Author Archives: Lindsey Crittenden

Sick Day

Sickly characters hold a certain romanticized (sickly) appeal.  Mary Lennox in The Secret Garden.  Mary Ingalls (once she went blind) in the Little House books.  Jane Eyre’s pious childhood friend Helen Burns.  Beth in Little Women.  Joan Didion in her … Continue reading

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A Utility Porch Of One’s Own

Like many writers I know, I’m lucky enough to have an office at home.  For years, I wrote at a desk in a corner of the living room in whatever apartment I had at the time. (I wanted to keep … Continue reading

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The Moral of Pierre

Most people think of Where the Wild Things Are, appropriately enough.  But this week, hearing on the radio that Maurice Sendak had died at the age of 83, I thought first of Pierre, the petulant child of the eponymous “cautionary … Continue reading

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No Trees Felled, But a Terrific Evening

If you read this blog last week, you know that my story “The Art of Fiction” was read last Friday at Stories on Stage in Sacramento.  What a wonderful evening–and I’m not saying that just because my story was featured.  … Continue reading

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If I Gave a Reading in the Forest, and No Tree Fell, Would Anyone Buy a Copy of My Book?*

While in grad school, some seventeen years ago, I taught my first class and gave my first public reading.  Both were nerve-wracking—I practiced for days, reading aloud  from pages marked up with little arrows and accent marks.  You know, slow … Continue reading

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