The Writer’s Guild of America is currently on strike and one of the things they are fighting for is that, going forward, the writers of screenplays must be human. According to an article about the strike and ChatGPT on, “the WGA’s basic agreement defines a writer as a “person” and only a human’s work can be copyrighted.” What is happening?!

I have not played around with ChatGPT, or any chatbots for that matter, but in the mere six months since its release, have been shocked, as many have, by the implications it poses. In the same article about the strike, they write that “the World Economic Forum this week released a report predicting that nearly a quarter of all jobs will be disrupted by AI over the next five years.” And, according to me, five years is basically like two minutes, so this is happening now.

I try to imagine a bot of any kind doing my job and have a hard time seeing how it could. At least for now. Until they create a robot who wants to wash bras and underwear in a sink at night while the rest of the clothing spins in a machine or is sent to dry cleaning, who wants to iron and remove stains and punch one more hole in a too large belt or hold a coat for an actor on a cold night, my manual labor job feels weirdly secure. For all of the reasons my job drives me crazy and has worn down my body and messes with my sleep, it appears safe for now. As long as they keep making movies with real live actors that is.

At any point all of the things we take for granted can shift and change and disappear and have done so for millennia, shocking us every time; horse and buggies, pay phones, CDs, family farms, Blockbuster, the list is too long. But, it’s always been this way, no? Do I just sound like an old person stuck in their ways, looking back longingly to the analog days of the 1980’s? Or is this something bigger and more existential as we try to imagine our place as a species in the world going forward?

AI can create art and write songs and stories, but without the experience of being human behind them, will they resonate? Does it matter? Will we, as humans, continue to bring our pasts, experiences, and ideas and simply project them onto everything we come into contact with, thereby making it meaningful? Regardless of who created it? I do not know.

There is a beautiful song by Anaïs Mitchell called Real World-

I wanna live in the real world
Wake up with real birds singing
Loud enough to be really heard
By us in the real world


I wanna lie in the real grass
Watch the real clouds
Rolling past the pastures
The everlasting feels of a real world


I wanna talk with my mouth full

Pass around a vegetables with
Real folks at a real table
A meal in the real world


I wanna dance in your real grip
Feel your real hands on my hips
Taste real whiskey on your lips
When we kiss in the real world


I wanna cry on your shoulder
Rеal feelings flowing over
Blow my nose while you
Rеally hold me close in the real world


I wanna live in a real world
Wake up to real birds singing
Loud enough to be really heard
By us in a real world

Me too.


I recently became obsessed with middle age; from the books I am reading, to the movies and shows I’m watching and the conversations I’m having, I can’t stop thinking about the fact that if I (God willing) live to be really old, I’m still likely half way there. It took me by surprise, which is exactly what every middle aged person I’ve ever known says. Somehow the time between one third and one half disappears in a flash and there we are, our little selves in older bodies.

I turned 44 on Thursday and, as I have for so many birthdays, spent it on a costume trailer. This month also marked 20 years in the film industry and while I’d like to say that was a celebration, it was more of an existential “how did this happen and where did the time go?” kind of feeling. Twenty years ago I was just back from two months of galavanting through Mexico with friends, newly graduated from college and thought, well, I don’t have anything else going on, might as well give this film thing a shot.

I just started what will be my longest job in several years after taking four months off. During those four months I took a screenplay writing class, Spanish classes, joined a gym and basically settled into a retired lifestyle that has now come to an abrupt halt. I prefer that life to working! Goal for 44 is to come up with a way to make that life my new job.

Life is short. Time flies. Insert all appropriate cliches here because they are true! It’s hard to imagine the speed with which the years start to go when you’re a kid and each year is epic, a full fifth, sixth, or seventh of your life. Not one forty fourth.

I think Gen Z understands this. I love reading stories about the great resignation that recently took place. I admire those who say Nope; not going to jump on this bandwagon of expectations, or keep up with the Joneses only to wake up wondering where it, life, went.

I don’t exactly feel like I jumped on that bandwagon , I just feel extra extra positive I have no interest in ever doing so. I hope to keep as much of my creativity going over the next five months as I possibly can, while simultaneously helping to bring one of HBO’s dreams into reality. I recently had an astrological reading in which the astrologer told me I was great at manifesting others dreams and it was time to manifest my own.

That’s the plan.

Time to strut.


I began 2023 with a near panic attack in a hot yoga class (not my first but one I couldn’t work my way through) and after making a less than graceful premature exit, stumbling over sweaty bodies and into the cold night time air, I heard the most beautiful song on the radio as I drove home, “Oas” by Dina Ögon. I know nothing about her (nor how to link to it for you, but it is on Itunes) other than on that night in early January I was able to slow my heart rate, take deep breaths, and know that I was going to be ok because of her voice. It was truly awesome how quickly listening to a piece of music and feeling the cold air were able to shift my insides from fear and anxiety to awe.


noun) a feeling of reverential respect mixed with fear or wonder.

