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Not close to enough but I wrote it anyway

A kindred writer friend of mine died recently. She stoked my writing by giving me a regular platform at her edgy magazine-turned-blog, Get Born. She and the tribe I found there swore and laughed ugly and helped me feel less and more crazy in all the ways I’ve needed.

For my regular post this month, I joined the tribe in writing about Heather.

How do you fully sum up someone and what they meant to you after their death?
You don’t.
Because you can’t…

Read the rest at Get Born.

And then you can do yourself a favor and read some of Heather’s posts–this one’s a doosey, just like she was.

That slippery fish of parenting mastery

There are moments of mastery.

Because there are so many more moments of barely getting by and utter failure, I have to mark these somehow.

Not to toot my own horn…

To finish reading this post, get ye over to Get Born, a radical blog of unflinchingly real women writers where I post once a month. It’s a dream come true over there.

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