My pen is a mighty tool, cutting the page like my surgeon’s scalpel: first drafts, rewrites, content edits, line edits, whatever it takes to tell the story, or heal the body.
For my body, that meant a Nipple-Sparing Double Mastectomy with two reconstructive surgeries to cull a 1.5-centimeter invader named Invasive Lobular Breast Cancer. How can something so small cause so much carnage? For my body of work, it means passionate pursuit of the story and painstaking craftsmanship to tell it with concision and skill.
I began this blog in 2016 under the tagline “cracking the past’s glass,” and, over the years, I have written many pieces jabbing at glass ceilings, not only of male chauvinism and a culture of toxic masculinity but also at the trappings of bigotry and greed that build walls when we should be building bridges. The poor still go hungry. The homeless abound. We derail programs instead of fixing them–National Health Care, anyone? More than 40% of cancer patients in the United States file for bankruptcy within two years of diagnosis. The global pandemic has illustrated the imbalances in our systems. These themes are often threaded through my fiction and poetry, forming a colorful and, hopefully, poignant tapestry of words.
I am still jabbing. I won’t stop. I am motivated. I move my pen daily. Ink flows.
I invite you to pull up a chair and stay.
Just watch where you step.
I break things.
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