Writer Interviews
I’m introducing a new feature to my blog: interviews with writers! When possible, I hope to interview writers whose books I’ve read and loved. Ultimately, I want to engage in a meaningful conversation about literature and introduce you to interesting books. This is a new thing for me. I’m figuring it out as I go along, but I hope all of you will take this journey with me!

Movie Nights
Some of my longtime followers might remember a few years ago when I hosted movie nights on tinychat. Well, I’ve decided to bring it back this summer! Every Saturday night at 9pm U.S. eastern time, I invite all my fellow bookworms to join me in watching films and documentaries about writers. I’ll post a reminder on the Friday before each event and then share the link to my tinychat room on the night itself. 

I hope you enjoy these new features. :)

Now you understand
Just why my head’s not bowed.
I don’t shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud.
When you see me passing,
It ought to make you proud.
I say,
It’s in the click of my heels,
The bend of my hair,
the palm of my hand,
The need for my care.
’Cause I’m a woman
Phenomenal woman,
That’s me.

—Maya Angelou, from “Phenomenal Woman

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

—Maya Angelou, from “Caged Bird

I think that writing is a way of continuing to hope. When things sometimes feel as if they’re not going to get any better, writing offers a way of trying to connect with something beyond that obvious feeling … because you know, there is hope in connecting, and so perhaps for me it is a way of remembering I am not alone.

—Lucille Clifton, “I’d Like Not To Be A Stranger in the World: A Conversation/Interview with Lucille Clifton

midnight we slip into her room
and fill her pockets with stones
so that she is weighted down
so that storms cannot move her

she disappears for hours
then staggers back smelling of straw
of animal

perhaps we have lost her
perhaps home is no longer comfort
or comfort no longer home

evenings we sit awake in
our disenchanted kitchen
listening to the dog whine
to dorothy clicking her heels

—Lucille Clifton, “After Oz”

when you lie awake in the evenings
counting your birthdays
turn the blood that clots on your tongue
into poems. poems.

—Lucille Clifton, from “The Message of Thelma Sayles”