You could feel it build as the women performed. Audiences got transported to this strange club, suspended in disbelief, rooting for everybody to survive. But when the character Secret, written in homage to my late friend Sigrid, did her monologue, people realized they weren’t going to get a happy ending.
“club termina” gave me the chance to bring my lost friend back onstage for two hours a night. I needed that medicine—because we had both expected to survive, and that’s not what happened.
It’s Breast Cancer Awareness Month. And as a survivor, I have a lot to say about it.
Doctors don’t give good news in person on the eve of Yom Kippur. I was really scared.
For the holidays, I have been imagining the kind of party Deborah, the protagonist in my novel The Road Not Taken, would throw to celebrate.
In The Road Not Taken, our planet is up for judgment. The original inhabitants of earth, known as the Lost, keep tabs and can bring in the Boson Particle to end a failing planet or whole solar system.
What I learned from the five measly biblical lines was that Deborah was a prophet, a judge and a warrior. You’d think that would earn her some ink, but you’d be wrong.
I want a Do Over. I want to stand at the doorway to Time and Space and get to decide what will help my fellow humans, and what will destroy them. So far, I have not been invited to do this. But that doesn’t stop me from dreaming.
In my book, The Road Not Taken, my protagonist and her lover travel to Moscow to recover original Van Gogh paintings that the superrich Russians had hanging in their bathrooms in one or another of their vast mansions.
Buy a copy of The Road Not Taken, and then tell me about it on social media @SusanRubin1 on Twitter or @SusanRubinWriter on Instagram. Send a screenshot of the receipt, a photo of the book on your table—anything! Show me the book. In return, I have a mysterious gift to offer with that purchase. (The gift is not lipstick, but it is fun!)