Book Club Pick: Regretting You

first we read the book~

then, our club met for dinner

before the movie

I never laugh as much as when our book club gets together! The books we read and the times we spend talking about them are a balm for my soul.

People have asked me how we “do” our club, because there are so many ways to structure a book club. First, we decide on a book based on someone’s recommendation. We’ve already picked dates through the end of summer and have marked them on our calendars so we guard our time. We sent out digital invitations so we don’t plan any other meetings by accident. Priorities.

Once we know our book and our next meeting time, we read and try not to talk about it with anyone reading it so we don’t give spoilers. Our regularly scheduled gathering spot is our local coffee shop, where they have all the best coffees, a few food items, and the best downstairs couch circle anywhere in town – the kind of leather couches you slide down deep into and wonder if you’re ever going to be able to get out once you get in. The kind with a big coffee table in the middle so there’s room for mugs and plates and stacks of books. We go there and pull out our general book questions as a discussion guide. Sometimes we use questions designed specifically for a book – – like at our most recent gathering, when I’d forgotten to bring the list of universal book questions. Another group member pulled up a set online that we discussed.

The part so many book clubs don’t “do” that sets our club apart is the action part. Every member of our club has a streak of adventure dwelling in our hearts, so we like to think of something the book inspires us to want to do, and then go do that thing. For example, in The Beautiful and the Wild, one of the characters was always drinking tea. One of our members found a local tea room and went for brunch to try different teas, even trying on all the hats and a pair of gloves, too. In The God of the Woods, the characters ate s’mores, so we met for appetizers at the home of one of our members and made s’mores. Having the adventure part adds to the experience of any book, because we do things we wouldn’t ordinarily do on any normal day of our lives. We stay young.

Our latest book, Colleen Hoover’s Regretting You, was released as a movie this month, so we made it our October selection and met for dinner and a movie. We spent as much time discussing the movie and the differences between the book and screenplay, and we were still talking in the dark theater when the manager came in, turned on the lights, and said he was “surprised” to see us there. He was shutting the place down. We were just glad we didn’t get locked in the movie theater overnight. We imagined the headline with humor and horror: Local School District Employees Earlier Reported Missing Found Locked in Local Theater Overnight.

Our next book is The Housemaid by Freida McFadden. The movie comes out December 19, and of course we all have our Regal apps for movie tickets up and running and have booked the date. We’ve decided to leave after the credits finish rolling – – just in case.

Open Write Day 2 of 3 September 2025

Today’s host at http://www.ethicalela.com’s Day 2 of the September Open Write is Allison Berryhill of Iowa. She teaches high school journalism and is a frequent host of amazing prompts in our writing group. Come read more about Allison and her full prompt here, as she inspires us to write a retelling poem.

I chose to rewrite my favorite childhood poem, Overheard on a Salt Marsh by Harold Monro, as a Shakespearean Sonnet, a fourteen-line poem written in iambic pentameter, where the rhyme scheme is ababcdcdefefgg, with ten syllables per line. Here is the original poem:

Overheard on a Saltmarsh

Nymph, nymph, what are your beads?

Green glass, goblin. Why do you stare at them?

Give them me.

No.

Give them me. Give them me.

No.

Then I will howl all night in the reeds,

Lie in the mud and howl for them.

Goblin, why do you love them so?

They are better than stars or water,

Better than voices of winds that sing,

Better than any man’s fair daughter,

Your green glass beads on a silver ring.

Hush, I stole them out of the moon.

Give me your beads, I want them.

No.

I will howl in the deep lagoon

For your green glass beads, I love them so.

Give them me. Give them.

No.

– Harold Monro (1879 – 1932)

***. ***. ***

Here is my Shakespearean Sonnet:

Nymphs Don’t Play

a goblin glumphed upon a marsh nymph fair

far through the pluff he’d glimpsed a glow of green

such beauty drew him to her, for to stare

pay homage to her globes he hoped to glean

nymph, nymph he glowered, sweetening his gaze

as moonlight cast a truth beam on intent

this young sylph, so accustomed to his ways

was not a stranger to his guileful glint

what are your beads that cast such radiant gleam?

they’re moonbeads, goblin, made of emerald glass

which thereupon his threat suddenly seemed

the type that beckoned kicking goblin ass

and so this marsh nymph, queen of her domain

unleashed unparalleled gonadic pain

-Kim Johnson

Broccoli

This month, I continue writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. I’m continuing this month so that I can experience the entire deck of prompts. Today’s prompt asks us to describe broccoli to someone who has never seen it before.

