The Facts: I write personal essays and other effluvia; I teach the personal essay through Essay Intensive, and I offer labor birth support to people becoming or re-becoming parents. I support students 10-104 years old to write in a way that feels good and says what it means. I’m part of critical grassroots efforts at Immigrant Families Together (what it sounds like) to help immigrant families live here safely, with dignity and resources. If you want my CV for some reason, request it here.
The Fabric: At 5AM, I get started. The babies are sleeping, or nursing. The writing here begins as scraps, and grows like those weird sponge monkeys we had as kids that expanded in water-- until Frankie drank one on a dare (and lived, but uncomfortably) .
You'll find me here, or there, with my feet on the bamboo floor (we believe what our cheapskate landlords tell us, it's bamboo). A mug of over-brewed Jasmine Tea within hand's reach, close enough for comfort but not close enough to knock over on this MacBook, please no, on long-term loan (like us?) from my glorious day job, where I work with NYC's top-notch 12 year-olds from the hood, and college applicants wrestling with their life stories.
I can hear the rest of my house breathing in the dark, or I say I can, because that's what poets-turned-essayists do: my baby daughter, my toddler son, my stepsons, my husband, whose art will appear here, too. I teach adolescents, they make me better. I make work; I hope I make (more) love; I hope I make things better for someone; I make this.
(You have to edit your bio as you, and everyone else, ages. As writer Jacqueline Woodson says, as a writer writes, you get more woke, and that’s good. So it makes sense you have to always revise what you’ve done. Right?)
We're still (perpetually) learning how this site works. Please forgive any inconsistencies or misattributions or neologisms or newts.