A Weeping Woman Probably Shouldn’t Be Driving
We began with Martha the cat, Nashville, Tennessee, 1974. Mary and I had not yet met, but Muffy, a mutual friend, was helping Mary find a place to leave her cat, Martha, for a week or two during Christmas. Jeffrey and I lived in the country, and Muffy delivered Martha to us. Three weeks later, Martha was still with us.
Keeping Martha longer would not have been an issue, had Jeffrey not decided to stay out all night after spending the afternoon with his former girlfriend. No call. No Jeffrey. I was distraught, unable to sleep, just kept pacing and anxiously waiting for him to return. Which he did, midmorning. I cried and cried, he reassured and reassured, “It was nothing,” that sort of thing. I couldn’t believe this was happening, and everything in our life suddenly felt wrong and too complicated. Martha felt like a complication. I found Mary’s number and called her, saying I had to return Martha right then. She said sure, come right over, and gave me her address. This was the first time we had spoken to each other.
I packed Martha into her box and drove the thirty minutes into town, sobbing and ranting most of the way, scared, wondering if my life with Jeffrey was over, not knowing what was going to happen. How could things have changed so suddenly?
On my thirteenth Halloween I stayed over at my dad’s apartment on the other side of town, and for hours, well into the morning, we watched a live taping of a paranormal investigation on the Discovery Channel. The host was blond and the psychic had an earring and they were somewhere historic in the UK. The night-vision camera gave the TV an eerie green glow, the blond host had big eyes like a doll; we were rapt with attention. There were sightings of children who’d passed and mothers in cloaks and fathers who walked about in suits. Tapping and knocking and tiny objects making incremental movements. Orbs abound. EVP recordings.
Mary Catherine was sixteen when she was diagnosed with liver cancer and barely twenty-one when she died. I traveled to the depths of despair after she was gone. I found my way back by convincing myself I’d never have to return.
I was wrong.
Looking through the gallery of the dojang I take a seat and fixed my eyes on my son. Justin bowed and stepped onto the mat. He had perfected his poomsae and was nervously excited to complete his belt test in hopes of being promoted from a yellow to orange belt after months of practice. Proud parents flowed into the room in anticipation of the event. A tide of chatter rose above a sea of phones that was primed to capture each child’s accomplishment.
Her name was “Roxy” and she was the coolest person I’d ever met.
“Do you like Zach or Cody better?” She asked me while digging a piece of driftwood into compacted sand. The twig split apart in her small hands, and she proceeded as if it hadn’t, just to spite it.
“If this doesn’t get better, I may have to cater Christmas.”
The words hung in the air like the smell that affixes to your hair when you’ve been frying chicken cutlets over the stove in anticipation of the holiday. My Italian American ears burned. Christmas was Christmas. The women planned menus, stood in long lines at Waldbaum’s, the Italian salumeria, the bakery. The men drifted between courses in various states of uprightness and sleep while the women - elbow deep in sudsy water - tried to figure out who forgot to stir the sauce, causing it to stick to the bottom of the pot.
I parked in back of Mary’s apartment house, blew my nose, and carried Martha in her box up the stairs. I didn’t want to be crying or for this woman I didn’t even know to ask what was wrong. I tapped on the door with my elbow and heard Mary call out, “I’ll be right there.” She opened the door and took the box from me. She smiled at me, and I might have managed some semblance of a piece of a smile as I quickly turned to go back down the stairs and head home to the unknown. I knew I couldn’t keep my tears back much longer.
Mary said, “Hey, um, thanks. How are you doing?”
I looked back at her and burst into tears, sobbing, choking in my misery.
“Oh. Maybe you should sit down for a minute.” I didn’t move, so Mary pulled my sleeve and led me to her couch.
She sat there silently, and I sat there dripping tears all over her couch.
