In conversation with Adrian Baker on the “Redesigning The Dharma”podcast
Delighted to have been in convo with Adrian Baker on his podcast, Redesigning the Dharma! We talked about Eros, devotion, love, Dzogchen, pleasure, suffering, and the liberatory, vibrant nature of emptiness.
I have never been on a podcast before and felt very nervous talking about Dzogchen publicly since I’m hardly a expert, and these practices are very sacred to me, and we also held the conversation at 8pm when my brain was fried after a day of parenting and work.
Fortunately Adrian is a great podcast host and he put me at ease. I knew I would get a bunch of things wrong but participated anyway in hopes that it would inspire someone to use these incredible teachings and methods in their own life. I think I did an okay job, in spite of setting my computer’s camera way too high.
After the interview, I woke up the next morning and immediately thought of a dozen things that I could have explained better, or more clearly, or points I could have focused on. I’m so much more confident as a writer than a speaker, but I’m glad I did it. May all beings know their excellent friend, mind itself!
Lastly, I neglected to send in a headshot, and it appears that the editor used a photo of me from eight years ago for the episode’s image cover, and it is quite lovely, flowy, feminine and youthful. I’m including a more recent and more accurate headshot below :
Ekajati, Courtesy of The Himalayan Art Museum
This is a blog now.
I’ve been rethinking my newsletter, which is hosted on Substack, and shifting how I want to write in free and public formats.
This largely came about because of my own capacity as a parent caring for two young children, one of whom is under the age of five, and as a person with a day job, and a working writer who is starting two new longer projects, one of which might be a short story (or a novel? I can never tell!) the other which will hopefully turn into a book-length memoir-in-essays. Also, I listened to this great conversation between Amelia Hruby and Seth Werkheiser on the Off The Grid podcast, and became terribly nostalgic for the way we used to keep blogs, the way other people feel nostalgic about vinyl or print photo albums.
I started my Substack at the tail-end writing of a novella manuscript. Finishing a long writing project is never easy. It’s like being a groundhog digging in a tunnel of burrows. You quickly forget what the above ground looks like, you constantly feel a wall around you, and it can be stuffy and hard to breathe, even if you’re the kind of animal that likes a subterranean home. Substack felt, to me, like a way to poke my head out of the hole to see what else was going on around me. To get some fresh air and a snack.
One of my favorite things about Substack was finding other spiritually-inclined readers and writers who had passions and interests outside of spirituality, and who, like me, find reverence without humor and silliness to be a bit suffocating. I found other dharma practitioners who also like frothy podcasts and peonies in June and Mary Oliver and art at the Getty and the raunchy stand-up of Ally Wong.
The best part of Substack, as I’ve seen it, is having a supportive community of other writers and readers. It feels like you can have a kind of pen-pal communication style relationship with people, a low-key sangha created through reading and commenting and sharing posts. I always love knowing that my work has touched someone in some way. It’s a huge reason why I write. Posting a short essay each month on Substack gave me a productive, creative break from the marathon pace of finishing a novella, and it felt rewarding to have my work immediately seen and engaged with.
Also: My inner bookseller loves championing the work of writers I admire on Substack. I think this comes from being a writer in a supportive literary community like Chicago, where there is a feeling that when the tide rises, we all float up together. I’ve had way more in-depth, meaningful conversations on Substack than I ever have had on Twitter (I got off in 2020) or Instagram. I’ve met people on Substack who I genuinely think are cool and who I would have coffee with if we lived in the same place.
I felt FOMO occasionally on Substack, and I felt downright envy occasionally, but I could deal with those. I wanted subscribers but I didn’t want to woo subscribers, so I didn’t let metrics drive my writing. Losing and gaining subscribers was a test of equanimity, one always forced me to get in touch with my own sense of truth. I had, after all, set out to write about subjects the dharma world often ignores or dismisses. Sexuality, love, art, family life, creativity, and the frivolous shit that makes life enjoyable in the ever continuing pile-on of casualties of war, genocide, political chaos, and environmental catastrophe, and not to mention, the personal tragedies and hardships and petty meanesss that so many people quietly endure.
