The other night, while I was trying to get some writing done, and really struggling, and had gone through all of my usual techniques for getting my head into the right place, I took a break, and stuck this little note to my keyboard. I’ve talked a lot about not being a “real writer.” I’ve…
Category: Another World Within
London Letters #4: “That Serene and Blessed Mood”
This was to be my final letter; the one in which I told you what it’s like for me, as a scholar of 16th and 17th century English literature, to visit Stratford-on-Avon, the birthplace of Shakespeare. I hardly mentioned Shakespeare in my dissertation; but my connection with his writing goes back to childhood. Being able…
I’m Queer. Please Pass the Peas?
By Erika Grumet A few weeks ago, a thirteen year old I know showed up at my house wearing a t-shirt that read:“Bisexual Trash Panda.” Even before I was a parent, I knew adolescent sexuality pretty well–years of teaching about HIV and STIs, contraception and LGBTQ101 gave me a lens into that topic long…
London Letters #3: “The Rain it Raineth Everyday”
I decided to call this one “London Letters,” even though I’m not in London anymore, because “Shropshire Letters” doesn’t alliterate. “English Countryside Letters” has a nice ring but oh well. We had to give up Anuja’s apartment in Camden Town on Sunday, and, rather than move to a different part of the city, we decided…
I’m Going to Use the R-Word (& it’s okay if you do, too)
On an October night, twenty seven years ago, I was attacked.On an October night, twenty seven years ago, I was victimized.On an October night, twenty seven years ago, I was sexually assaulted.On an October night, twenty seven years ago, I was raped. It’s all the same night. It’s all the same thing, isn’t it? Even…
London Letters #2: “O for a Muse of Fire”
Yesterday I walked past Shakespeare’s Globe Theater. It was intense. Just walking past it. I’ve been in London now for over a week. I’ve seen a bunch of the tourist things you’re supposed to see, and not seen others. I saw the treasures of the Sutton Hoo excavation at the British Museum. I saw all…
The Story I Never Told my Grandmother
My grandmother was known for entertaining guests; in fact, the stone at her grave makes note of her skill as a hostess. I recall standing in the kitchen with my mother, while we were preparing the house to sit shiva* for her. I was busy getting the table organized, setting up coffee, and making sure…
London Letters #1: I’m Having a Great Trip
It is strange being in the city that, for over three hundred years, was the navel of the world… And not really caring. I arrived in London on October 1. Why I’m here has nothing to do with the Globe Theater or the tailors on Savile Row. Or the scones. Grief Tourism My fiancee had…
Wrong Tent: A Story of the Boy Scouts
It was a weekend camping trip with the Boy Scouts. Yes, I was a Boy Scout for a couple of years. The autumn leaves were fresh and crisp—mostly oak with some maple and ash and some other shapes besides. Sitting on the ground, we were all staring intently at some curious bit of nature while…
What it Means to Ban a Book
“Censorship reflects a society’s lack of confidence in itself.” The only book my parents ever took away from me was Catcher in the Rye. There are a lot of reasons someone might want to take that book away from a child. But none of those were the reasons my parents confiscated it from me. My…