by Cynthia Newberry Martin | May 7, 2015 | 1 true thing, journeys, my writing |
When my youngest was two and I had a little free time, I started thinking about what I wanted to do next. I loved to read. I loved books. I was fascinated by writers and how they did it. They were so cool. So one day–March 26, 1995–I pulled over to the...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Apr 14, 2015 | accumulation, continuous life, essays, journeys, life, marriage, memory, my writing, provincetown, time, truth |
I can’t possibly be this old and yet I am. Resisting the truth doesn’t make me any more comfortable in my ever more freckled skin. So for the second year in a row, I’m greeting my age and giving it a great big hug. I found that last year’s opening to...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Apr 12, 2015 | 1 true thing, craft of writing, journeys, my writing |
During the holidays, at a cocktail party, someone asked me how my novel was coming. Can I buy it yet? Another Christmas, I thought, another year where nothing had changed on the outside. I dreaded annual events and these questions to which I had no good answers. But...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Mar 6, 2015 | 1 true thing, craft of writing, journeys, my writing |
When I sat down at my desk this morning, I realized I had forgotten to add a link to yesterday’s post on the 365-days page, and when I went to do that, it took me a minute to come up with the one true thing about that post. That’s how I knew I had not...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Jan 13, 2015 | 1 true thing, accumulation, journeys, life, provincetown, truth |
The last couple of years, I’ve been spending more time writing fiction and less time doing everything else–including showing up here and including taking time for myself. And I don’t mean manicures and massages. I’m a very private person. So...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Apr 9, 2014 | accumulation, continuous life, essays, journeys, life, memoir, memory, my writing, provincetown, time |
Those of you who know me in real life know I have issues with aging—as in I couldn’t possibly be this old; this is my mother’s age. Resisting the truth is not making me any more comfortable in my crinkling skin. So, time to try something new—acknowledging, embracing....