I was pretty sure I had found the internet that my Gen-X husband had so innocently enjoyed in 1998, when I was a high school student, a burgeoning Gen-Yer, at a time before we insisted on categorizing each generation with these sticky labels. The best of Substack reminds me of my teenage days lurking on the Tori Amos listserv I signed up for when I was sixteen. It was a world filled with weirdos and rebels and people who dared to trust enough their own experience of the world.
It’s an important human need: to feel seen by others, and to have the pleasure of also seeing others.
I think that this is a very natural desire that often gets lost in the way that feeling seen has been driven to online spaces, where we are both rewarded through a gamefied system of “followers,” when so many people would just like to feel seen and see others in a way that is human. More than any other platform, I think Substack has given me the pleasure of seeing others in a way that is far more genuine than most social media. That being said, I think it’s very telling that the people who read your Substack are not “readers” but labeled as “subscribers.”
Because Substack doesn’t want the experience to be about reading.
Substack is not a list-serv from the glorious wild days of the 1998 World Wide Web. It’s propelled by an algorithm, propelled by our engagement not only on how often we post a newsletter, but how often we comment on others work, how often we restack work, and how often we post on Notes. I was sort of okay with all of that.
What I wasn’t prepared to deal with was losing my attention span for actual, real, honest-to-god books and long-form essays.
As a parent of young children, reading on your phone can feel like an adult conversation at a park; you’re desperate to talk with someone who doesn’t need you to open their yogurt pouch. I read newsletters on my phone while my four-year-old daughter played in the bath, and in the car parking lot while I waited for my ten-year-old son to get out of piano lessons, and on the couch after a long day while my daughter would ask for a new kind of snack every ten minutes. The medium allowed to pause whatever I was reading, rinse the blueberries, put them in a bowl, wipe down the counter, and then continue on to an 800 word newsletter topic that usually focused on a timely but ephemeral topic that has, like art critic Dave Hickey once said, “the expiration date of a gallon milk.”
I found that I wasn’t reading as much anymore, and I couldn’t blame it on having young children. I am a reader. Fast, note-taking, ravenous. Even in the fatigue of parenting an infant (before I ever got onto Substack) I could summon up the attention to read books that will give you carpal tunnel syndrome. I read Cedric Robinson’s Black Marxism when my daughter was six months old (a feat which astonishes me, I don’t know what that woman was thinking). I read the door-stopper of a book, The Dawn of Everything, by David Graeber and David Wengrow when she was a year-old, and before bed, because I’m the sort of nutty person who finds arguments about Hobbes vs. Rousseau and civilization to be kind of relaxing when they’re written for a popular audience.
Substack made me feel like I was reading, but it wasn’t wholesome, real reading. It was sugar, a high-glycemic index kind of stuff, not a well-prepared, three course, rich meal. My Goodreads list fell to the wayside. I scrolled on my phone, reading in the spared moments of parents and work, but not in the diligent way that all writers know how to read--with a pen or pencil in hand, to teach yourself how to create from what you are taking in. There’s enough research out there (Google it) which demonstrates that we don’t read as well on screens. I started noticing that when I picked up a book, I simply didn’t have the will or attention to wade in fully.
Substack likes to claim that it’s the maverick of the publishing industry, an outlet for independent voices. And this is true. Many people have discovered that--yes--they have it in them to write to an audience that wants to hear them, and this inspires them to write books. But the medium of Substack--a tiny screen in your hand--does not lend itself to the cognitive work of reading a really damn good essay with an air-tight argument, one that has been reviewed by an editor who won’t let you be lazy about transitions or sources on hearsay. It’s definitely not the medium for a literary short story that will reward you handsomely, fulsomely, but only if you pay attention.
It is a fancy blog. And that’s cool, because I like fancy blogs. But this isn’t the kind of reading I want to spend my life doing, and it’s not the kind of writing I want to spend my life doing either.
I’m not an extremist about much of anything, so I’m not deactivating my account or moving to Ghost, but I am, going to blog here more, and less there, and focus the hours I put into writing and also formatting my newsletter’s short essays into a book of fully developed essays, because that is what I’m hungry for as a reader, and that’s what makes me feel full.