We were both twenty-four then. We’re seventy-two now, and have called each other best friends for forty-seven years. It would be unoriginal to say here that we’ve been through marriages, divorces, births, infertility, illnesses, together, which of course, we have. But what is unique to us is that together we have also been through what we call “The Melting of Mary,” Mary learning how to be a friend, how to show up, how to shed the emotional mummy casing she lived in. When we met that day, she didn’t know how to ask personal questions or to probe or identify feelings, feelings I was dripping all over her couch.
All she knew was that a weeping woman probably shouldn’t be driving. My best friend, Mary.
-Judy Eron
Many writers feel drawn to write about their lives but struggle with uncertainty: Why this story? Why now? And who is it really for? This workshop is designed to help writers move beyond doubt and toward clarity by focusing on the deeper meaning and purpose beneath their story.
In this interactive, craft-forward session, participants will be introduced to the Memoir Compass, a practical framework that helps writers articulate their motivation (why they are writing), mission (who the story serves), and message (what meaning or insight the story carries). Through guided reflection and writing exercises, participants will begin shaping a personal narrative rooted in intention rather than overwhelm.
This workshop is ideal for writers interested in memoir or personal narrative, as well as fiction writers drawing from lived experience, who want to move forward with greater confidence, focus, and direction.
Some of the most compelling creative nonfiction begins with the feelings we are tempted to avoid: anger, resentment, shame, fear, or the sense that we have an axe to grind. In this six-week workshop, writers will explore how to follow that emotional heat toward deeper, more honest work—without sacrificing compassion, complexity, or craft. Through close readings, writing exercises, discussion, and constructive feedback, we’ll consider how to transform strong feelings into writing that reaches beyond catharsis and connects with readers.
IT’S NO SECRET THAT FEEDBACK IS AN IMPORTANT PART OF THE WRITING PROCESS.
In fact, we argue that it might be the most important part of the process.
But it’s hard to find a writing community. It’s hard to find the people who are willing to take the time and the effort to read your work and give the feedback you really, truly deserves.
That’s where HerStry Critique Groups come in!
HerStry Critique Groups are small groups of 6 women who gather online for 6 weeks to share their writing, give constructive feedback and gain skills as writers.
Weekly online sessions last approximately ninety minutes, with three women sharing their work each week. Writers of all genres and levels are welcome and you may share both works of fiction and nonfiction.
Sessions take place on Mondays 7PM CT, Tuesdays 11AM CT, Fridays 11AM CT
WHAT’S INCLUDED IN THE HERSTRY CRITIQUE GROUPS?
Six 90 minute live workshop sessions
Three 20 minutes sessions in the “hot seat” to get you work critiqued
Written and verbal feedback from your fellow workshop participants
A weekly in depth edit and critique of your work from the group leader after each session
Weekly writing goals and accountability check ins
Full video recordings of each session to keep for your records
Say goodbye to the lonely, stuck in your head writing life!
LET’S WRITE!
From conception to submission. Let’s make summer sizzle with stories.
Writing a short story doesn’t happen in one session. It takes multiple drafts to get it exactly right, to create characters that come to life for the reader and a world they can’t stop thinking about. In this seven week course we will work on a single short story from conception to submission ready. The seven week session will include generative brainstorming sessions, short story craft talks, multiple workshops for feedback from fellow writers, and detailed line by line feedback and edits from your instructor. Plus, we’ll talk about submission venues, cover letters, and when to know if your story is ‘finished.’
IT’S NO SECRET THAT FEEDBACK IS AN IMPORTANT PART OF THE WRITING PROCESS.
In fact, we argue that it might be the most important part of the process.
But it’s hard to find a writing community. It’s hard to find the people who are willing to take the time and the effort to read your work and give the feedback you really, truly deserves.
That’s where HerStry Critique Groups come in!
HerStry Critique Groups are small groups of 6 women who gather online for 6 weeks to share their writing, give constructive feedback and gain skills as writers.
Weekly online sessions last approximately ninety minutes, with three women sharing their work each week. Writers of all genres and levels are welcome and you may share both works of fiction and nonfiction.
