These days, the days of streaming TV shows and films and music, of ebooks, of endless scrolling on your social media platform of choice – it seems like there is very little in the way of tangible goods anymore (when it comes to the arts – there are still box stores full of…stuff). Which, when you grew up in the 80s and 90s, when you had to transition from records to cassettes to CDs to MP3s… it’s strange to realize how little of our content (that we’ve paid for) that we actually own anymore, that we can actually hold in our hands.
And as someone who grew up in the 80s, I do prefer to be able to hold the things that I own. Strange, I know.
But even more important than that, I also want to make sure that as much of the money that I’m spending on the…thing – book, record, whatever – gets into the hands of the person who was responsible for creating it. And that is getting increasingly more difficult. For many reasons. Not just that we are living in a digital world. Not just that the shifts to digital also have shifted profits from the artists’ hands to those that produce them or to the platforms that stream them. (Not to mention AI.) We also have a stagnant minimum wage and increasing inflation. A lot of people don’t have the disposable income to spend on things we currently call a luxury (because we have short memories and forget how it was the arts we turned to to save us during the pandemic).
“If I ever feel bad about spending $ on books, I just tell myself I’m supporting a writer whose parents told them they’d never make any money.”
I realize this can sound self-serving – I’m a writer who wants to sell books. But I’m not saying buy my book here. (Though, if you feel so inclined…) I’m saying if you can, if there is a musician that you like whose music you stream often (which gets them pennies, if they are lucky), maybe consider outright buying an album. If there is someone whose visual art you enjoy, instead of taking another screenshot, perhaps consider buying their art on something (it doesn’t have to be an original or anything big – even buying a print on a card can help them). Like an author but don’t have the means to buy a new copy? Check it out of the library. (If your library doesn’t carry it, request it.) Every little bit helps.
Even more simple things you can do that don’t cost anything but could potentially get them royalties down the line – follow them on social media and help to spread the word:
How to support an artist for free: Like their post, comment (to give them motivation), share (to introduce others to their page), save the post (it helps with engagement).
I’m about to stand up in front of a classroom again for the first time. Well, the first time for these particular classes. It’s actually going to be my 204th time.
I gathered some teaching data recently and discovered that I had taught my 200th course in the spring of this year. (And the 201st, 202nd, and 203rd. Who knew?) I finished my forth-seventh semester. And taught my 2,623rd student. (Many of them took multiple classes with me, which feels like the greatest compliment students can give to a teacher.)
When I was a kid, I thought it would be fun to be a teacher because I could spend my days writing on chalk boards. Little did I know, those wouldn’t even really exist by the time I got to stand up in front of a classroom all day.
Which was a hurdle I had to get over, by the way. I’m an introvert. I was also painfully shy as a kid. (And no, those are not the same thing.) As an introvert, I do better thinking through writing than talking. As a shy kid, I had no interest in being the center of anyone’s attention, let alone an entire classroom of folks. How I ever landed on teaching as my chosen profession, I honestly don’t know.
But I did what I needed to get comfortable with it. I was in Forensics through middle and high school, which helped me get (somewhat) more comfortable standing up and speaking in front of a people. I obviously went to college and grad school to get comfortable with the content. And then I found a job at a small community college in the middle of a corn field down the road from the university where my (now-)ex was getting their masters. (I don’t know why I didn’t think to look for a job or apply there… ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ but given the people that have come into my life through my work, I’m glad I didn’t.)
When I started at this community college, the plan was a couple years, and then we’d probably be moving for my ex’s work. But they added a year onto their graduate degree, and a full-time position opened up at my college. I applied. I got it. Figured I’d save up some money for a couple years, then we’d move.
But then I blinked.
Now I’m about to start my eighteenth year there. My forty-eighth semester. Teach my 2,624th student.
I still remember the painstakingly long countdown to high school graduation – how I couldn’t wait for the next step. And now, somehow, someway, here we are.
And somehow, I still get nervous on the first day of class. I sort of hope that never goes away.
Title: Raising Hare Author: Chloe Dalton Genre: Memoir, Nature Pages: 304 Publication Date: Mar 4, 2025 StoryGraph* Moods: Informative, Reflective, Inspiring How I Stumbled Upon This Book: The woman that runs one of my book clubs (and owns my fav bookshop) recommended it. Other Books by this author: They are currently working on their second book. *StoryGraph also offers content warnings.