What we ingest eventually becomes us--the tallow of our bones, the quantity of red blood cells, the luster of our hair.
And I want to feel mostly made from books, not newsletter posts.
“Make Your Own Writing Oracle” goes to StoryStudio Chicago on 10/29
I’m thrilled to be teaching an in-person version of the class, “Make Your Own Writing Oracle” at StoryStudio in Chicago on October 29th.
Here’s the full description with a link below:
Have a creative roadblock? Feel like you’ve used all the tricks in the bag? In this class, we’ll explore the oracles of inquiry, collage, and bibliomancy to gather inspiration for new ideas, get “unstuck” on creative projects, build more meaningful patterns in your work, and ask yourself better questions.
Oracles are not crystal balls that predict the future. They’re mirrors that clearly reflect how present conditions can change into a breadth of possibilities.
Oracles work because they create environments for us to gain deeper insight into what is already there.
You’ll leave class with an inquiry process on how to ask yourself better questions, a collage, a few new pages of writing and ideas, and a toolkit to continue the work of using oracles in future projects.
Bring your favorite book of poetry and collage supplies with you!
Screenshot and link to the class, “Make Your Own Writing Oracle”
Published essay in Tricycle, a class recording, & recent work
Excited that my piece “The Price of Practice” is now available in the 2025 summer print journal of Tricycle!
This essay was the very first post I published in my newsletter. I was pretty sure the essay would never appear anywhere else because of the subject matter—how I almost started dancing at a strip club at the age of 19 to afford to study Buddhism. I submitted the piece to Tricycle but also convinced myself that they would never ever accept it in a million years because it was too critical of Buddhist centers and also, twerking and sex and g-strings are mentioned.
Anyway, I was wrong. Super wrong. I’m so glad I was, and I’m happy that dharma is becoming more accessible and that we can talk about how it doesn’t always feel that way. I hope this piece inspires other to be fully themselves in their dharma, to leave nothing out, and to shed rigid ideas about what it means to be a spiritual person.
I’m especially grateful to all the dharma teachers out there who have gone out of their way to make these precious teachings financially accessible to middle-class and working class people.
I had a wonderful time teaching a class this June on how to “Make Your Writing Oracle.” We used inquiry, bibliomancy, and collage to make our own oracles and ask better questions of our work. These are playful and eerily insightful methods that I’ve often used to get unstuck in my writing and start new projects. I’m stoked to be teaching an in-person version of this same class at StoryStudio Chicago later in the fall.
Last May, I wrote about finishing a short novel manuscript in a piece called, “Make Art Like You’re Going to Die.” Recalling that death is inevitable always, always makes me more true to myself in my writing—and I have more fun when I’m true to myself.
I wrote a piece, “Bring Sex & Eros To Buddhism,” on how talking about healthy sexuality and partnership prevents abuse. I describe my own experience surviving rape as a college student while in a summer writing workshop, and how the elders (the professors) in that community enabled the alcoholism of the student who raped me. These similar dynamics—elders abdicating their responsibility and care for the young—occur in Buddhist sanghas with abusive teachers. And also: good sex is good for us, and we really need to take a moment to distinguish the innate goodness and pleasure of healthy sexuality from the harm of sexual violence.
In April, I wrote an essay on duende, dancing, the legacy of colonization, and the dakini in “You Can’t Control A Body That Embraces Its Own Delight: What The Dakini Knows About Transforming Pain.” Enjoying ourselves through dance and music is a way of resistance, healing, and a method to glimpse our naturally awakened mind. The vajrayana symbol of the dakini, like Federico Garcia Lorca’s concept of duende, teaches us how to “dance at the rim of the wound.”
“Make Your Own Writing Oracle” Tuesday 6/3 @ 7pm CT
I'm thrilled to be teaching a class on how to create your own writing oracle on Tuesday 6/3 at 7pm CT. This oracle is not a crystal ball that predicts that future, but a mirror into our own imaginations that reflects new possibilities for when we feel stuck, uninspired, or overwhelmed ✨ You'll learn how to use the oracles of collage and bibliomancy to get "unstuck" on creative projects, start new works, and ask yourself better questions. Bring collage supplies (or download Canva, if you're a digital babe) and bring your favorite book of poetry with you.
