by Suzannah Gilman There is an art to writing letters. There is a darker art to writing Christmas letters. To write Christmas letters, one must first possess an inflated sense of […]
Trigger Warning: Rape/Sexual Assault The stereotypical image of ‘real’ rape? “[T]he crime consists of a forcible attack, perpetrated by a male stranger on a female victim who has not been drinking or […]
by Suzannah Gilman No, I can’t pass judgment on what happened in that situation, but I can be glad for the revival of the noise. Sadly, the allegations of sexual abuse at […]
by Suzannah Gilman I had never before thought I was going to die. I was in one situation where I hoped I wouldn’t die. I was a teenager, riding in a car […]
by Suzannah Gilman Ah, Labor Day, a day to pay tribute to the contributions workers have made to the strength, prosperity, and well-being of our country. What have I contributed? A whole […]
by Suzannah Gilman Not that long ago, I packed my four children into my mommy-van, making sure everyone was buckled in, prepared for the shopping trip in which […]
by Suzannah Gilman There is an art to writing letters. There is a darker art to writing Christmas letters. To write Christmas letters, one must first possess an inflated sense of how […]
by Suzannah Gilman I have traveled across mountain and desert with my firstborn in the belly of a jet plane. I have driven him hundreds of miles more so we could […]
What do you get when you combine 200 miles of Florida road, a hocked typewriter, a 1971 Pinto, sudden dashes à la Emily Dickinson, an unlit baseball field, a bicycle race, two broken hearts, and a whole lotta Bondo? Something highly combustible, of course.
Glancing at the clock, I finally interrupted the men around the conference table, who had been jabbering when we had important issues on the agenda. The meeting was at my firm’s office, and I was responsible for running a productive meeting.
“Okay, there will be enough time for all of that later. Let’s get down to business,” I said.
The men all turned to me and glared. They hushed, but they exchanged looks with one another as if to say “What a bitch.”