Description: During lockdown, Chloe Dalton was living in the English countryside of her childhood – a restored barn surrounded by farmland. This setting is a stark contrast to her pre-COVID life – where she lived and worked in the city and traveled for work – sometimes risking death to get the story. She seems to thrive in this high-paced world, and time in the country at first feels somewhat like a punishment.
Enter a leveret, or baby hare. Out in the open. In danger. At first, Dalton leaves the leveret in the hopes that its mother will come and take it back to safety. When this doesn’t happen, Dalton takes the leveret into her care hoping to keep it safe until it can be returned to nature. Unfortunately, she didn’t understand what she was doing when she brought the little leveret home. Once in human care, a hare’s survival rate plummets to 10%. (One could argue that if left out in the open, the leveret’s survival rate would have been 0%. Dalton knew the second fact – she didn’t know the first.)
The leveret Dalton rescues (click image to see this on their Instagram).
Dalton creates a set of boundaries for herself and the leveret – she does not name it, tries not to touch it, and does not confine it (except once, briefly). She creates a specially constructed flap so the hare can come and go as it pleases.
This memoir chronicles their time together and the challenges they face – but also the improbable bond of trust between them. Sometimes, life gives us exactly what we need in the most unexpected of was.
Why I recommend this book: When my friend first described this book to me, I didn’t quite understand why they were talking about it with such regard. A memoir about a woman that takes in a baby hare? But I trust this friend (and bookshop owner) – when she says a book is good, it’s good.
So I put a hold on it from the library and waited (the waitlist was quite long). When it finally came in, I devoured it in two days. I couldn’t put it down. The book is indeed part memoir, where we get to see a change in Dalton as she adapts her home and life to coexist with this wild creature – she learns, she grows, she slows down. She is inextricably changed.
The book is also part non-fiction deep dive into leverets. I didn’t expect, even as someone who loves to learn about random topics, to enjoy these parts of the book as much as I did. They are fascinating creatures, hares. And through Dalton’s eyes, we get to see one up close as it grows up, adapts, and changes – and as she learns about hares, she teaches us.
I’ll be honest – I don’t know why this book works. Why I gobbled it up. On face value, it sounds like every other wild animal encounter book out there – but somehow its not. It’s beautifully written, educational, and perhaps satiates our own appetite for such a slowing down, for such an encounter.
“I tell myself not to count the years ahead in which she might never again come, but rather cherish the days she has given me of her own free will, when she lowered her species’ instinctive guard against humans, and shared the beauty and mystery of her presence in silent and graceful companionship. I will remember her leaving, but I will always know that before she did, she always, first, looked back.” ~ Chloe Dalton, Raising Hare
A few months ago, I wrote about a trip I took with my bezzie mate to Liverpool. On that trip, we also took a side quest to Dublin and drove through north Wales. When we were in the planning stages of the trip, I mentioned it to a friend of mine – who told me about how twenty years ago, she had gone to Wales with her family – her girls were little then. The next day, she texted me a photo she had dug out – her two little girls running up a lush green hill in a town by the name of Llandudno. I’d never heard of it, wasn’t quite sure how to even say it. But I looked it up – and it was on the route we had talked about driving. So I let me fingers do the walking.
And color me surprised to learn that this town, straddling a small peninsula on the north coast of Wales, was where Alice Liddel (the ‘real’ Alice of the Wonderland) spent summer holidays with her family (the first of which was in 1861 when she was eight). It’s been speculated, though not proven, that Lewis Carroll (a.k.a. Charles Dodgson) visited the family in their summer home and was inspired to write his story based on Alice’s adventures. True or not, the town has taken on this speculation as truth. So much so that in 1933, the then Prime Minster unveiled a White Rabbit statue – the start of the Wonderland Town Trail (also referred to as the Alice Trail).
If you’ve been following along with my journey of my book All Falling Things, you’ll understand my love of Alice and Wonderland – so this little town I’d not heard of before became an absolute must on this trip (thanks to my friend Amy for bringing it to my attention!). (It was on this trip, though in Dublin, that I held in my hands a signed, first edition of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. I have a thing about holding history – and this was a moment for me, y’all.)
