And Always One More Time

(Published in Proseterity)

"Sail, baby, sail, out across the sea, only don’t forget to sail back again to me."

Long ago, my mother sang this lullaby to me before I had words to tell her how much I wanted—no needed—to hear it. She must have known, so often did she hold and rock me against her cashmere sweaters as she sang, my heart pounding from my latest night terror. “Your little heart is going pitter-pat, pitter-pat,” I hear her, in memory, croon. Enveloped in softness and Arpège, I am safe.

(Published in Brevity Blog)

It had been months since I submitted my manuscript to the publisher for developmental editing, proofreading, cover design, and interior layout. I knew the manuscript would ping-pong back and forth through these stages of production, and I was determined to reread it out loud each time, practicing for what would become an audiobook recording in my voice. I was sure I knew my own story.

(Published in Oldster)

In the run-up to her daughter's marriage, Margaret Mandell comes to terms with the differences between them, and pays tribute to her late husband.

When my husband of many years passed away, I became a widow, a woman still in the midst of becoming. My debut memoir, And Always One More Time, tells the story of my next act and new, sustaining love.

(Published in NEXTTRIBE)

Two years after her husband's death, Margaret Mandell has found a new man to travel with. Is it too soon for this trip to Prague? Or too late?

(Published in Brevity Blog)

No before and after pictures needed here. But I did have to write 300,000 words to get to my 35,000-word memoir. Those words were the stuff of my life, my heart, my rage, and my grief after the death of my husband of 45 years. I wrote to Herb every day for four years and the writing saved me.

(Published in MetaWorker)

My Dearest Love, Herb:

In memory I am swimming laps alone in my brother’s infinity pool in Kiawah, South Carolina. Alligators sun themselves on the golf course by the muddy moat three feet below the pool, next to a sign, “Beware of Alligators.” You are inside the house. When will you come outside and join me? I think.