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From Stephen Elliott
Writer and founder and director of New York’s Sackett Street Writer’s Workshop Julia Fierro talks about her debut novel, Cutting Teeth, reading with scrutiny, being able to edit your own work, and motherhood.
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My husband went back to work, and then my mom flew back to Florida, and it was just me and the baby. Alone together, but no longer the us we had been when I was pregnant.
...moreAt Buzzfeed, Rumpus Sunday Editor Gina Frangello writes about the complicated relationship between women, mothers, writing and sex:
...moreI’m not really sure how our culture has arrived at the mutually exclusive relationship between Motherhood and Sexuality, especially since in most cases, women become mothers by having sex.
On this weekend in 1652, a law was passed in Rhode Island banning slavery in the colonies. Turns out that particular law didn’t cause much of a stir.
Unfortunately, some of today’s legislation intended to protect marginalized groups isn’t faring much better.
...moreIn her deeply personal essay on The Millions, Allison K. Gibson explains some of the intense literary cravings she experienced during her pregnancy. Some of them were unexpected, even violent, but all were led entirely by intuition.
...more“Now I had a voracious appetite to consume certain books I’d read long ago, revisiting passages that had always been especially moving.
Over at BuzzFeed, Rumpus contributor Julie Greicius interviews Rumpus Sunday Editor Gina Frangello about her new novel A Life in Men, the special bonds we form in adolescence, and why moms can still write about sex. Take a peek:
...moreI’m not really sure how our culture has arrived at the mutually exclusive relationship between Motherhood and Sexuality, especially since in most cases, women become mothers by having sex.
Writer Ariel Levy offers a heart-wrenching account of adventure and coming into motherhood in her essay called “Thanksgiving in Mongolia,” featured in The New Yorker.
...morePeople were alarmed when I told them where I was going, but I was pleased with myself.
This is the part of the birth story when the woman is supposed to tap into the primal strength of her ancestors, a pool with a hundred thousand years of depth…
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Once a bright and talented writer and professor, my mother now can no longer write. She tries, but she can’t spell her name, or mine, and letters run off the page. I am humbled by how quickly time passes and how roles change. Frightened, too. Where will we both be in another fifteen years?
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It was a cool, blue morning in Baghdad. I stood in the rubble of a bombed out building, a shell of what it had once been.
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It’s two in the morning on the OB ward. Light filters into our dark room from the hallway, making a dim twilight around bassinet and bed. My first child, Emily, is twenty-seven hours old.
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I refused to listen to the B-side. This was, I guess, an extension or reflection of the poverty of those years after leaving my marriage and buying the 10 Willie Nelson records at a small town Goodwill store for 10 cents each– a kind of hoarding of every meager resource, like the unopened cans of beans, moved from kitchen to kitchen, state to state.
A few weeks ago, I was lucky enough to be around while one of my best friends gave birth to a baby boy. It was an amazing experience. As a result, unfortunately, I had to spend a lot of time at SF General.
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Joanna Smith Rakoff’s debut novel follows a group of friends through the trials and triumphs of post-college life in New York.