The trail contains twelve statues, though thirty-four points of interest. You can purchase a map upon arrival, which makes pre-planning tricky – I may have spent time searching and finding points on a map for the statues I’d like to see. We did not see them all – but I guess that means we’ll just have to go back. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ The town was truly lovely, and I could see spending more time there.
We started by parking downtown (again – small town) and walked over to the pier, which takes you out for beautiful views of the town, and then to a small park up the hill (there’s a cable car you can take to go higher up, but we didn’t…this time…). There, we saw two caterpillars, the Mad Hatter, the thrones, and the tea party table:
From there, we walked across the peninsula (it’s about a mile wide), which took us through a residential area – and my goodness, what an idyllic place to live! The homes were utterly charming.
On the other side, we sought out the marble White Rabbit and a rather sinisterly carved wooden Cheshire cat (not posted is the pic I took of my bezzie with his head between Cheshire’s paws):
After another mile walk back through a different part of the residential neighborhood (again, swooning the entire way), we found Alice (looking a bit sinister herself), the wooden White Rabbit (looking quite dapper), and (after a bit of frustration because the GPS took us to the completely wrong spot) the Mad Hatter just chillin’ by the water:
Strangely enough, as much as the town has embraced this tie to Wonderland, there didn’t seem to be an Alice-specific shop from which to purchase souvenirs. (Some shops had Alice-themed things, but most were clearly created with AI.)
It was so lovely to walk around this little town – and we had such a beautiful day for it! Wales is indeed as stunning as it seems, and there’s so much more of it I’d like to explore someday. For now, I’ve got memories of the Alice Trail.
Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch roughly translates to “St. Mary’s Church in the hollow of white hazel near a rapid whirlpool and the Church of St. Tysilio near the red cave.”
On January 26, 1986, wee little me watched the super bowl with my family where the Chicago Bears went on to defeat the New England Patriots 46-10. This was the heyday for the team with the likes of Jim McMahon and William “The Refrigerator” Payton and Mike Singletary – not to mention Walter “Sweetness” Payton. My sister and I wore Bears sweatshirts and shared a set of pompoms – one pom was silver, the other gold. It was a glorious day and a glorious defeat.
Followed by a somewhat embarrassing rendition of the “Super Bowl Shuffle,” which my family did end up owning on VHS. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
And then we spent forty years uttering the phrase, “Welp, maybe next year.”
Last year, though, it felt different. The Bears had a killer season. It felt more reminiscent of those heyday years – where the Bears were great and the Packers less so (we used to lovingly torture our Packer-loving uncle…we didn’t anticipate how quickly that torture would turn…or how long it would remain).
If you had asked me which football stadium I would visit first, I would have, without a doubt, said Soldier Field (current home of the Bears*). Turns out, that wasn’t the case.
The first time I stepped foot inside Lambeau, it was in June of 2017 to see Billy Joel. I figured a concert would be the only way I’d ever step foot in there. But then a few months later, I attended a football game in the role of supportive girlfriend. (How supportive? My team wasn’t even playing. And yes, I did wear a Bears sweatshirt, and yes, I will take credit for the fact that the Packers didn’t score one single point during that game against the Ravens.)
Picture on the left is taken from the upper corner bleachers at Lambeau field, home of the Green Bay Packers
The following August, I did finally see a Bears game at Soldier Field (a pre-season game because wow are football tickets expensive!). We played the Buffalo Bills. In typical Bears fashion, we excelled in the first half, then fell apart and lost it in the second half.
You’re probably wondering why on Earth I’m writing about an American football team on writerly blog. Well, because I’m more than simply a writer. I’m also a fan of the Bears (and Cubs) (yes, it’s difficult to live in Packer/Brewer land). And we’re about to start up our new season – with a renewed hope that hits a bit different than past years.
Maybe this year.