You'll leave class with a collage oracle, a step-by-step process on how to ask yourself better questions when you get stuck/uninspired/overwhelmed while writing, a page or two of new writing, and a process for continuing this work on your own.
Watch the class preview below and sign up here.
Writing Into Wonder & Amazement
I held a class, “Writing Into Wonder & Amazement,” with a wonderful group of people last night over Zoom. It was lovely being steeped in the numinous with others, and participants reported feeling inspired, blissed, open, and “melty” from the writing exercises, which makes me happy to hear 💗
If you’d like to view a recording of this class and others, you can become a paid subscriber of Your Wild And Radiant Mind.
Below is the graphic and you can read more about the class in this month’s newsletter.
New short fiction! Plus, a monthly mini-salon series
I’m thrilled to announce that I have new short story published in the Spring 2025 edition of EPOCH Magazine, “Rare & Precious Antiques.” It’s about animistic vampires, objects with sentimental value, antique stores, and the weirdly colonial aesthetic of the Anthro catalogue circa 2013. You can buy the PDF of the journal here.
In January, I formally changed my Substack’s name to Your Wild And Radiant Mind to reflect the creativity aspect of the newsletter and to not scare folks off with my Buddhist gothiness. (The former title was This Is All Going Away.) I also worked with a very talented designer, Ashley Siebels, to help me out with the logo design. She did a fabulous job interpreting my very vibe-y mood board suggestions to create something far better than what I could have imagined.
I started a monthly mini-salon with my friend and fellow writer, Inés Bellina, creator of The Cranky Guide. Inés tends to focus her newsletter on the practical side of writing, but on the back-end she is very woo (she’s a big fan of astrology and Tarot), and I tend to focus on the woo side of writing, but on the back-end I’m very practical. Each month, we’ll address a subject that intersects at the spiritual and the practical. Our first topic was “Screw Duality: Harnessing The Intuitive and The Practical In The Creative Process.” It was amazing to be in community with such an savvy, thoughtful group of creatives and I can’t wait to have the next salon on March 13th. You can sign up here.
The mini-salon will be held every 2nd Thursday at 12-12:40pm CT. Free subscribers to our newsletters are invited to pay-what-you-can with the suggested donation of $15, but we will gratefully accept any amount. Paid subscribers get in for free to the salons as a subscription perk and will also receive a recording.
Over the last few months, I’ve worked on my novel-in-progress and multiple seed starter essays on Buddhism, language, and creativity: Death As A Teacher, Be Useless and Love Other People, The World Is Your Oracle, Sometimes Buddhism Is Magic and Witchcraft, and Our Joy Will Be Their Downfall.
You can read my newsletter here
Recent publications, classes, and newsletter
Lots has happened since I last updated this page because I am generally pretty lazy about giving updates across the many (many!) platforms we’re all supposed to be on. But I’ve been recently reminded by Seth Werkeiser, creator of The Social Media Escape Club, that your website is not a billboard, it’s a hub. So I hope to do a quarterly update on publications, classes, and projects on here. (It feels weird to call it a blog. Are blogs still a thing?)
Anyway! All of this exciting stuff happened over the summer:
I started seeing clients for creativity and writing coaching. One of my favorite parts of teaching college is office hours—where students come talk to me in my office and I have the opportunity to give them 100% of my attention. Rather than having to think about the needs of eighteen people, I can just focus on the need’s of one person. Creativity and writing coaching is a bit like office hours. I Iove giving people creativity advice that’s personalized just for them, along with the fullness of my attention. I’m looking forward to expanding coaching next year.
Tricycle published my essay “Failure As Liberation.” It’s about growing up in a queer family, Ati Yoga, shelving my first novel, failure, “the false self,” and the liberation of writing whatever the you damn well please.