If ever there was a word to sum up life on earth, this is it. Reverential respect mixed with fear and wonder. That is why I started this blog ten years ago this month (ten years?!) and what has kept me writing since then. I needed and need a place to put that fear and wonder, somewhere to note beauty otherwise overlooked and anxiety that can run amuck if left unexamined. And, have you noticed? Awe is having a moment.

Within the past month I read about its benefits in the New York Times Wellness section and listened to that NYT article’s author Dacher Keltner discuss it on the On Being podcast. (I highly recommend both). In his interview in the On Being podcast, Keltner lists the eight types of awe which he and fellow researchers discovered while interviewing people about their experiences with awe; moral beauty, collective effervescence, nature, music, visual design, spirituality and religion, life and death, and epiphany. What stood out to me in listening to him speak, was the communal aspect of awe. It is about being part of something bigger than us, something that reminds us of our humanity and of the human web we are naturally a part of because we just are. I have not read his book yet, “Awe- The New Science of Everyday Wonder and How It Can Transform Your Life,” but look forward to reading it!

The morning after my hot yoga class meltdown, on the advice of the friend I had been with, whose mental and physical health regimen I admire, I joined a cheap gym and began going daily. It has been a game changer. 30 minutes. That’s it; enough to get blood, sweat, and energy to move and flow. I have joined gyms in the past and made myself go, but I never looked forward to it like I do now. And bonus! There are so many podcasts! I am late to the game with podcasts, but they have become part of my morning routine. In addition to the On Being podcast, I am enamored with We Can Do Hard Things, Dressed, All There Is, and several others. Stories, Growth, History, Grief, Fashion, all things that remind me how much we have in common.

One of the funny things about awe is how easy it actually becomes to feel the more present one is. The reasons are everywhere. We are amazing and though it is easy to get bogged down in an anxious and depressed narrative, it is just as easy to snap out of it by looking around and seeing all that we are capable of and surrounded by; that beautiful building, the first buds of spring, her scarf, the song on the radio, my dog’s wagging tail, that person helping another cross the street, your neighbor’s strange yard art, the epiphany that finally comes, and the movie that makes you laugh and then cry.


What If?

My mascot for 2023- curiosity wearing a flower hat befriended by a butterfly.

I’m having a hard time coming up with my word for 2023 so, as I often do, I sit with scissors and glue stick and start to cut images and words out of magazines. I do this throughout the year, but really love to see what happens at the end of December when that week between Christmas and New Years challenges us to look both forward and back, to both dream of what’s to come and try to make sense of what just happened.

My most recent go at this exercise, though not finished, ends up full of flowers, snails crawling on cars and funny, smiling faces. It does not give me a clear answer or direction but rather points me towards fun, creativity, and nonsense; a journey rather than a destination.

I think if anything about 2022 was learned it’s that life is hard and weird and it’s always best to see the adventure and curiosity side of what could only otherwise be described as a terrifying human trip on a small planet hurdling through space.

I just listened to an astrology podcast that said 2023 will be the year of “What if..?” And, it’s our choice which direction we want to go with that question. What if it all falls apart? OR What if it’s all better than I can imagine? What if everything works out? What if my wildest dreams come true?

Blessings for a peaceful, joyful, fun, creative, and adventurous 2023!

Closed For Winter


I love a winter beach.

Closed For Season
Sitting Pretty
Dressed Up 🎄💡

I love the off season. Just as beautiful. But, empty. Cold. No leaves allows for a better view. Wool socks. Wear your hat. People surf the Atlantic in winter, wow. The sun sets earlier here. Than out west. Cardinals against white are very red. Beauty. The Cape.

Wild Times

It’s wild out there!

I just landed back in New Orleans for one week, ending the year where it began. It’s warm and humid and there’s a Saint’s game and an eclipse and an election and it feels wired!!

I had no idea some people get so dressed up for football games; gold and black sequins, stilettos, and lots of purple mixed in. Tailgating under the 10 freeway, steak houses full, and sidewalk daiquiris spill over. Let the good times roll.

My room is on the 19th floor and after finding a quiet place to eat dinner, I snuck back, overwhelmed by the frenzy and still fighting the cold I caught two weeks ago. I have a view of both the moon and the Mississippi River, though I hope to be asleep when they both fall into the earth’s shadow late tonight.

What a time to be alive.

I voted by mail two weeks ago and have proceeded to mostly tune out the media since then. I feel optimistic and scared at the same time, the PTSD of 2016 is real. Tonight I will say a prayer and try to let it go, trusting that we are exactly where we are meant to be regardless of the hoopla.

Tomorrow I’ll eat beignets, drink chicory coffee, and enjoy this strange city and the fact that I get to be here again, in all its sultry chaos.


