Hickory Smoked Turkey

Last night I asked my writing class to describe their writing voice.  While they were working on the exercise I took a whack at it as well. **** My writing voice tastes like sugared mint and rum. My writing voice looks like my grandma as she sat in her recliner, reading the Detroit Free Press and listening to the Tigers on the radio. My writing voice smells like coffee with sugar.  I always drink it black. My writing voice sounds like a meditation or pure sarcasm. My writing voice feels like the afghans my mom crocheted, laying on the couch.

An important read! http://www.post-gazette.com/stories/opinion/perspectives/death-of-an-adjunct-703773/

Sadly, Black Coffee Press has closed its doors. You can still purchase my book, "Border Theory," and other great BCP titles online at Amazon, Barnes and Noble and Powell's.   http://blackcoffeepress.net/

  First and Last Date The moment he said “ I'll be the one smoking at the bar reading the "Tao of Winnie the Pooh,” I should have known. I should have faked an illness and cancelled the date. I should have. Instead, I took the stool close to the door leaned in close and listened. Listened to the story of his heartbreak his time spent in a Buddhist monastery. All the while, I kept thinking: He spent time in a Buddhist monastery. He can't be that bad. But, each time I leaned in closer noticed the scent of cigarettes, stale coffee and beer looked at each pore on his face and pieced together the fact that he looked nothing like his profile picture I never once believed that the date would be going anywhere. No matter how good his stories were. After two hours of listening never quite being heard I sat still and kept drinking. When he offered to walk me home even though he lived a block a...

Tonight as I walked to buy  a bottle of wine I crossed my favorite  pedestrian bridge and took in the summer air of Pittsburgh.

It's like "Wife Swap"... only way better! Listen to four local writers, have some snacks and donate to a good cause.  See you on August 20th.

While drying my hair this morning, I felt hopeful for the day to come.  The sun was bright, birds were singing outside the window and I had just returned from a family vacation in Northern Michigan.  The mere seconds I basked in optimism for the day were thwarted by my own negative thinking.  I began to wonder: "Why would I love my life? I have a low-paying job that forces me to not only work full-time during the day but also at night, I'm a few pounds overweight, the apartment is messy, I don't have enough money and I haven't figured a damn thing out yet! What is there to love?" As soon as I caught myself in the downward spiral of negative thinking I re-routed myself back onto the optimism highway.  I was feeling inspired, damn it! Most of what I harbored on above is true, but what is wrong is my viewpoint, my own outlook on life.  Yes, I have a low-paying job and have to work multiple gigs to make ends meet but I am teaching, a vocation that feels right to...