writing – Fscottwrites

Looking For a New Read

If you need a new read or a gift, I recommend some recently published memoirs by some of my writer friends.

Famished by Anna Rollins – A groundbreaking debut memoir that examines the rhyming scripts of diet culture and evangelical purity culture, both of which direct women to fear their own bodies and appetites. To be a Christian woman was to be thin and chaste, sidestepping any pleasures of the flesh that would cause you–or a brother in Christ–to stumble into sin. But thinness was also a sign of virtue to the outside world.

Motion Dazzle: A Memoir of Motherhood, Loss, and Skating on Thin Ice by Jocelyn Jane Cox – Former competitive figure skater and coach Jocelyn Jane Cox is desperate to care for her toddler and her ailing mother, all while preparing to host a fabulous zebra-themed first birthday party at her house. As a new parent whose supportive mom is slipping away with dementia, she finds herself spinning in the middle of the so-called “sandwich generation”.

Camouflage: How I Emerged from the Shadows of a Military Marriage by Heather Sweeney– After camouflaging her identity to conform to the expected role of the supportive military spouse, Heather Sweeney emerged from the shadows of her husband’s Navy career to rediscover herself as a single mother approaching middle age.

Manna Songs: Stories of Jewish Culture & Heritage – a stunning collection of 32 powerful essays celebrating Jewish joy. Curated by Diane Gottlieb, with a foreword by Erika Dreifus, Manna Songs speaks to the rich diversity of Jewish lives. Through tallit and candlesticks, paintbrushes and prayer, these beautiful Jewish voices reach back across generations and pass traditions forward. Readers will find humor alongside sorrow, questions beside wonder, people lost, others found. Manna Songs will delight, move, and inspire you. It will make your heart sing!

The Full Catastrophe: All I Ever Wanted, Everything I Feared by Casey Mulligan Walsh – Casey needs a family of her own: the joys and the sorrows, people who love her, and a place she belongs-what Zorba the Greek called “the full catastrophe”-and she’s determined to make it happen. Adrift in the world after losing her father to a heart attack when she was eleven and her mother to cancer soon after, the death of her only sibling eight years later strengthens her resolve.

More friends have books coming out in the new year, and I will share those in the next month. I’ve witnessed these writers work hard to finish their books, get them published and persistently promote their stories. It’s a honor to help spread the word and to be a part of writing community.

Now, to get back to fine-tuning my memoir and getting it out in the world.

Wishing you a peaceful holiday,

Frances

Writing in lists, an essay was born

Back in 2020, when the world shut down, my writing group met via Zoom every Tuesday to write autobiography in lists.

Each week, we had prompts to pick and choose from.

I was surprised by where the list prompts led me.

Unusual things about me compared to most people I know
Things I think people will be secretly thinking about me at my funeral
Four wishes I would ask a genie to grant me
Things I have too many of
Times I’ve stayed too long
Books that changed how I see the world
Times you’ve felt betrayed
Noises you hate

We met every week for two years. We wrote, read our writing out loud, cried, and laughed together.

I wrote an essay from a list prompt: things you wish you could ask someone deceased, and submitted it to literary magazines for a couple of years. It finally found a home at The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature.
Here’s the essay link: It Was All Terribly Unfair

I hope you read it, and I’d love to hear your thoughts about it.

Thank you for reading.

Frances

The Best Death

It was an honor to write and have this essay published about my friend, Susan, who chose death with dignity and died in May 2025. She had terminal lung cancer and was with us for a year after diagnosis. Her year was full of good times and connections with family and friends: dinners, an in-house concert for her birthday, a weekend at the lake, and hanging out in her yard. During the year, she had a sold-out art show at a local gallery. She continued to make art up to the day she died.

One day while visiting with her, I said, “I want to write an essay titled, My Friend is Dying and I’m Jealous. She giggled and said, “Go for it.” I pitched the essay to Noah Michelson, editor at Huffington Post, whom I’ve worked with before.

He liked the pitch,
“Hi Frances! Always love seeing your name in my inbox, though this time it also comes with grief.

I’m so sorry to hear about Susan but so happy that she’s dying on her own terms.

I think this piece will be infinitely stronger if you write it after she dies. I want to know about how the end was for her — and you. Does it go as she planned / is planning? I’ll want to know how you feel now that she’s gone. I want to know what it’s like to still be here. I want to know if your thoughts on death — especially your own — have changed.

Are you up for writing more and coming back to me whenever you’re ready?”

His email brought me to tears. “I want to know how your feel now that she is gone.” Susan will die. We’d had such fun over the year, I kept that reality at bay. But at the same time, I appreciated Noah’s suggestion.

Susan walked me to my car the night she would die. She made a point of asking me to look after her children and grandchildren. After we chatted and hugged, she crossed the street, yelling back to me, “Publish that essay.” “I will and I will send it to you!” Her laughter remains with me.