Another essay of mine, “Your Mind Is The Lover: Eros, Amor, and Mahamudra” was published in The Canelands Magazine at the University of Kentucky. You can read the original essay in The Canelands, or read a slightly abridged version of this essay which I re-titled as “How Falling In Love Teaches Us How to Meditate,” available through my newsletter.
I taught a class on Writing Into Wonder & Amazement at StoryStudio in early October. I had an awesome time teaching this class in-person and I’m stoked to be teaching an online version of it through Substack in early 2025.
Here’s the description: What makes us feel awe and wonder when we read something amazing? “The numinous” is a word often used in relation to the spiritual; it describes a tremendous experience that fills us with mystery, wonder, awe, fascination, and sometimes even terror.
Within a text, a sense of the numinous is created through an engagement with poetic language that disorients us into amazement. Although this is evoked through the medium of language, we’re left as readers with a feeling of speechlessness.
We’ll deepen our understanding of the numinous by reading writers and poets such as Clarice Lispector, Ada Limón, Ocean Vuong, and Carson McCullers. We’ll reflect upon the occasions that the numinous is most often engaged and why. Using in-class writing exercises, we’ll explore the kind of attention that separates a numinous experience from a mundane one.
Students will leave with a few pages of writing on a new or pre-existing project, ideas on how to connect to the numinous in their own work, and hopefully, a renewed sense of enchantment. This workshop is open to both prose writers and poets.
I also taught a professional development class for the staff at StoryStudio, “The Art of The High Stakes Conversation: How Goodwill, Curiosity & Integrity Resolve Conflicts.” This class offers guidance on how to resolve conflicts when there is a lot to lose and/or there is a lot emotional tension. Also: how to resolve conflicts when the stakes aren’t high but someone wants them to be.
How can you maintain a sense of integrity and calm when someone else is trying to pull your into a melodrama? We used breathing exercises, a boot-leg version of metta meditation, creative writing, and thoughtful discussion to respond to high stakes scenarios.
Says StoryStudio’s Executive Director, Jessica Keller, "Sarah provided one. of the best professional development sessions I've been a part of. This training incorporated elements that were applicable to all our staff—spanning age groups and job functions. In addition to the topic that was very needed for us, it was also a relaxed team building environment that was much needed for our hybrid staff. I'd highly recommend this or any training Sarah leads."
In the past few months, I’ve written about desire, the erotic, and spirituality, the limits and perils of secular meditation, why writing mediocre poetry helps me write better fiction, how rest feeds our creative subconscious, and why “compassion” doesn’t do it for me. You can find all these pieces in my newsletter.
Lastly, I finished another draft of my novel manuscript. I can tell the final draft is actually there, and fit feels like I’m sinking my hands into wet clay and feel some kind of treasure. And that feels good.
“Joyful Effort: Practice & Play”
New Substack post + A professional development workshop at StoryStudio
I wrote about the Buddhist concept of "joyful effort" as it relates to practice and play in writing. I also discuss the importance of ritual in my writing practice, Malcom Gladwell’s 10,000 hours rule, the Sanskrit word “lila,” and Van Gogh’s mediocre (and maybe just plain bad) early drawings. I'm delighted that so many people have found this article to be encouraging!
Excerpt from “Joyful Effort: Practice & Play”
I also taught a secular version of this mindset in a professional development workshop StoryStudio, a nonprofit creative writing based in Chicago where I work as a consultant. The instructors and staff are incredibly talented and hardworking. In this hybrid online/in-person workshop, we discussed strategies on how to teach practice and play in the creative writing classroom, and why these mindsets are so important in our own writing practices.
If you’re a business or nonprofit leader who would like this training adapted for your staff, please reach out using the contact form.
Below is the description for the training:
Our most dedicated students often experience the same complaint that we feel in our own writing: this work is hard.
We should acknowledge that writing takes discipline and effort, but how can we also encourage our students to infuse their writing process with joy and playfulness? What are ways in which the time spent “warming-up” for the big game invites new possibilities, spontaneity, and surprising directions? How can we communicate to our students that writing, like any other artistic discipline, takes hours of practice? And that practice is essential to mastery?