*And yes, I am living in complete denial that my bears might be moving to Indiana… -_-
The same year that @m@zon hung up it’s “Yes, we sell books, too!” banner, there were about 5500 independent bookstores with 7K locations in the U.S. Just two years later, the owner of that online juggernaut hand delivered it’s millionth book order. Having already been battered by chain bookstores, these indie shops struggled even more (chains struggled, too – B&N being the only one from that time that managed to survive). I remember hearing how the indie bookstore was going to become a thing of the past – and it sure felt like it would become a reality as one after another shuttered their doors for good. By 2009, the number of individual locations dropped to 1651 stores. The conclusion surely felt foregone.
But those of us who love our indie stores, even those who may have been wooed by the easy access and cheap prices initially, have continued to (and have returned to) support local shops. While an online platform may grant access to far more titles, and chains can house more books on site, a local shop can better meet and shift with a community’s needs. They are beholden to no one but themselves. Yeah, they may have smaller spaces that hold fewer physical copies, but they can order any book you wish. (Though some, for obvious reasons, won’t order from KDP – and I gotta say, I respect it.) Better yet, the money you spend at your local shop stays within the community.
@m@zon thought they had won. They had no interest in actually selling books – simply another product that they could monopolize. But the tides turned. While we are no where near the number of locations of indie stores pre-you-know-who, they are on the rise – there are currently 3200 members of the American Booksellers Association. And they ‘outpaced most other publishing industry metrics, growing faster than overall unit sales of print books.’ In 2020, an online platform launched to help even more – you can purchase a book online and choose what independent bookshop you wish to support. The proceeds are split. So if you had been using @m@zon out of necessity (because you don’t have an indie shop nearby), you’ve got an alternative – Bookshop.org. In 2025, they sent over nine million bucks to indie shops. That money means something to those shops and those communities.
In a time where we are continually told that certain things (like the death of print books and the death of indie shops) are inevitable, we continue to prove that’s not the case if we don’t wish it to be. Indie shops are thriving.
Makes you wonder what else is maybe not as inevitable as they are telling us.
It’s no secret that I’m not a fan of generative AI. I can feel my colleagues’ eyes rolling before the words “but the copyright infringement and environmental impact” slip from my lips yet again. (Well, not all my colleagues. Some are staunchly anti-GenAI, as well.) I have no interest in using it to “make my job easier” or to write things for me – or to have it hallucinate incorrect answers to research questions that I would have otherwise rabbit holed down. (I mean, seriously, stop trying to take away my joy.)
Then I read an opinion piece that added to my list of reasons of why I will continue not to use GenAI: busywork.
According to this piece, more and more people (at a seriously alarming rate) are turning to GenAI to ‘help’ them with things. According to the piece, people are feeling more independent. But in reality, AI is creating a massive transfer of labor.
You have my attention.
Consider this analogy provided by the author Dr. Carl Benedikt Frey – the washing machine. In the 1800s, laundering was an occupation (mostly in cities and for people who could afford to pay someone to do their laundry). This was a lot of work: “hauling water, chopping fuel, boiling linens in lye, scrubbing each garment by hand against a washboard, wringing, drying, starching and ironing with heavy flat irons heated on a stove.” A lot of work – and it was all paid labor.
Enter the washing machine. It changed laundering – but it did not disappear the labor. It instead shifted it, unpaid, onto the household – “The laundress lost her job. The housewife gained a chore.”
This is a pattern we can see repeating over time. Consider self-checks at stores. Consider the last time you consulted a travel agent (ask youngsters what a travel agent even is…). You don’t even need to visit a bank to deposit a check anymore. Each of these shifts the labor (again, unpaid) onto you. Not a big deal, no.
Until you realize that people are using platforms like Ch@tGPT to answer medical questions or even do their taxes.*
There is nuance in both those examples that an LLM just cannot replicate. But also – it’s shifting that labor, unpaid and (more important/scary) unskilled, onto us. We are doing more with less. While we may not notice the additional labor when we scan and pack our own groceries, these smaller tasks add up. As the opinion piece points out, there’s a name for that: “opportunity cost neglect — the well-documented tendency to overlook the value of what we give up when the cost is time rather than money.” And maybe the time is worth painting that fence rather than paying someone to do it. But asking Ch@tGPT how to paint that fence? Well, we need a new word that talks about “opportunity cost neglect” in addition to “extra resources wasted when there are already other options available to us.”