Sessions take place on Mondays 7PM CT, Tuesdays 11AM CT, Fridays 11AM CT
WHAT’S INCLUDED IN THE HERSTRY CRITIQUE GROUPS?
Six 90 minute live workshop sessions
Three 20 minutes sessions in the “hot seat” to get you work critiqued
Written and verbal feedback from your fellow workshop participants
A weekly in depth edit and critique of your work from the group leader after each session
Weekly writing goals and accountability check ins
Full video recordings of each session to keep for your records
Say goodbye to the lonely, stuck in your head writing life!
October 7, 14, 21, 28, November 4 and 11 CT
WRITING THE SEX SCENE.
Writing a sex scene can be delirious fun, a harrowing challenge, a literary milestone—possibly the most important part of building your short story or book. In our six weeks together, you’ll experience just about every possible emotion as you explore the erotic in different modes: comic, tender, harrowing, soul-shattering … because it really is all about the characters’ feelings, not just the mechanics. So we’ll talk about tone. Vocabulary. Metaphor. Sensory detail. How to get big emotions on the page … and when to pull back and let the reader’s imagination go to work.
This is a course for writers who want to explore the intersection between the novel and short stories, and would like to weave their short stories into a story cycle (or collection of "linked stories" or "composite novel"). This is also a class about the interaction of form and content, and how one influences the other. We will read works of interlinked stories by writers from diverse cultural and ethnic backgrounds, focusing on modern classics and contemporary practitioners of these hybrid forms. Weekly discussions will center on elements of craft, such as the expansion and compression of time, setting as an organizing and connecting principle, character development within and between stories, structure and plot for interconnected stories, and responding to literary influences in the same genre.
This six-week course guides writers through the literary submission process, offering insider insight and practical tools to help you get your work into the world. We’ll demystify everything from reading submission calls to writing cover letters and choosing the right journals. Along the way, we’ll workshop short bios, develop submission trackers, and build personalized plans that align with your voice and goals.
By the end of the course, you’ll walk away with a polished piece ready to send, a tailored submission list, and the confidence to navigate the lit mag world with clarity and purpose.
Ideal for writers of literary fiction, poetry, personal essay, memoir, and hybrid forms.
Tension feels tangible to a reader, an active experience. But from a craft perspective, tension is often a function of restraint, palpable from what is withheld, delayed or left unresolved. Why do some stories feel urgent even in stillness while others fall flat despite dramatic events? Our impulse to resolve tension often comes from a deeply human instinct to seek coherence and moral clarity, but resisting that instinct creates compelling narratives. When we let characters misbehave or allow ambiguity in their actions, we pull readers closer to them.
This course examines tension as a narrative force. We’ll consider how writers can counter the impulse to resolve too quickly, to justify wrongful acts or to redeem a character’s behavior. By looking at ways to sustain tension without escalation into spectacle, we’ll experiment with evoking it in the ordinary and the unspoken. The class will combine close reading, craft reflection and writing prompts to practice distinct approaches to writing tension. This course is designed for writers working in fiction, nonfiction, and hybrid forms who are interested in deepening the psychological and structural complexity of their work. Ultimately, tension is what compels the reader to turn the page.
In this generative writing workshop, ecologist and poet Anne Marie Wells will introduce participants to some of today's eco-poets and essayists and guide participants through a series of writing prompts that will use the outdoors and personal experience as inspiration for creative expression. No writing experience is necessary to participate.
Judy Eron splits her time between the ocean in Washington state and the remote mountain desert of southwest Texas, where she and her partner, Charlie, enjoy off-the-grid living in a house she helped to build. Summers, Judy is rhythm guitarist and songwriter for country band Double J and the Boys. She is the author of What Goes Up: Surviving the Manic Episode of a Loved One.
All of them had been so sudden. Death. Now you see them, now you don’t. That was my experience of the deceased, the ones closest to me. Mother, father, sister, brother, brother. With you through their time on earth, then gone in a flash. Departing like lightning.