I later learned from her son that Susan told him she wanted me to be the one to look after them. Wow. Her children and grandchildren have become family, a gift that will keep Susan alive in my heart and theirs.

Here’s the link to the essay: My Friend Told Me She Was Dying. I Told Her I Was Jealous

Thanks as always for reading.

Frances

The Science of Coincidence by Susan Carlson

Susan’s art piece in progress when she died

The Solace of Acceptance

An essay of mine has been on a journey and is now published on Estranged Substack. Several months ago, writer friends sent me a call for essays on estrangement for an anthology, No Contact, to be published by Catapult Publishing this spring.

I received the kindest rejection from the editor: “Your piece was a finalist in our review and seriously considered for inclusion. Unfortunately, I am sad to say we will not be able to feature it in the anthology. This decision has more to do with balance in topics and voices covered in the collection than with your writing, which impressed us.”
She suggested I submit to the Estranged Substack.

It was published yesterday, and I’m feeling a little vulnerability hangover. There is so much to say about estrangement situations, and yes, there are more sides to the story. This is just one small part of the complex situation. I wish there were more compassion in these family struggles.

Here is the link to the essay: The Solace in Acceptance

Thank you for reading and be kind to each other.

Frances

My Summer Highlight (a writer’s conference)

I felt a hint of fall in the air this morning. School has started, and kids will report on what they did during their summer vacation. Time is different as we grow older. Summers are gone in a blip, and holiday decorations beg our attention in the stores. (I totally ignore them)

My summer highlight was attending the Port Townsend Writers Conference for a week in July.

When I made it to Fort Worden, the grounds where the conference was held, I took a stroll on the beach before checking in. The waves clapped onto the sand, applauding me for getting there after the long drive.

In line for dinner, a short, slight, spunky woman, whom I thought was around my age (66), and I laughed that the wind was messing with our short haircuts. “I wrote an essay about my hair,” she exclaimed, then shared the details and the revelation of learning to stand up for herself. Carla and I carried on, sharing our souls in no time.

After orientation, three writers read. I wasn’t familiar with them but now I want more of each of them. Alice Anderson, raised in Mississippi, read from her memoir, Some Bright Morning, I’ll Fly Away, Bryce Andrews, Montana author. I knew of him but hadn’t read him. Then Bryan Fry, editor of Blood Orange Review, born in Montana.

On the sidewalk that leads back to the dorms, the woman next to me said she might go to the beach before bed. I looked over at her, “Are you Toni Jensen?”
“Yes”
“I have been listening to your memoir on my drive, and so excited to be in your writing workshop all week. I am on Chapter 12, Chicken. Y’all are at the ice cream social at Clara Tyson’s (of Tyson Chicken). “She is something else,” said Toni.
Toni’s memoir, Carry, A Memoir of Survival on Stolen Land, is powerful, well-written, hard, and necessary.

In the shared restroom back at the dorm, a woman says hello with a Southern accent. She, too, is from Mississippi, the small town of Laurel. In the hallway, Carol joined our conversation. Carol is writing fiction only because she doesn’t have all the information she needs to write about her father, who was the last to be released from Manzanar, the site of one of ten American concentration camps, where more than 120,000 Japanese Americans were incarcerated during World War II. The three of us could have talked for hours, but it was late.

The interactions and connections made over the first four hours were a good omen for the week ahead.

Amy, one of the dozen students in Toni’s morning workshop, entered the room each morning with an enthusiastic “Good morning, everyone”. Toni created a space for us to share our writing, receive feedback while teaching the craft of writing. By the end of the week, we knew each other’s stories and wanted more. Amy organized a monthly Zoom for us to continue with writing feedback. Occasionally, Toni will join us.

I could go on about the magical experiences from the week. What I will say is that folks who had been attending for years commented that this summer was one of the best. Hopefully, I’ll be able to attend next summer. Centrum, the organization that holds the conference and many other conferences for artists and musicians, is excellent. I recommend checking it out: Centrum: creativity in community.

Carla, the woman whom I had said was around my age, turns out she’s 83! She and I have exchanged a few emails since the conference. Our Zoom group has met once. In our group, a biologist who worked for the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service in 2003 for many years is writing a powerful memoir about the government’s denial of climate change for decades. I’m willing to bet she will be published, and it will be an enlightening book.

After the conference, I made my way to Eugene, OR, to visit friends and attend an annual weekend with the River Rompers. Each summer, a group of friends stay at a vacation rental on a river to swim, eat, and connect, holding the space for each other’s pain and joy. It’s always revitalizing. However, after a week in Eugene and just before our weekend away, I had a painful flare-up of diverticulitis and decided to come home early. I hated missing our treasured time, but it was the right choice. Rest and a liquid diet are the remedies.

