This past summer, in Taos, New Mexico, I spent six weeks nestled inside adobe walls. The walls of the home were thick red mud, caked by man and baked by sun. The garden and patio...
Recently, my granddaughter Sophie Eagle and I visited Minneapolis expressly to explore, not the giant Mall of the Americas, but rather a small independent bookshop owned by the Ojibway author, Louise Erdrich. In keeping with
A post-covid phenomenon that seems to linger is that our events-horizons have shortened. That’s just a fancy way of saying most of us are not planning far in advance, at least not in the way
All marketing wizards in the queendom of Authorland want me to spell out my mission. I suppose in common vernacular it means something like this: “Hey Bubbette! Why are you writing?” According to the wise
My birth was rocky back in 1949. For me, life began with a weak pulse. Premature almost a full month, I spent weeks fighting my way past the incubator cage and into the world. Every