Tadpole Press

I wrote "icicle at sunset" from a prompt at our Community Write-In on the Snow Moon. Upon listening to all the creations, I was struck by the inherent impermanence of an icicle.

I’m an active gal. Always have been. Since moving to South Africa from Boston in 2013, I’ve discovered many happy places here. One of them is a mountain. Any mountain really. I’m not persnickety. I just love a good mountain.

These tiny poems are freeing because they don't have to make sense. What does it mean to be a gleam in a buffalo's eye? What does it mean to be yesterday? Or a Saturday? What if whatever you wrote made perfect sense and no sense at all?

Creative living isn't about waiting for the perfect studio, the right materials, or that elusive "someday" when we'll finally have enough

As November approaches, many writers are gearing up for National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo), an international writing event in which wr