Peachtree Lake, Georgia

It’s pretty here, prettier than I imagined it would be, with rolling hills, lots of little lakes, and so many trees it’s hard to see where any of the towns are. Last weekend was sunny and warm, this one grey and rainy, but both pretty in their way. Fall is just reaching its peak, leaves are red, pink and orange with only the occasional gold I’m more familiar with; hardwoods rather than aspen and cottonwood.


I haven’t been on the road for work in a while and am slowly remembering how to live with a mini fridge, microwave, and on too little sleep. It won’t be a long job, those days might be behind me, but five weeks feels long enough.

I imagined having the energy to go explore small towns and thrift stores on my day off but am too tired when Sunday comes and I forgot how closed small southern towns are on Sundays. Church and Jesus are a thing here.

Though being on the road is difficult in many ways, there is also something about waking up in a town I would likely never otherwise be with a day to explore, all while getting paid, that I still love. Today began with blueberry pancakes, sitting at the counter of a diner near the hotel, cheap coffee and college football on tv. College football, like church, is a thing here. So are biscuits, for which I am eternally grateful.

Witches on Paddle Boards


My dad started growing zinnias this summer; rows and rows of zinnias. And now he has so many that each morning he cuts enough to fill a 5 gallon bucket and brings flowers to whomever he sees throughout the day. He tells me he can’t believe how happy it makes people. I think that is the best thing I’ve heard in a long time.

Beauty in a bucket

Today I was the recipient:) Thank you, babbo!




I must come up for an idea for a printmaking class I’m taking tomorrow and I just drew the saddest little grasshopper you’ve ever seen. He’s looking up at me from the pages of my notebook like “ really, that’s all you’ve got?” After all of the amazing, inspirational printmaking studios (tallers) you visited today, that’s it?


I am in Oaxaca, Mexico, after somewhat spontaneously deciding to join my mom (a printmaker) on a printmaking tour and workshop (facilitated by @juliannakerwin). It’s been almost 20 years since I was last in Oaxaca and even longer since I carved a piece of linoleum or wood in a printmaking class.

Templo de Santo Domingo de Guzmán, Oaxaca

I spend the first two days, before the tour starts, reacquainting myself with the food, smells, markets, and sites of Oaxaca, of which there are so many! The historic center of town is jammed with galleries, studios, restaurants, shops, and parks, with a fair amount of Americans but not as many as some other places. There are plenty of opportunities to practice Spanish and plenty of menus not yet translated which yield regular surprises- like last night’s dinner of small plantains in mole; I thought the plantains were just a part of the meal, not the whole thing. They were delicious! Chapulines (crickets) are served as snacks everywhere. Dried and covered in salt, chocolate or lime and chile, I avoided them 20 years ago but eat them freely now because, why not? They are the reason behind my attempt to draw a grasshopper for tomorrow’s class.

Benito Juárez Mercado

I don’t remember seeing as much printmaking in Oaxaca in 2003, so I Google it to learn more about its history here. In 2006 there was a massive statewide teacher strike that turned violent and around that time print shops sprang up to create large scale and large quantities of prints in support of the teachers. Oaxaca is a politically active state and being one of the poorest states in Mexico, has ample reason to protest ongoing inequalities and corruption. Many of the printmaking studios have had a direct relationship with these protests while others have gone more of a fine art route but what seems clear is that there is great support for the art form, in all its forms, from the community.

La Máquina Taller- Lithography Press from 1909, moved from Paris to Oaxaca in 2016. One of 26 left in world.
The entrance to Taller Subterráneos
Prints, like these printed at Subterráneos, are pasted to the walls of buildings all over the center of town using wheat paste.
Diaspora Negra de Mexico-


What a day!

I attempt to bring my little surfing cricket to life and I won’t know until tomorrow how he turned out. Our teacher is lovely and sets us up with materials, tools, and directions in his front courtyard.

After working on our own projects we tour more studios; some master printers who print for world famous artists and others who bring their presses into the literal streets, supply materials, and help anyone who walks up make a print. Both versions are awesome.

Courtyard of Taller Bambu


I ink my plate and lay it face up on the press and lay a piece of cotton paper gently over it. Our teacher, Federico Valdez (@federico_valdez_art), guides us through the process until we each end up with three little prints of our own.

Surfing Cricket

After finishing our prints we wind through the hills outside of Oaxaca City, through beautiful Etla, in search of a paper factory that ends up being closed. As keeps happening, someone knows someone who knows someone and we end up in the studio of an amazing paper maker (and human) Roberto Valenzuela of Papel Oaxaca. He was a biologist, dismayed at the environmental impact that paper production had on the planet and decided to begin making paper from agave, banana leaves, and multiple other natural fibers. He is a dear!

Papel Oaxaca

Now it is Sunday night. It is raining outside and I fly home tomorrow. I feel so much gratitude for the inspiration this art form, trip, city, workshop, and country have given me. I can’t wait to return to Oaxaca, but in the meantime I am excited to practice some of what I’ve learned back in New Mexico .