When I first met him, I was living at the Villa Roma, a sweet little rose-pink courtyard apartment on a tree-lined street. Problem was, there was almost never a place to park. I might sit in front of my apartment for up to an hour waiting for someone to leave, then grab their spot.
One of the most telling things about him, and what just might have made me fall in love with him, was that early on he surprised me by renting me a parking spot in a lot just a half block from my apartment.
I married him.
RetroFlash – 100 words
Artist, writer, storyteller, spy. Okay, not a spy…I was just going for the rhythm.
I call myself “an inveterate dabbler.” (And my husband calls me “an invertebrate babbler.”) I just love to create one way or another. My latest passion is telling true stories live, on stage. Because it scares the hell out of me.
As a memoirist, I focus on the undercurrents. Drawing from memory, diaries, notes, letters and photographs, I never ever lie, but I do claim creative license when fleshing out actual events in order to enhance the literary quality, i.e., what I might have been wearing, what might have been on the table, what season it might have been. By virtue of its genre, memoir also adds a patina of introspection and insight that most probably did not exist in real time.