Making the choice to add this busywork (i.e. unpaid labor) onto ourselves, we do change the way the world works. No one is measuring the time you spend scanning your groceries or doing your taxes at home or painting that fence. As more of us do these things, the labor stats disappear, along with the jobs. Corporate profits go up – and we’re left feeling overburdened. From the opinion piece: “The laundress disappeared from the statistics long before she disappeared from memory. Many more trades and professions are on the verge of the same shift. The A.I. revolution may not have taken your job yet. But it has already put you to work.”
(*Some people will say that platforms like Ch@tGPT are democratizing because not everyone can afford to pay a professional. BUT. We don’t need to ask Ch@tGPT what we can make with the ingredients in our fridge – there’s already an app for that. We don’t need to ask it how to fix our fridge’s ice machine – there are already YouTube videos by experts that can walk us through that. Ch@tGPT is not solving new problems. It’s poorly attempting to solve problems we already had solutions for – and doing so using more energy/resources and built on the theft of other people’s work.)
Description: A history of bookshops drawing on “oral histories, archival collections, municipal records, diaries, letters, and interviews with leading booksellers” is probably the unsexiest way to describe this book – but that is what it is at its most basic. On the page, it’s a fascinating look at the U.S. institution that reaches all the way back to Franklin’s first shop in Philadelphia up to today’s battle against big box stores and that mammoth online platform that sells, well, everything.
At its heart, this is a love letter to bookshops – it’s charming in its understanding of what a sanctuary bookshops can be, as well as their importance in our history and in our present. If you love bookshops, you will love this book about bookshops.
Why I recommend this book: It’s probably not a shock, given the description, why I would have been drawn to read this – and why I would love it. And of course I’m going to recommend it. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ But the fact that it’s about bookshops is not the only reason I’m recommending it – it’s simply the reason I picked it up when I saw it on a table in at my local bookshop.
It is, quite honestly, interesting to see how the bookshops we know today came to be – not only the indie ones we love, but also those big box shops and the online platforms. Because, well, we can’t talk about one without the other. Their histories are intertwined.
Bez0s “was, however, an excellent student and signed up for Bookselling school. Or the closest thing to it – a four-day workshop held in conjunction with the ABA conference in Portland. The instructor was Richard Howorth, then president of the ABA, and owner of the legendary Square Books in Oxford, Mississippi. Bez0s was one of fifty pupils taking notes on the basics: inventory, marketing, accounting, and customer relations.”
“Years later, Howorth regretted having taught that one student who kept quiet about his intentions. ‘If I saw him today,’ he said, ‘I’d probably whop him upside the head.'” ~ Evan Friss, The Bookshop
I still remember seeing the first advertisement for a ‘new sitcom coming soon’ – Will & Grace. A show about a man and a woman – she’s an interior designer, and he’s a lawyer; she’s straight, and he’s gay. I remember being drawn to it – excited to watch it. Though I couldn’t have told you why then.
Well, it was the late 90s, and I lived in a small town (I mean, really small – not small when someone says they come from a small town and then measures their town’s population in the tens of thousands – smaller) – and it was pre-internet for us. Our connections to the outside world were the tourists that flooded our town every summer – and TV.
And so, this little show gave me a connection to a (couple) worlds I otherwise wouldn’t have had the chance to connect with before.
What I didn’t know at the time was that the director of this little show (which would go on to be not so little) was a man by the name of James Burrows (or Jimmy Burrows). This man who was responsible, already, for some of my favorite TV, would go on to direct every single episode of this new show that would change very important things in this world (actual studies have been done). Just a little sitcom about four friends that would have an impact on the way the world saw people.
I ended up loving the show, and early in the run, my best friend also came out to me – he was the Wilma to much less neurotic Grace. I would have given just about anything to hop on a plane, fly to LA, and watch a live recording – but alas, I was a broke high school student and then a broke college student while it was on the air.
I did own all the seasons in DVD (still do) and watched all the commentary and bloopers (blooper reels are the BEST thing to come out of the DVD era). During it, the cast often spoke about Burrows – how he worked, how he listened to the music of the comedy. How he would walk back and forth off stage, not watching the actors, but listening. How he cared about the stories and these characters. (I mean, did you catch the part where I said he directed every single episode? All 246 of them.)