In this professional development workshop, we’ll form our own unique pedagogies around the idea of practice and peer-share some of our favorite writing exercises to help students reframe the hard work of writing as a form of play.
Thank you to everyone who showed up, online or in-person! (And thank you program curator and author, Ananda Lima, for the photos!)
Reading at Tuesday Funk on 3/2/24 + New post on Substack
Hello world!
I’m very excited to be reading at the Hopleaf tomorrow night, 3/2/24, for the Tuesday Funk Reading Series. I love, love, love the Tuesday Funk. It is never boring! I promise to read something that will transfix and delight you—and it won’t go on for too long.
Also, I have a new post on Substack, The Antidote Is Love: Relieving Chronic Pain & Less Through Meditation. Bodies are wonderful, but damn if it doesn’t hurt to have a body sometimes. This post includes Mexica/Aztec host figurines, Tibetan Body Mandalas, somatic bliss, chronic pain, my mother’s disability, holding pain with love, and the limits of healing narratives. I hope it brings a sense of comfort and freedom.
This Is All Going Away: a Substack
I’m very excited to share my thoughts on Vajrayana Buddhism in a newsletter and not just on iPhone notes! I’ll be posting observations, short essays, and sneaky-secular Dharma once a month.
You can read and sign up for This Is All Going Away here.
Or read the About page to see if this newsletter might be for you.
My first post was definitely one that made me feel a bit more vulnerable than I expected. (A new vibe for me, since I’m used to fictionalizing my emotions and dressing them up as other people). I wrote about how, as a college student, I couldn’t afford to study Dharma at a center in my hometown, and how I nearly started dancing as a stripper to study abroad in a Buddhist country.
You can read the full essay, “What Strip Clubs Can Teach Us About Dharma,” here.
Artist in Residence at Northwestern University, Fall 2020
I just wrapped up my first quarter teaching a fiction class as an Artist in Residence at Northwestern. The students were lovely — hardworking, talented, and thoughtful. Above all, I was impressed by how they attended to each other’s work during this incredibly challenging time.
We used Thrill Me, by Benjamin Percy, as a core text. It’s an entertaining and witty guide to writing that focuses on creating suspense and tension. Percy offers easy-to-apply antidotes to some of the trappings of literary fiction (e.g. long wistful gazes out of kitchen windows, “epiphanic dew,” an overreliance on flashbacks), and he’s funny as hell.
Looking forward to teaching another class in the spring!
Love this book!
AWP Panel: Worry About It Later: Strategies to Finish What You Start, 3/5/20
An armadillo listening to Selena
With Christine Sneed, Juan Martinez, Kendra Fortmeyer, and Amy Gentry
Starting is often the easy part—it’s what comes after that’s so difficult for many writers. In this panel, we’ll discuss strategies for completing the first draft, along with our experiences of sending out and eventually publishing work that in some cases went through many drafts. We’ll also discuss how to deal with self-doubt and how to write through potential problems. Lastly, we’ll share advice about when to set a project aside.
Date: Thursday, March 5th, 2020
Time: 9am-10:15am
Place: Henry B. González Convention Center, Room 141, San Antonio, TX
Online Intro to Fiction class with moi, October 8th-November 5th
I’m teaching an online Intro Fiction class this fall at StoryStudio and you should definitely sign-up! We will read brilliant, masterful short stories and rob them of every good technique we possibly can. This is a great class for anyone who has been wanting to write fiction for a while but doesn’t know where to start, or for fiction writers who’d like to brush up on the foundations. Register here. Below is the full description.
You have a story you want to tell, but what exactly makes a compelling story? In this five-week workshop with acclaimed short story writer Sarah Kokernot, you’ll learn the building blocks of writing fiction: character, conflict and plot, dialogue, and point of view. We’ll examine stories that teach us the rules, and stories that teach us how to bend them. By the end of class, students will have one or more stories in development.
Each class session will involve writing exercises and outside readings. Some writing assignments will be peer-reviewed and all assignments will receive instructor feedback. Out-of-class readings will include works by Alice Munro, Jorge Luis Borges, ZZ Packer, Katherine Anne Porter, Clarice Lispector, Anton Checkhov, and Jhumpa Lahiri.
