by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Nov 24, 2015 | 1 true thing, memory |
While I was Assistant to the President at Davidson College during the 1978-79 school year, one of my jobs was working with the Trustees. Dean Rusk, the former Secretary of State, was a Davidson graduate as well as a Trustee. At the time, I was also applying to law...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Apr 29, 2015 | 1 true thing, memory |
Well they’re not ruined… but that’s what it felt like at first. Right after I wrote the post yesterday, I had all my books spread out around me–on the sofa, on the floor, on the table–and I went to put my computer down on the table,...
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 | Jan 18, 2015 | 1 true thing, memory |
On one of my birthdays, Lilli, my grandmother, wrote me a several-page letter (blue ink, a schoolteacher’s script) about the day I was born in Rapid City, South Dakota, her and my grandfather’s trip to see me, and our trip back to Georgia three weeks...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Jun 24, 2014 | about the current writer, craft of writing, life, memoir, memory, novels, Pam Houston, stories, truth |
In The Writing Life, Annie Dillard wrote, I have been looking into schedules. Even when we read physics, we inquire of each least particle, What then shall I do this morning? How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. What we do with this hour, and...
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....
