by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Feb 17, 2017 | 60 to 60, continuous life, life, memory, time |
Yesterday afternoon it occurred to me I hadn’t mentioned my friends–spending the night out, the spend-the-night parties, the trips together. I find that odd. I always had a best friend. I still keep up with my best friend from high school, from college,...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Feb 15, 2017 | 60 to 60, continuous life, life, memory, time |
I double-checked my numbers this am and of course I was off. So I added 1971 to yesterday’s post. Am fighting the urge to go back and make each of the preceding years a separate post like this one… At least for the moment, onward. 1972: Ninth grade turns...
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Feb 14, 2017 | 60 to 60, accumulation, continuous life, life, memory, time |
As you might imagine, I did not intend to write a post called 46 to 60. It was supposed to be 50 to 60. But the days fly by. And it occurs to me, as I pause to consider this approaching birthday by writing something about it, that in singling out these 60 days prior...
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 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....
by Cynthia Newberry Martin | Feb 18, 2013 | craft of writing, novels, time |
In A.M. Homes’ recent novel, May We Be Forgiven, in the middle of a psychiatrist-monitored game of puppets between two adults, Harold and his locked-up brother George, the following excerpts from page 174 are separated by white space: We’re loading our...
