Linda Gray Sexton
How obvious to observe that the writer’s life is solitary. I am at my desk by nine, but at five set my pen aside and shut down the computer—this is how I get words down on the page. The rhythm of the hours alone defeats writer’s block. What perhaps isn’t obvious is how lonely a…
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Last week Dr. Seuss would have turned one hundred and seventeen years old. He was my childhood companion, warm and humorous, one of the many who helped me learn to read; and, of course, he was the writer who would in turn influence my children into an equally intense love of words. Now, I read…
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Whenever Breeze and Brad and I take a walk, strangers who pass us on the sidewalk ask how old our “puppy” is. As the years go by, we smile, happy to be able to answer that on February 14th, she will turn ten or eleven or twelve: we are thrilled to hear their exclamations of…
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The year has turned since I wrote last and my important news is that next week I will be able, hopefully, to get a COVID vaccine. At sixty-seven years old, I am eligible for Maryland’s Group 1C. (Of course, this opportunity exists only if they don’t run out of shots—which is a strong possibility.) This…
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It was the day after Christmas, and in the kitchen I was savoring my supper of left-over beef tenderloin, absorbed in a book. A bit at a time, a noise intruded on my peace and quiet: paper being shredded. I knew what it meant straight off. Mac, my Dalmatian, has recently become obsessed with eating…
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Join me for a “virtual” live reading from my two memoirs, Searching For Mercy Street: My Journey Back to My Mother, Anne Sexton and Half in Love: Surviving The Legacy of Suicide, on December 7th at 6:00 p.m. Register on this website to receive the Zoom link via email. Mark your calendar now! Hope to “see” you there!
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You may recall that in my last letter I wrote of my upcoming visit with my younger son and his wife and my two little grandsons. Because of COVID restrictions, I had never met the littlest, who is now a robust seven months old, nor had I seen the three-and-a-half-year-old or even my son or…
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“Well,” said Pooh, “what I like best,” and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn’t know what it was called.” …
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The air here in Annapolis has cooled. Starting out in morning, the thermometer registers low sixties and rises only to mid-seventies later in the day. Our famous humidity has vanished. The oaks and sycamores have not yet begun to turn crimson and gold, but it is, without a doubt, autumn. The equinox of the season…
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After my last “letter” to you–the one that covered the rioting and looting in cities across the U.S.–I received a multitude of e-mails supporting my wish that we unite as Americans, regardless of color or creed, with the goals of enlightenment and resolution and peace. In addition to those who appreciated my feelings, however, there…
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