience.

Mommy says now that I'm eight years old I get to be queen all day. So early this morning, she put my queen costume from Halloween at the foot of my bed. I was so excited. I got out of my jammies and into that dress quick as a greyhound dog.

For reasons they can’t quite explain, the lost always find themselves on Shinbone Lane…

He never told me he loved me, but the sparkle in his eyes and the way he cared about preparing me for the future managed to convey the words he couldn't say.

That’s the beauty of art. It captures moments, dreams, imagined lives, not all that comes to pass.

What began as a 50-word story turned into a poem.

The tales in this collection are meant to be told. Watch now.

My story, “Off you go, little ones,” won third place!

She didn't plan it. Who plans to fall fast for a seeker, a traveler?

Miss Millie never had a job as far as we knew, never had family over, never greeted us from her porch when we sashayed by …

The story of how the flower Amaryllis belladonna got its name.

Who came up with the name “naked ladies” anyway?

And then with a bam-boom-schram-a-flam, the grapnel swapfnicker sort of thing rose up from the leaves in the creek bed, and he tore off his head, which wasn't his head at all, but a mask

I’m preparing to work with a designer on the cover for ON SHINBONE LANE, my novel in progress.

The tuplip ate my skin. No lie. Insides exposed, I felt curiously steamy …

Vultures, inspiration, fantasy—how do they fit together?

Memorizing poems used to be a regular part of English class back in the Sixties. What about today?