In October 2017, I had coffee with a friend, a woman I had worked with while soliciting art for the Children’s Museum & Theatre of Maine auction. I was beginning to think about freelance writing, and I knew she had contacts in the publishing world. She connected me with three…
There’s something about firsts. Most of us can recall them vividly. First kiss, first car, first job, first heartbreak. The specifics of time and place come easily to mind, but so do auxiliary details like smell, touch, sound, and taste. The strong feelings attached to firsts help sear these powerful…
Holy moly, how is it November? There is much to report. I’m going to pretend it’s still September and start with a trip I’ve always wanted to take. A trip to the north. I grew up in rural Maine, in a small town outside Augusta. I’m no stranger to the…
Well, that’s a wrap. Summer has come and gone, the kiddo is back in school, and it’s time to dust off the ol’ blog. I had every intention of writing in June. And July. And August. But let’s face it: Summer in Maine is fleeting. Living three miles from the…
I have a manuscript currently submitted to publishers. It’s been submitted for over six months. OVER… SIX… MONTHS. I keep reminding myself that it took The Philosopher’s Stone nearly a year to find a home. But still. Over six months. And counting. My agent, while always cautious with her words,…
I recently visited a historic inn outside of Bangor, the sole purpose of the trip being to write. It is the off season; the place is quiet and the staff is extra accommodating. When I checked in, the clerk—who was a grandmotherly type with glasses, short gray hair, and a…
Whether you believe it to be an enduring ethos of our country or a tenet fallen by the wayside, it’s hard to argue against the historical power of the American Dream. For my ancestors, the Dream drove their decisions, justified their risks, and tempered their struggles. I’ve been blessed with several…
I am not an angry person. I’m not prone to outbursts, and I will bend myself into a proverbial pretzel to avoid confrontation. I envy people who can argue their points passionately in the face of opposition without getting riled and tongue-tied…
Sometimes I open the folder on my desktop entitled WRITING and scroll through all the Word documents that have lived and died on my hard drive. I looked just now, for the purpose of this post. There are twenty-three of them. Twenty-three stories I’ve started in the past eight years, twelve I’ve completed… to the tune of (at least) 300 pages a pop…
I completed my first manuscript, all 420 pages of it, without telling a soul what I was doing. Just the thought of saying these words: “Hi, I’m Sarah, I’m a stay-at-home mom working on my first novel” was enough to induce debilitating nausea. It was just so cliché…
