About Me

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Hello! I'm a writer from central New York who has bipolar disorder. Among other topics, I write about mental illness and writing. I have short stories published in Lynx Eye, Lost Coast Review, The Outrider Review, Sliver of Stone Magazine, The Mondegreen, The Linnet's Wings, Cobalt Review, Breath & Shadow, The Round Up, Postscripts to Darkness, Masque & Spectacle, and several other journals. I have a poem in The Poeming Pigeon, essays about mental illness in The Ram Boutique and Amygdala Literary Magazine, and an essay in Parts Unbound: Narratives of Mental Illness & Health, a book that was published by Lime Hawk Literary Arts Collective. My story "Santa Lucia" was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. I've written three novels entitled Purple Loosestrife, Hoping It Might Be So, and Dark and Bright, all of which are as yet unpublished. I'm working on a memoir about my experiences with bipolar disorder. I have a B.A. in English from SUNY Buffalo and an M.A. in English from SUNY College at Brockport. I hope you enjoy your visit to my blog!

Sunday, March 8, 2015


Again I find myself with no fiction in the works. After finishing "Such a Lovely Girl" for the time being, I wrote a flash fiction piece (693 words) called "The Problem with Squirrels".
It's a piece taken from life and a time when my son and I were first on our own after my divorce. We were living in a townhouse complex in the woods, and the management felt there was a problem with all the squirrels. So I've written about this and intend to have it critiqued by my writers group (along with the other story).

As far as writing from life, I continue to work on my memoir, or at least essays about my bipolar experiences. Right now I'm working on an essay about a tough time in college when I was very depressed. I had the belief that a bouquet of flowers would make everything better, and so I made my boyfriend at the time drive all over the rural areas surrounding Buffalo (this is where he was from) looking for a florist. Of course, there were no florists, nor were there any farm markets open since this happened in February. A few days after driving around, instead of flowers, my boyfriend brought me a cactus.This seemed a fitting symbol for how I felt at that time right down to my bones.

I'll continue to work on my memoir/essays, and I need to start working on a new fiction project, or perhaps pick up an older one and see what I can do with it. I'm thinking of revisiting "The Infant of Prague". Perhaps that's what I'll do.

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