How To Save a Fairy

Imagine a miniature

forest with lush emerald trees

a canopy for fairies

sparkling magic beneath

but a foul odor

permeates the land

threatening the fairies

their twinkle-lights fading

in the putrid stench

then the wicked witch

steps from her lair

behind the twisted trees

holding her wrinkled green

fingers up grasping power in the air

her evil laughter beckoning

one brave fairy to come close for a deal

you love children? find them,

find those who will eat of the

foul-smelling trees that will

not harm them but will save you

and my noxious potion spell that will

kill you will only make them grow stronger

so the brave fairy

told the others

who told the birds

who told the woodland critters

who told the house pets

who prompted the parents

to cook all the miniature trees

we call broccoli

and feed them to the children

throughout the land

children in every house balked

but they ate the broccoli

to save their bedtime story heroines

from the evils of the wicked witch

and her foiled fairy fiasco

after dinner, all the mothers took

their pots of boiling broccoli water

to the edge of the woods and

slung the gut-churning water into the

forest, where the fairies watched

from afar and glowed brightly

as the screams of the witch

could be heard throughout

Fairy Land: “I’m melting! I’m melting!”

And that is why children, to this day,

will eat their broccoli – to save a fairy!

Thinking About Fiction

This month, I’m writing posts from prompts in the Writing Down the Bones Card Deck by Natalie Goldberg, shared with me by my friend Barb Edler of Iowa. Today we’re inspired to think of a character and write about him/her/them, telling who they are.

all this fiction

all this drama

these problems

these feelings

these backstabbers

these bullshitters

are bigger in life

than they ever

were between any pages

March 9: 9:16-9:47 Clap if You Believe in Fairies!

Late-to-Rise Leprechaun: A Modified Limerick

a leprechaun sat ‘neath the shamrocks

with buckled hat, red beard, and striped socks

his faeries he queried

am I late? I’m quite w’erried

so ye be, chimed the three,

(one with book upon knee),

even fairyland can’t turn back time clocks

Top o’ the mornin’ to ya! I took a spur-o’-the-moment trip south to visit my family as my brother and sister in law and I try to help Dad tackle some tasks he can no longer do on his own. Chemotherapy has zapped all of his strength, and we (and others) continue to try to help where he will allow it – which is not nearly enough for any of us to feel satisfied, but that will take the luck o’ the Irish and a lot of prayer to change. He’s testy with us, seems skeptical, and wants to be left alone. He’s made it quite clear.

Before my brother and I visited him, I had a little extra time to check out the Ace Garden Center on St. Simons Island, Georgia, and I’d spied a little leprechaun in the robust fairy garden section that I’d planned to go back and get after visiting with Dad. I was there to look for spider plants, known for improving air quality by giving off oxygen in their transpiration process. But leave it to fairies to lure me down the aisle of wonder and intrigue. While I don’t have a dedicated fairy garden, my whole front porch is filled with fairies in their own plant container homes.

Imagine my delight when my sister in law, Jennifer, asked me to swing back by the house after visiting with Dad. She’d known just the medicine I’d needed – – a little fairy magic to cheer me up! She’d read my blog yesterday morning and beat me to the fairy section, choosing the perfect assortment of fairies – and the leprechaun – to sit on the edge of my shamrock plant as a gift – – making them so much more meaningful. Each time I look at the leprechaun, I smile. And what she didn’t know was that I would have picked the fairies dressed in green – – for an extra sprinkling of Irish fairy dust!

When I opened the gift, a black nose appeared out of nowhere – – JoJo, one of their black labs, sensed the magic and joined the fun, studying this leprechaun and his trio of fairy friends, as mesmerized as any dog has ever been. Her fixation on them – even trying at one point to take the leprechaun by the beard and run off with him – lightened the mood and made us all laugh.

Sources say that there are no female leprechauns, and that these little magical creatures are the unwanted children of the fairy family – – grouchy, closed off, and untrusting. With their stubborn, curmudgeonly, cranky attitudes, even leprechauns need someone to show them some love – trouble is, they have a hard time accepting it.

I have reasons for understanding the close relative of the leprechaun in folklore – the Clurichaun, drunk and surly beings who are known for clearing out entire wine cellars. And I must admit: I, myself, a mere human, along with my brother and sister in law, had broken into some wine over the weekend. But let’s be real – – the leprechauns drive them to it.

There comes a time in life when all children can do is clap if we believe in fairies, to envision Mary Martin as Peter Pan rallying us along, to hope the lights don’t fade too quickly.

Jo Jo checking out the leprechaun and fairy trio

A Unique Experience: Grub Street in Boston’s Seaport

Even the front doors had me excited! This is a little slice of heaven on earth.

I often experience those spinoff tornadoes of excitement that NCTE brings – the conversations with others that aren’t officially a part of the conference but that take me further down avenues of thought – and occasionally, further down blocks of the city to explore physical places someone mentions.

