During my undergraduate years at Indiana University, my husband and I were friends with a wonderful couple who had us over many times. First in their apartment, then in their house, Sadia and I would stand by her stove as she placed a stainless steel potbelly pan over a flame. She filled it with water, then began cutting green cardamom pods in half with scissors. I watched the pods drop into the water a half at a time, their black seeds spilling out. At my own apartment, and then my
Please be patient during this site’s metamorphosis. Some stages of growth are awkward. Rest assured the content remains the same, and it’s what’s on the inside that matters.
I have decided to tune up my writing profile. While most of the content from The Spire will stay, The Spire itself is going away. This blog is being converted to The Honeyed Quill at honeyquill.com.
One of the ways I defined myself in middle school was writing timed, rhymed poetry on a topic chosen by a peer. Me classmates considered it something of a superpower- a handy party trick I could pull out at a moment’s notice, often using the topic itself as an acronym that began each line. They would then take a copy of the poem for themselves, sometimes even place bets on whether or not I could complete a piece, say, on leprechauns in three minutes. I earned my fair share of
I made a commitment to myself when I restarted this blog that I would not just slap up space-filling content. While I’m in recovery from this hernia, which will take some time still, posts will be fewer. I will try to queue some Docks posts today for the diehard fans. I have a few essays in the works, but I’m not sure you will see them first here. Really, this is a terrible time for a break. I have just connected with a wonderful group of writers and networking with
For the last eight months, I’ve worked on bringing my body back to a healthy place postpartum. Pregnancy was not kind to me. I gained 50 pounds the first time, 75 the second time, and close to 100 the third. Pregnancy left me anxious and angry. It hurt. All the time. My abdominal wall herniated from the top down. My pelvis slid out of place when I sat or stood or breathed deeply. It was excruciating. After experiencing hyperemesis (uncontrollable vomiting) during my third pregnancy in addition to my regular
Episode 2 of The Docks went up on Friday. Did you miss it? I missed it. I missed most of last week. Here’s why. On Tuesday, I went to see my obstetrician for a routine procedure to lessen the painful residual effects of my monthly cycle. I get nausea, prolonged bleeding, skin issues, migraines- the whole shebang. The procedure was the ablation of my uterine lining. It was a snap. I went home and felt very little pain. The procedure itself was much less painful that most of my periods.
My son really wants to believe in God. He says, “I see God as a really nice man.” We have kept God out of our home for quite awhile now. Religion didn’t do us any favors. I’ve mentioned before that it became a framework for mental illness–a way for me to break myself down and punish myself for being female and sexual and human. When my son was born, I surrounded him with books and toys and songs that reflected my religious worldview. I told him how merciful and amazing
Guess what! I am deactivating the Docks page while I return to Soel and the Dunes. I will be reposting The Docks here through this process. For those of you who haven’t read The Docks, it is a sci-fi/fantasy story told in serial format on this blog, following a family of telepathically gifted nomads in a post-apocalyptic universe where the ancient forgotten is reawakening. Make sure to read to stay caught up, and to catch any story changes, as well as some mini-stories as the larger piece develops. The first
It’s a shame that writing about past abuse has the power to hurt people in the present. I did not tell anyone in my family my plans to write about my home experience. The Spire is open to the public, my family reads it, some of their friends, colleagues, etc. Two days after posting The Letter No One Wrote My Mother, I have been told that feelings are hurt, and that relations are now strained. Out of courtesy to others, I shouldn’t write these things. I was also told that