Bad, Bad Love presents to you Installment 3 of the novella, The Will of Venus (Otherwise Known as a Fairy-Tale for Superwomen). Wherein Livia the Bad-Ass Chef muses on Millais and the Pre-Raphaelites, Ophelia (as in, Hamlet’s fiancée and Laertes’ sister),...
Bad, Bad Love presents to you pInstallment 3 of the novella, The Will of Venus (Otherwise Known as a Fairy-Tale for Superwomen). Wherein Livia the Bad-Ass Chef muses on Millais and the Pre-Raphaelites, Ophelia (as in, Hamlet’s fiancée and Laertes’ sister),...
Welcome, Bad, Bad Lovers and new friends alike, to this second installment of The Will of Venus (Otherwise Known As A Fairy-Tale for Superwomen)! A little novella-thing I threw together in the mid-’90s, just after I threw Husband #1 out and put my foot through...
As promised, Bad, Bad Lovers, and threatened, and teased, herewith the first installment of the novella, by the Yours Truly of some two decades ago, entitled The Will of Venus (Otherwise Known as a Fairy-Tale for Superwomen). Just as a reminder, to the young or the...
He called me selfish, and needy, and ungrateful, and cold (is that possible? needy and cold?). He said my writing was stilted, my characters wooden. After having lavished me with attention, and gifts, and adoration, and support, of my person and my habits and my...
I knew they had disappeared. Were disappeared. Husband #1’s brother and then his sister. I knew they were desaparecidos. Think that movie, with Cissy Spacek, and her disappeared husband. I knew this because Husband #1 told me, early in our relationship, while we were...
How did it feel to put my booted foot through one of Husband #1’s paintings? A framed one? One of his favorites (though he was no longer painting that way because he was trying to paint something that would sell)? A-M-A-Z-I-N-G. I felt strong and righteous and well...
At the wheel of our battered Jeep was our rent-a-cook, a fat, mustached Moroccan man of around thirty-five, who cracked dirty jokes in French and chain-smoked. His fingernails needed a good scrub. Beside him rode our guide, a Tuareg (or so he claimed…), with blue...
“You’re an old soul. He, he is not. His soul is very new. You will be unhappy. Together you will be very unhappy.” I heard those words one morning at breakfast, in the strangely lugubrious dining room of an old, drafty hotel in the old town of Marrakesh, from a young...
You know the feeling, right? You left the room twenty minutes ago, to hunt for a corkscrew, and when you come back, the girl you and Husband #1 just rescued from being trafficked as a sex slave is in a towel. Something has happened. Something went down. That tight,...
If you want to hear about My Life with Rabbits, what I eat when I travel (no one wants to hear about what I eat at home–boring, boring, kale, broccoli, boring, boring, whole wheat pasta, blueberries, salad, boring, thank God for wine), or watch me try to reconstruct a novel last seen hanging out on a floppy disk twenty years ago, then this is the blog for you! Sign up and don’t miss a thing!
