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.
As part of my virtual book tour, I published a particularly hilarious and very true piece at The Creatively Green Write at Home Mom about my complete lack of cooking skills whatsoever.
Egyptian mythology says that your heart gets weighed against a feather when you die. I like that. You get judged for what you did with the lifetime you just lived. That brings me to today’s magical question: What is the life you’re waiting to live—and when will you begin allowing yourself to live it?
I am a storyteller. At six years old I told stories that took my character deep into a cave where she discovered walls of colorful jewels and cavernous rooms filled with weird creatures.