When I bumped into Benjamin Franklin yesterday, he told me to have a seat and tell him what was new. Not wanting to saddle him with the troubles of our time, I showed him the best writer’s resources since Roget’s Thesaurus. Then I mentioned the vault brimming with prizes connected to the celebration of these newly released gems. Well, he nearly jumped out of his bronze skin. “Blazes, my fair lady!” he cried. “Thou must go forth and help spread the word!” And so, I am. Not because he insisted on it, but because I already love using the duo’s other thesauri. Now, read on, and then I’ll race you to the vault. Last one there is a fetid egg…
As we write, we can become consumed by the plot, by the story events that sizzle with conflict, tension, and intrigue. But what often holds readers in thrall are our characters and how they grow and change. Who they evolve into, what fears they push past, how they take on pain to reach fulfillment regardless of the challenges—all of these steps in the character's journey, combined with the plot, can create a fascinating trek through the pages of a novel.
And yet there’s another element that’s needed to meld the story and character arc together: the setting. Choosing the right one for each scene is critical to Continue reading
At the end of 
At age seven, when the only thing on my bucket-list was a red plastic beach pail, the Encyclopedia Britannica introduced me to a boy whose life was literally the polar opposite of mine. I was captivated from the moment I saw Moseesee displayed on a narrow metal rack sandwiched between a row of Cheerios and stacked Bumble Bee tuna cans at the 
Once I’d heard 
Ittoqqortoormiit is a long way from California – 4,007 miles as the crow flies. For the rest of us, 
may not leave you drooling in anticipation for the next course, a look at dinnertime in Ittoqqortoormiit, Greenland might foot the bill… 
I am honored to have been included in the latest 
Of all the things I expected to find in my tomato soup, this wasn’t one of them. A few seeds so small they’d slipped through the strainer unnoticed? Perhaps. A bit of chopped onion that had stuck to the pot and avoided being puréed by the processor’s whirring blade? That I could understand. A pinch of pepper flakes secretly snatched, sprinkled, and stirred into the mixture by some sly son-of-a-snicker-doodle when I turned to rinse my hands of a splash of garlic oil that stuck to my fingers was even a likely find. But this? No.
One homemade heart
Donna Gwinnell Lambo-Weidner 