Such was the case when I met Richard Louth, the creator of the original New Orleans Writing Marathon, whose NCTE workshop in Boston offered attendees the opportunity to participate in The Boston Writing Marathon. In this writing marathon, a large group met and wrote together for a practice session on all the exciting ways to center their writing for the hours ahead. They had a round of sharing with a protocol that allowed everyone to honor the writing of others. Then, they set out in small groups to write in various locations, capturing in words and worlds all that came to mind. When they returned, they shared their writing and experienced the essence of the collective experience.

I’d stopped by to meet Dr. Louth and expressed my disappointment that I would be unable to attend his workshop. My presentation time was overlapping the workshop – but I wanted to know more. He ran for his handout and encouraged me to write, even though I would be unable to be part of the group on the first day of the conference.

He shared more about Virtual Writing Marathons (VWM), explaining, “When the pandemic hit and physical Writing Marathons became impossible, I helped Kel Sassi of the National Writing Project create a VWM program in the summer of 2020. That summer, VWM writers virtually visited a different location in the country for an hour each week under the guidance of a local NWP site and ‘Storymaps’ that focused on different locations, and we wrote and shared in small breakout groups through Zoom. We did 10 weeks that summer, with each VWM attracting 50-60 people on average. The final VWM that summer was in New Orleans. The VWM continued each summer, and it even expanded into monthly Tuesday evening meetings during the school year. We had VWMs in Arkansas and Missouri this fall, and our next will be in January.”

He further added:

“For more information, Google NWP’s ‘Write Across America.’  It’s open to anyone to register…..also, check out the Tennessee Williams Literary Festival website.”

In our later conversation by email, I learned that Dr. Louth had gone to a place called Grub Street with a former student, where they had written together near Pier 4 for their Boston Writing Marathon location.

I had to check it out!

When we approached the doors, my husband shook his head and caught my eye in that fearful kind of way that husbands do when they realize they are about to go broke.

“Ooooh, Baby. This is all you,” he sheepishly conceded, reluctantly patting his wallet.

He was right.

From the moment we entered the place, we breathed life-giving air. Reading and writing particles flitted like glitter through the air and engulfed me in sparkles. In this place was some kind of magic for everyone. My husband took to a corner with a book by Paul McCartney entitled The Lyrics, which explains the backstories of songs. He got lost in a concert all his own, silent music flooding his soul, entering his eyes and exiting through one tapping foot.

Just the patterns of the floors and unique shapes of the light fixtures were captivating. Every now and then, I enter a place where the lighting illuminates the darkest parts of a searching soul – so much that I can feel it. I felt it here in Grub Street.

I was fascinated by the people – some working, some writing, some seeking, some reading. All engrossed in their moments. The winter wear sets a photographic temperature – a very Bostony cold with rain on the way, and winds whipping our faces. We were completely unprepared for the weather, but it added an element of survival to the experience just as any adventure book would reveal in the exposition.

And we were suddenly the coatless characters in this book store story.

I stood for a while and read the titles visitors had added to the list of books that made them feel grateful, a common theme word for the month of Thanksgiving. What book would I add? Mary Oliver’s Devotions, no doubt. And Billy Collins’s Whale Day, Sy Montgomery’s Good, Good Pig. I would run out of Expo markers before I could finish listing all the books that bring to heart a grateful spirit.

I wasn’t able to go upstairs, as the top floor had been shut down for the night, but I’ve added this to my list of places to visit when we return to Boston. What a unique concept – a writer’s haven.

I’m so grateful Dr. Louth shared this place, and thrilled I took the opportunity to visit.

Until we return, I’ll continue to wonder about the upstairs writing that happens at Grub Street.

And a part of me will secretly be grateful that I didn’t get to see it this time.

The wondering fuels the imagination and the dream. And the desire to return.

Honorary Unicorn – Open Write Day 4 – Stafford Challenge Day7

Our host today at http://www.ethicalela.com for the 4th day of the January Open Write is Larin Wade of Oklahoma, who inspires us to write free verse poems on the theme of reflection or discovery, following a reading of One of Us by Joyce Sidman as we explore a time when someone revealed something new about themselves or reflecting on a defining moment. You can read her prompt here. 

I’m an Honorary Unicorn

I came in to work

on a cold Monday morning

to find her note

on my keyboard

Her children 

have lost 4 grandparents

in the past 5 months

and all I did 

was take pizza to her house

while she and her husband

disconnected life support

  said goodbye to a father

And here, she thinks 

I’m a magical unicorn

who is noble and brave

who shoots lighting bolts

     from my eyes

who inspires others to sparkle

who carries a passport to Fairyland

who is kind and good 

    but not a goody-goody

who loves with my whole heart

She thanked me for the little

   thing I did

taking pizza over

   and always being there

but she got it wrong.

I’m none of that except maybe the Fairyland passport carrier

But I’ll tell you one thing:

I’m using that checklist to 

be a better me.

My unicorn friend has

given me new goals: 

pooping glitter and charming dragons