Sometimes, in the late afternoons, a woman comes down from the second floor of the retirement center to sit in our small café. She always orders a glass of white wine.  With the chilled liquid in front of her,  she gazes into the tall trees that sway outside the picture windows. 

“The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock,” written by a 22 year-old T. S. Eliot, turns a hundred this year. A brilliant poem, according to those who keep the cannon, though many despaired it was written by a man deemed a fascists, whose title character was named after a furniture

As a blog writer with a few books behind me, I get numerous questions about how to find an agent or a publisher or how to promote books. As to the latter, I haven’t a clue. Why some writers get attention and others don’t is a mystery to me. But I do know queries about finding a pu