Power, Patriarchy, and Playing with Dolls
Latest Entry / The Dollhouse / Writing

Power, Patriarchy, and Playing with Dolls

The Dollhouse has been called many things – dark, creepy, weird, awesome. I’ve had my images scrubbed from Facebook for “offensive content” (whatever that means, I mean we’re talking women and babies!) I wear this as a badge of honor. The images have recently taken a dystopian turn thanks to this political administration. Play is a … Continue reading

The Dollhouse, A Weekly Column at ROARfeminist.org
Latest Entry / The Dollhouse / Writing

The Dollhouse, A Weekly Column at ROARfeminist.org

I began The Dollhouse to explore my personal history as an adoptee as well as to interrogate the ideas of identity, feminism, and home. When I was a child, I wanted to control the world because, as an adoptee, I felt I had no control. Children play to control the world. Tiny themselves, we create even smaller worlds … Continue reading

Child’s Play: How Creative Play Helped Unlock my Nonfiction Writing
Latest Entry / The Dollhouse / Writing

Child’s Play: How Creative Play Helped Unlock my Nonfiction Writing

Cleaver Magazine published my craft essay about my dollhouse project, creative play, and nonfiction. Also mentioned: Dr. Ruth, The Lonely Doll, Carl Jung, and Thumbelina. “An unintended consequence is that play has allowed me to see in metaphor and to “play out” problematic issues in a safe space, before and during various writing stages. It’s … Continue reading

O’ Father Where Art Thou?
Latest Entry / Writing

O’ Father Where Art Thou?

He was my father, or so I am told. He was 23-years-old when I was born. White, from an English background, graduated high school, went on to a two-year technical college and lived one town over from Peggy, my birthmother, in Ridgefield, Connecticut. He was an electrician’s mate in the Navy and his name was Dick Sanford. Peggy had listed his physical particulars on my non-identifying information (the paper trail a birthmother leaves Catholic Charities before surrendering her baby). In Peggy’s near-unreadable handwriting my birthfather was 6’5’; 200 lbs.; big frame, blue eyes, blond hair, fair skin.

She could have been describing my two sons. Continue reading