A Writer's Moment
A look at writing and writers who inspire us.
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“Librarians and romance writers accomplish one mission better than anyone, including English teachers: we create readers for life - and w...
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“There was never yet an uninteresting life. Such a thing is an impossibility. Inside of the dullest exterior there is a drama, a comedy, ...
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A Writer's Moment: 'Property of the imagination' : “The English language is nobody's special property. ...
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A Writer's Moment: 'Information In; Creative Responses Out' : “One of the great joys of life is creativity....
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Tuesday, March 24, 2026
A Writer's Moment: 'Revealing whatever you might find'
'Revealing whatever you might find'
“Whether
writing fiction or nonfiction, I've never had the sense I was 'making up' a
character. It feels more like watching people reveal themselves, ever more
deeply, more intimately.” – Kathryn Harrison
Born
in Los Angeles in March of 1960, Harrison earned degrees at both Stanford and
the University of Iowa, where she first studied in that school’s famed Writers’
Workshop. Her debut novel, Thicker Than Water, was an instant
success and paved the way for a career that (to date) includes 8 novels and 9
nonfiction books, including one about true crime. Her most recent nonfiction
work is On Sunset.
Almost
as well known for her essays, which have been included in many anthologies and magazines like Harper's, The New
Yorker and Vogue, she also is a regular reviewer for The
New York Times Book Review. And, she teaches memoir
writing in the Master of Fine Arts Program in Creative Writing at New York’s
Hunter College.
“I
admire writers who succeed at what I consider the first demand of art,” she
said. “(And that is) that the artist
vivisect himself without pity, without hesitation, determined to reveal
whatever he might find.”
Monday, March 23, 2026
A Writer's Moment: 'It's how we go on'
'It's how we go on'
“A
good novel is an out-of-self experience. It lifts you off the ground so that
you have the sensation of flying. It says, 'Look at the world around you; learn
from the people in these pages, neither quite me nor quite you, how life is
lived in so many different ways.’” – Julia Glass
In
2002, Glass’s debut novel Three Junes got off to a very good
liftoff, indeed, winning the National Book Award for Fiction. Since
then, she’s led a very good writing life having half-a-dozen more novels
published, all to excellent reviews, her most recent being Vigil Harbor.
Born
on this date in 1956, Glass said, “My life has been wonderful, but if I had to
live the life of someone else, I'd gladly choose that of Julia Child or Dr.
Seuss: two outrageously original people, each of whom fashioned an
idiosyncratic wisdom, passion for life, and sense of humor into an art form
that anyone and everyone could savor.”
A
native of Boston who grew up in Belmont, Mass., she took a couple of divergent
life paths, first moving to Brooklyn, NY, after college (at Yale) to become a
painter, then trying her hand at magazine editing at Cosmopolitan before taking a stab at creative writing. She now lives back in
Massachusetts, teaches fictional writing at Emerson College, and continues to
write as a journalist and novelist.
“All
the best novels are about one thing: How we go on,” she said. “The
characters must survive the fallout of their own cowardice, folly, denial or
misguided passion. They squander what matters most, and still they pick up the
pieces.”
Saturday, March 21, 2026
A Writer's Moment: 'As sweet as a dance'
'As sweet as a dance'
“Poetry is to prose as dancing is to walking.” – John Barrington Wain
Born in England in March of 1925, Wain was a prolific poet, novelist and journalist, associated with the post-WWII literary group known as "The Movement.” Led by the award-winning Hurry On Down and Young Shoulders, he wrote 14 novels, 3 short story collections and 9 collections of poetry, including the much-lauded Letters To Five Artists. For Saturday’s Poem, here is Wain’s,
Outside, gulls squabbled in the empty street
Outside,
gulls squabbled in the empty street. Criticism
and
name-calling. Salt air scrubbed the gleaming
Sunday
morning walls. Gutter-split stalks, leaves, fueled the
squalling
and
wheeling. Feet, motors, slept. The inured citizens
turned
over to snore again. Beside me, my darling
slept
in a deeper peace, like a princess in a fable
all
through the sea-clean, gull-torn dawn, slept below
dreaming,
stunned
by those hours of outrageous bliss, bliss upon bliss,
when
love leapt higher than even the fiercest lovers were able.
Patient,
I lay, expecting tea and her morning kiss.