By Margaret Evans, Editor

Fifteen years, y’all. I’ve been writing this column every two weeks for fifteen years. Since the turn of the century. Before I had my baby (now 13), or my house (also long in the tooth), or either of my cats (ditto), I had this column. That’s something, isn’t it? I don’t know what, exactly. But something.

By Margaret Evans, Editor

Writer’s Note: I greet you, reader, from an upstairs bedroom at my parents’ house in Alabama. It’s the day after Christmas, the TV is droning, and downstairs a dog barks as my nieces, ages 3 and 5, belt out another round of “Let It Go” on their new karaoke machine. (Thanks, Santa.) Certain circumstances do not lend themselves to column writing, so I offer you a “classic” from the archives. This piece first appeared in January 2012…

By Margaret Evans, Editor

Last issue, I wrote about the curse of the holiday blues, and soon thereafter I found it starting to lift. You fellow scribblers will recognize this phenomenon. There’s something about writing your feelings down – about herding the nebulous and intangible into neat, concrete sentences and paragraphs – that can actually purge those feelings, or at least render them more manageable. Writing as catharsis is nothing new.