I used to say I wanted to be a writer when I was a kid.  Out loud. I even brought my stories to school for my fourth grade teacher to critique.  I proudly wore, then displayed the button she gave me.  I still have it. My kid badge of courage.   Sometime after high school, that courage deflated a bit.  I still wrote, but I filed it all away in a large Rubbermaid container. Part of it was a lack of… Read more »

  Last week I ran into the grocery store to pick up a few things. Diced tomatoes.  Check. Cereal.  Check. Bread.  Check BIZ.  Huh? It was a mystery.  One I’d written down myself only twenty minutes earlier, and still I stood there in aisle nine staring helplessly at the baking powder and flours, as if they might offer me up some sort of clue as to what BIZ was supposed to be. But I got nothing.  A brain fog—or my… Read more »