The show went for eight seasons before ending its run – and my hopes of ever getting to see it live.
Well, chances are, you probably know where this is going. The era of the reboot. Most of which, honestly, sucked and never should have happened. But despite all that, when W&G announced a return… I was ecstatic. Now, it wasn’t a perfect show. It had some problematic storylines, and some aspects didn’t age well. But nostalgia is strong, and this show was a lifeline. So it was coming back – and I was hoping and praying that they didn’t ruin it.
Plus – I finally had my chance.
I registered for and received a guaranteed ticket to the recording of the second episode of the third reboot season, hopped a plane to LA, and sat front row for the live recording of this not-so-little show and got to see the magic for myself.
And, I got to watch as James Burrows paced back and forth, as he listened to the music of the comedy, as he ‘bupped’ when something felt off to his ear. He was the conductor who was so in tune with his cast and crew, who all so clearly respected the man, that a simple ‘bup’ brough the entire production to a halt.
Click image to see original on Instagram.
I loved the entire experience (aside from how hot it was in LA that day), and when I opened up my insta the next day (already back home because I was in LA for less than twelve hours), I found the photo to the left in my feed with an announcement that the current reboot season (the third reboot, eleventh overall) would be the last. I couldn’t help but be quite relieved that I had gone. I hadn’t missed my chance after all.
This announcement was also why I found myself back there two weeks later. My friend had gotten tickets to another recording and asked me to come along. Why wouldn’t I say yes? More magic. More laughter. And more watching James Burrows doing the thing he did so very well.
I had to laugh a little when on the fight back home, on a day I should have been in in-service for the new school year (I took a personal day – I’m allowed), the plane seemed to have gone out of its way and dipped it’s wing at this precise moment:
That’s the college where I teach. Down there, all my colleagues were in in-service, and I was not – because I was up above them flying back from LA. It was almost like the pilot wanted to instill some guilt. But it didn’t work. I had had an excellent adventure with my friend seeing a live recording of a show we both love.
So why this reminiscing all of a sudden? Well, if you’ve not heard, James Burrows passed away last week. It’s hard not to reminisce when things like this happen. And I can’t help but feel lucky to have been given the opportunity to see him work his magic in person – not once, but twice.
Here’s the thing – I love a good storm. Have since I was a child. I great up in one of those midwestern towns where the storm rolls in, and you can see everyone out on their porches watching. My favorite activity is to curl up on a couch with a comfy blanket, a cup of tea, and a book and listen to the rain outside. I also believe that rain makes for the perfect lullaby when one is trying to fall asleep.
But the second it tips over into the possibility of a tornado, I’m a complete mess.
Maybe this stems from growing up in tornado alley in a home without a basement. Maybe it stems from that time my extended family all had to cram into our bathroom during my first communion party and hope for the best. Maybe it was watching the film Twister and then having nightmares for weeks or me-sized tornadoes chasing me around. Who can say? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ( (And, no, I did not see the sequel.)
When my family moved to a small town in Wisconsin, I didn’t know that we were moving to a place that got a tornado once every twenty-five to thirty years (nor was this a reason for moving there) – but I was glad for it. (Not-so-fun fact: My mom and I almost drove through the one that hit in 1998 because cell phones weren’t that common, and we had gone to sturge to run for errands – bet she’s glad I begged to stop at the CD store before heading home. Did I mention this was 1998? 😂)
I’ve moved a bit around the Midwest during my life, mostly hopping across the WI/IL border and back (plus one side question to MN). I currently live in WI, which sees, on average, about twenty-three tornadoes in a year. June is our twisty-est month, followed by July.
Well, we got an early start this year. We’re not even halfway through June, and we’ve already had thirty-one touch downs.
(For a comparison, IL averages sixty to sixty-two a year and has so far had a hundred and forty, making it the fourth year in a row with more than a hundred. I’d been thinking seriously about moving back to IL, but I have to say that this little stat is enough to keep me where I am.)
You know who don’t get (many) tornadoes? The Scots. Just sayin’. 👀🤣
Are tornadoes a thing where you live? Or do you have to deal with other things like hurricanes? Earthquakes? Volcanic eruptions? It’s sort of amazing we’ve managed to survive on this planet at all sometimes.
Ami Maxine 