My Kindergarten best friend was also my very first friend. We were so similarly timid that we didn’t mind that our conversations were brief bits that hinted at our equally isolated upbringing. Our zen-like circuit of a cobblestone walk was our practice place for future socializing.
Visit Substack to read about my first rewarding peer relationship with another fragile soul.
Have we forgotten Kent State? Visit Substack to read my post on the subject.
Visit Substack to read my post on the subject.
https://lindasummersea.substack.com/p/a-grown-ass-woman
(Edit: Trigger Warning. I apologize for not labeling this post as including Animal Death.) Growing up in an 1850’s farmhouse in Massachusetts ignited my imagination like no place since. In the cellar, where I was sent to pull carrots from the sandbox in winter, I fantasized about the farmhouse being part of the Underground Railroad. […]
I’ve just posted my first note with Substack. I hope you’ll follow me. I’ve been enjoying so many other Substack writers that I’m going to post there for the most part, and occasionally, here on my (old, previous) WordPress blog. Take a look. Love and Cheers, Linda Summersea https://lindasummersea.substack.com/?r=1l92ik&utm_campaign=pub&utm_medium=web
I’ve spent the past few days re-reading my memoir manuscript from start to finish. This time I wanted to focus on experiencing the manuscript as a reader would, while watching for any needed edits in sentence structure, punctuation, tone, and voice. In the past, in addition to my developmental editor’s work, I’ve done seven (eight?) […]
I meant it. But this year’s posts have few and far between. Priorities I’ve stuck to? Querying agents for my coming-of-age memoir. Taking writing classes via Zoom. Attending monthly writing group meetings. Exploring other writing formats—namely, Flash Non-Fiction. Oh yeah, and writing in my journal at least every other day. The hard work? Relocating from […]
It’s that time of year when some of us look back on August 13-18, 1969 and wish we’d had the presence of mind to head to Max Yasgur’s dairy farm in Bethel, NY that weekend.
Back in the day, my mother told me a slew of lies, but none worried me so much as the lie I divulge in Chapter 65 of my memoir, The Girl with the Black and Blue Doll. Chapter Sixty-Five Fertilized Eggs When I reflect on Kristen and the Saturday night dances, I remember that not […]