The Writing Life

"When you can’t write, you write lists. To-do lists. Reading lists. Life lists. Lists of things to be repaired or fixed. Packing lists. Shopping lists. You write longhand in tight, tiny letters that you need paper towels, eggs, butter, apples, chicken breasts, and spinach."

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Women We Read This Week

Tyrese L. Coleman on interactions between black women and white men, Jordan E. Rosenfeld on breastfeeding in public, and Kate Marvel on being a woman in science.

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Bookmarked

"I love this challenge: to produce an authentic storytelling experience in an unprecedented way—especially when the story and storytellers are radically engaged in dismantling the predominant ways that story is complicit in oppression and erasure."

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Body Of Work

"Lunch at the Fournets is just as I imagined it would be. Their apartment is tidy but stylish, colorful but understated. The two girls, aged three and six, wear matching navy blue jumpers from Petit Bateau."

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Placed

"What is the human place in the universe? I have begun to be obsessed by this question, but the answers that come from today tend toward the economic and political. Take effective political action, say the voices; agitate for legislation to abate climate change, take public transportation, contribute."

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Outlines

"It took such a long time for me to see that the book was about our relationship and that it was an abusive relationship. I didn't see that until very close to the end of writing it. I was just blind to it, myself. And that's what it was like being in it [the relationship], too: I couldn't see it for what it was.."

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Milestones

Orange, she says. I am standing next to a punch bowl talking to my husband’s boss. We have told too many people we are trying to have a baby and now, more than six months in, I am met with stares querying my slim belly, and unwanted advice. Orange underwear. Orange art. Buy orange flowers for your bedroom. Eat orange food. Orange warms the womb. The root chakra.

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Recent

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The Voice

By

Whitney Elizabeth Houston died on February 11, four years ago. It was a Saturday, the night before the Grammy Awards, the weekend before Valentine’s Day. I was sitting on the red sofa in my first Brooklyn apartment procrastinating on a work assignment with a glass of white wine and hurt feelings about a romantic problem that often distracted me.

Written by Women: A Manifesto

By Sarah Menkedick Read the story