By Terry Watada When I re-read Steinbeck’s Grapes of Wrath in my thirties, I found his writing so moving I nearly gave up all hope of being a writer. The descriptions and images in just the first few pages made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. They were so vivid...Continue reading
By Terry Watada The overhead fluorescent lights are off, the high school gymnasium dimly illuminated by refugee Christmas lights. Somehow the stale smell of athletics is gone, replaced by the sickly sweet smell of punch and adolescence. The sock hop, Sadie Hawkins or Harvest Dance has been going well. Couples gyrate and spin to the...Continue reading