The secret of time travel is a matter of mind over time. Studying a photograph, I wing through time like Wendy and Peter Pan, flying backward through the century against a headwind to find a lost family. I reach out my arms through the decades to embrace my mother, aunt and grandmother on a spring day... » more

Sometimes…, I still feel your eyes on me. An unexpected sound, and I know it’s you, Reminding me of something I should do. You were always amused by my scatteredness. » more  Read More →

Hello fellow writers, I just joined NAMW and would love to “meet” the rest of you. I have signed up for the teleconference on 4/23, have had my book reviewed by member, Sharon, Lippincott, and am about to share my first story in this Cafe. Looking forward to connecting with all of you soon. Karen... » more

It was 1956 when I was sexually molested by a stranger. I was seven years old. Now I am almost 60 and still dealing with the effects of that trauma. Experts say the impact sexual abuse has on a child varies, depending on the severity and longevity of the abuse. Other factors such as home environment... » more

North Road, Los Alamos I’ve always know I grew up in a special place, and that the landscape and scenery comprising Los Alamos was the largest part of its magic, surpassing the intensity of its historical significance, the unique advantages of educational opportunities unavailable in most public... » more

Marjorie Webb I watch with wonder my four year old grandson as he demonstrates for me that he has learned to skip. “It’s not walking, Grandma,” he explains as he gaily skips across the living room floor. “You only put one foot down and then jump to the other one, like this,” he says. He is... » more

Having judged several writing contests in the last couple of years, I find myself wanting to share how to avoid the common things that make a judge put your piece in the “no” pile, or even the maybe pile, and select others as winners. There are two factors in how contests are judged—and the first... » more

I enjoyed the wonderful scene at the San Francisco Writing Conference held at the Mark Hopkins hotel on Nob Hill. There were uniformed doormen, crystal chandeliers, and 400 writers, authors, and agents, milling about. What a scene of excited and happy writers! There were so many workshops, and such... » more

It’s February in Ripon. At the Wilma Street overpass, A wide black ribbon narrows away Curving through morning haze Toward a rose-tinted sky, disappearing Into a milky sea of almond flowers, And the fragrance of Bloom pervades. It’s a magic time when girls smile, Boys tuck in their shirttails, And... » more

It wasn’t my fault when I threw away my new husband’s paycheck—after all, I tidy up the house—and our marriage vows hadn’t stipulated, “Thou shalt not throw away thy spouse’s paycheck.” I considered denial, running away from home, or shifting the blame for this transgression. A twisty... » more