#judy-a-rose

#judy-a-rose

I find England ugly...I hate England; the weather is like a jail sentence...the food in England is like a jail sentence.

Plath excelled at baking, making six-egg sponges and hand-painting labels for honey, while also taking language lessons and writing poetry for the BBC.

For Lowell There are things which, said and true, are of this generation's past; of fighting freedom's battles and of taking off the mask- stories of the actions taken, to blot out the blights of sin, how heroes and the valorous fought their enemies within, Would we be traitors to our bugle, which beckons with its call? - They won freedom for their people but in fine print said: be damned.

Marsha eventually brought her salon to campus and founded the Comparative Literature Women's Caucus, an activist collective that established the first women's literature classes in Comparative Literature, conceived and taught by graduate student women. Caucus members helped produce the first major translation anthologies of women's world-wide poetry, encouraged women to write feminist dissertations on women authors, and researched discrimination against women in the department.

I've been writing both poetry and short stories since I was a child, but I first began to think of myself as a writer when my 11th-grade English teacher encouraged me to lean in. I started to take my craft seriously in college, majoring in English with a focus on creative writing. By the time I graduated in the mid-1990s, I considered myself a poet.

In 1968, a "good girl" is squeaky clean. She studies hard, follows the rules, gets into college and doesn't embarrass her parents. She doesn't lie or drink or do drugs. She doesn't participate in the Summer of Love or experiment with any of its alternative ways of living. She definitely doesn't have premarital sex, get pregnant and upend everyone's meticulously laid plans for her future.

I was wild. My fantasies were wild. She remembered having dinner with her agent, Claire Smith, and Smith's husband in Brooklyn, after both the Smiths had read a draft of Wifey. Everyone was so scandalized by it. But [Claire] was not so scandalized so that she wouldn't sell it. A lot of people wanted me to change my name, warning me I would ruin my lovely career if I published this under my own name.

You are leaving work, your suit still damp from the morning's downpour, the skin on your palms peeling. You are clutching two supermarket bags, tins of cream soup and tuna knocking against one another. The rain is hard and your anorak is cheap. You are on your way to Stockbridge, to your parents' house, which only your father inhabits now that your mother is gone.

Sophia Stewart poses a choice that many biographers struggle with: "what to do with the boring bits."

Because, let's face it, creative work does require some form of faith. It is a tumultuous thing to launch an idea into a vast nothingness and hope that it makes a light bright enough to be found by others. Luckily, these luminaries were my light, and I hope they may become yours as well, and - more so - that these snippets lead you to more of their work.

Whatever you might think you're going to get from the familiar setup of Jennette McCurdy's Half His Age (a lonely high-school girl in Anchorage begins an extremely questionable sexual relationship with her teacher), any presumptions are dispelled from the very first page. When Waldo, the teenage narrator of the novel, observes her boyfriend's "slimy tongue that loop-de-loops over and over like a carnival ride, mechanical and passionless," she's setting a tone: irreverent, graphic, bilious.