Adventures in writing and living, from the shores of Portland, Maine.

Rt. 11 north of Bangor, Maine

No Words North of Bangor

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… 

Summer Slide

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… 

Haunted, Guaranteed

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… 

All Of Which Are American Dreams

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 Fight With Words

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…

Words In Body Bags

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…