by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Feb 24, 2011 | craft of writing, essays, memory, poetry, stories |
One I’d heard of before. Three I hadn’t. Some were free at AWP; some were not. In each one, I found something that made me glad I’d lugged it home–either connecting with the words of writers I didn’t know or finding new poems and stories...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Dec 18, 2010 | memory, my writing, the day |
I’m approaching this post as I do my writing these days: without a plan in mind, I just sit down in front of the keyboard and continue. Taking a break from the Christmas list, I wonder whether to write about the holidays, which reminds me of the first line of a...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Dec 8, 2010 | essays, memory |
A list makes me feel as if I’m in control of things. It’s a little summary of what I have to do. And if I can just get “it” on a list, it’s in line to be done. It will get done. On Sunday, in The New York Times Book Review, in the essay...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Sep 20, 2010 | details, essays, memory, reading |
In The New York Times “Sunday Book Review,” with a very cool cover by Maira Kalman, James Collins wrote the essay at the back, “The Plot Escapes Me,” on whether there’s a point to reading books when we can’t remember what’s in...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Jul 17, 2010 | continuous life, journeys, life, memory, place, time, truth |
I walk every step of what used to be the camp, of what is now Kingsland Bay State Park. Then I sit in a white Adirondack chair with my pen and paper, looking across the bord de l’eau to the Adirondacks. I bring my vision in to the flag pole cemented to the ground. The...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Jul 15, 2010 | continuous life, journeys, life, memory, place, time |
I ask the young park ranger if there are any cabins left. He says no, just the shed. But it’s not just the shed. I take some photos of the outside of the cabin and head deeper into the woods toward the Point of Rocks. Something tells me to go back. The cabin is...