Week 1: Who’s This? Get to know your characters and their world through empathetic and playful writing exercises.
Week 2: What Happens Next? Build conflict and find your story’s beginning, middle, and end.
Week 3: Tell Me About It. Write dialogue that reveals character and energizes your narrative.
Week 4: Out Here, In There. Find a point of view that allows for just the right amount of distance.
Week 5: Everyone Has An Opinion. Receive positive, constructive peer feedback on your work and learn strategies on how to integrate feedback into revision.
This class is open to all genres but readings will focus on literary fiction. Sign-up at StoryStudio.
NOTE: New materials become available each week on Tuesday, but lessons can be completed any time during the week. You do not need to be online at a certain time/date.
Northwestern University Summer Writers' Conference: Good Writing Is Revising
I’m looking forward to an insightful, fun conversation on revision with Randall Albers, Eric Charles May, and Donna Seaman. Come see us at NU this Saturday!
Northbrook Writes: "Revision Is Everything," Saturday, 3/16
I’m looking forward to teaching a class on revision at Northbrook Public Library this Saturday, March 16th from 1:00-2:30pm. Here’s the full description:
Writers often talk about rewriting their work 4, 7 or 11 times. But what does "rewriting" actually entail? In this workshop, acclaimed short story writer Sarah Kokernot will provide revision strategies on how to rewrite your work until it is your best work. You'll dive deep into issues of point of view, exposition, dialogue, and the importance of loose first drafts.
Register here!
StoryStudio Gig
I’m very pleased (and very late) to report that I accepted a position as Program Curator at StoryStudio last summer!
StoryStudio offers a variety of creative writing classes to adults and youth. Imagine an à la carte MFA program where you don’t go into student debt or quit your day job. The instructors are incredibly talented writers with serious teaching chops. My job is supporting instructors while they develop concepts for their classes, and helping to ensure that student learning needs are met.
In addition to working at StoryStudio, I’m growing my business as a freelance writer and editor. Contact me for more information and rates.
Generative Writing Workshop at StoryStudio this summer!
I am excited to teach a creative writing class this summer at StoryStudio! The course description is available here and also below.
Writing is a serious kind of play—it requires experimentation, spontaneity, and an openness to try again. This four-week, all-levels class taught by acclaimed short story writer Sarah Kokernot will cover playful, generative writing techniques that will help you feel a renewed interest in your own work. We’ll borrow and steal from poetry, visual art, and our favorite writers. Such activities include:
Poetry Bath: We’ll bring in a few of our favorite books of poetry and incorporate lines into new or ongoing work.
Syntax Imitation: We’ll choose a paragraph from a work we admire and do our best to closely imitate its syntax.
Sentence Hopscotch: We’ll read through old magazines, pick sentences that intrigue us, then build a paragraph or scene around those sentences.
Students will leave with stories in development or new material for an ongoing project, in addition to feedback from the instructor.
Be prepared to work on and share new material in class, give positive feedback to your peers, and complete short assignments at home.
"Best Worst American" by Juan Martinez
Juan Martinez has a book of short stories out!
I would love this book even if I wasn't married to the author. The stories are darkly funny and beautifully imagined. But, don't take my word for it. Here's a glowing review from the less biased experts at Tor: "... you will emerge changed by his imagination, ready to see the world in a different light."
Buy a copy from Small Beer Press or through your local independent bookstore, such as Women and Children First in Chicago.
"Pleasure To Make Your Acquaintance" Distinguished in Best American Short Stories 2016
I was excited and proud to discover that "Pleasure To Make Your Acquaintance" is a distinguished story in Best American Short Stories 2016. It's been a crazy, hectic summer and to tell the truth it's been hard to carve out time to write between raising a toddler and making a living. Acknowledgements like this are a huge encouragement. Thank you Heidi Pitlor and Junot Diaz!
Thanks also to Crazyhorse for originally publishing this story in their Spring 2015 issue.
