Claudia’s Blog

It was almost two months ago that I noticed a sharpening of colors in my back yard. The dusky greens of the oak leaves in olive and pine and a shade of gray-green, which would look soothing on a bedroom wall. And the ivy, waterfalling over the back fence. The tender new leaves a bright . . .

The house is quiet. The only sound is Michael’s rhythmic breathing as he sleeps next to me. I feel around the nightstand, searching for my glasses. My book is where I placed it on the floor at the side of the bed. I slip out from beneath the covers, and then pause to listen. He . . .

Books are sent my way. I am lucky. On any given day I may find a nice, fat packet in my mailbox containing an advanced copy or a newly released novel or biography or, best of all, a memoir. I give each of them a fair shot. Even if it doesn’t grab me by the . . .

Sitting on a panel to discuss memoir writing with three other authors and the moderator, a lovely gentleman who has a passion for books, should have been a fairly predictable event. Michael and I had flown from San Francisco to New Orleans by way of Atlanta and were being housed in a stately hotel in . . .

When told she had late stage cancer, Kathryn McBride would not have imagined  that I, who had not seen her for ages, would begin thinking of her on a daily basis. And when just weeks later, surrounded by people who loved her as she slipped away, she could not have known the lasting imprint she . . .

One needs to prepare before heading to New Orleans for the Tennessee Williams New Orleans Literary Festival. It is coming up soon. March 21-25th to be exact. A person should read or reread some of Mr. Williams’ fine work. A person might rent and watch the film A Street Car Named Desire and study Brando’s . . .

If I were to take a stab at guessing how many years my friends and I have been gathering to watch the Academy Awards in our underwear, I would throw the number 20 out on the red carpet. It may be a little more. It could possibly be a bit less. And I have no . . .

Mimi is speaking out. That would be 69-year-old Mimi Alford, author of Once Upon a Secret: My Hidden Affair with JFK published by Random House. She has been making the talk show rounds and answering both hard and easy questions. She is soft spoken and has her white hair cut in an attractive bob. Barbara . . .

Even though I never met her I think of her often. Each time I use my old, red-handled egg beater or days like yesterday, a living room filled with men watching football while I was in my kitchen smashing ripe avocados with my red-handled pastry cutter. I try to imagine the woman who once owned . . .

Friends, on occasion, have inquired, what is it you do exactly? Family members have wondered the same thing finding the titles Editor in Chief and Editorial Board Chair to be rather vague. They have seen “The Devil Wears Prada” but know I don’t own any fur coats to plop down on a desk while waltzing . . .