I look forward to mornings that ask us to put on a sweater and watch the leaves change colors. It’s my favorite season. What’s yours?

Thanks for reading, Frances

Memories Keep Us in Relationship

Seven weeks ago I wrote about Sophie, the 88 year old woman I cared for and my friend Susan with terminal cancer. Alive then, today they live on in sweet memories.

Sophie, mother of three talented daughters, was a pillar of her community, president of the symphony, choir director, supporter of the arts, and the backbone of the Greek Orthodox Annunciation Church choir, congregation, and food festivals. According to her obituary,

“Her baklava, many would agree, was unrivaled. Among Sophie’s many passions, food probably topped the list. She was an artist in the kitchen. Every meal was prepared with care and consideration. When someone was sick or sad, she showed up with homemade muffins or soup. She threw elegant parties of all sizes and varieties — who didn’t look forward to a Sophie dinner? — that were feasts for the eyes, nose, palate, and belly. She wasn’t showy about it: she simply loved to gather friends and family around a beautifully set table for good conversation, fellowship, and cheer. And she knew that artistically prepared and presented food helped create the magic.”

The neuropathy Sophie suffered from created great pain; she wasn’t able to walk, and one arm was completely immobile. She could stand and scoot her legs some, while I helped her from the chair to the wheelchair and into the restroom. This had become harder and harder, sometimes falling before making it onto the toilet. She’d say, “I’m OK. Are you OK?” Then apologize!

She died peacefully, surrounded by her girls June 18th.

It’s amazing how much you can come to love someone, even when you know them for a short time. I looked forward to Saturdays and Sundays with her and our conversations about the state of our country, books, movies, food, recipes, and a little gossip. Sophie had a team of twelve caregivers. She made each one of us feel appreciated, and we all felt she was a friend. Yesterday at her Greek service, the family reserved a row for Sophie’s Magnificent Team, as we were referred to. Afterwards, a lunch reception was held, feeding those who loved Sophie. Tables were covered in tablecloths she had made throughout the years, and baklava and brownies made by her daughters using Sophie’s recipe were served.

When I became part of her caregiving team, I was impressed by her high-functioning family. Each of her three girls working together to make sure Sophie’s needs were being met. A few weeks ago, her daughters invited the caregiving team for music they performed and dessert. We were sent home with chocolate bars wrapped in a custom-printed label, “Sophie’s Magnificent Team”.

My heart is full of love and awe for Sophie and the family she created. Yes, I wish I could have been the mother she was, and I wish my family had stuck together. But being a witness to Sophie, the grace she possessed, and her family warms my heart, and I feel lucky.

My friend, Susan, died with medical assistance, surrounded by family, on May 28th. There is much to say about her life and death. My essay about her will be published by the Huffington Post in 3-4 months. I’ll share it once it comes out.

It’s true even when someone is gone, there is still a relationship with them. Susan, Sophie, and others I have loved and lost are resurrected with each memory of them.

Everybody was tired, everybody needs money and you gotta laugh

The weather was nice Saturday, but the heat felt sudden and the haze of controlled burns loomed overhead. It was the first farmers’ market of the season in downtown Missoula and the annual Brewfest. I live right in the middle of it. People were out in hordes. I could not turn left onto the street that would take me to my dog walking client. I could feel my blood boil and wished I were rich enough to have a house out in a quiet area, preferably with a creek running outside my door.

I did squeeze into the right lane and took a long route to my little dog friend. Toffee is a chihuahua mix. I like him, not a yipper. He was not his usual chipper self, running out ahead of me on the leash. At a snail’s pace we walked, he took care of his business and that was that. I let his owner know he may not be feeling good.

The 85-year-old woman I have been caring for two hours a day on Saturdays and Sundays lives just blocks from Toffee. (I love it when life gives us those little conveniences) It’s only been four months since I’ve been caring for her but I feel we have known each other a long time. I have grown to love her. She sits in her recliner in the den with an open kitchen and dining area. She has a direct view of the front door and all that goes on. I come in, take off my shoes, and she shoots out, “Hello Frances, come tell me about your week.” I sit on the couch, excitedly saying, “I got to see a rehearsal performance of Cinderella this week.” Just a few weekends ago, we talked about Rodgers and Hammerstein’s Cinderella with Leslie Ann Warren as Cinderella. We sang, In My Own Little Corner while I prepared our avocado toast.

This day, she says a quiet hello. Sitting on the couch next to her chair, I notice she looks particularly tired. She asks me to read aloud from All Creatures Great and Small so she can close her eyes and listen. She only wants half a piece of avocado toast. As usual, we discuss whatever sad events our administration has brought upon this country. Now we are both tired and sad.

From her house, I go to the library for Montana Repertory Theater’s First Reads, a staged reading series of plays the theater is considering for production. A friend of mine is reading. The play is Eelout by Paul W. Kruse. The three main male characters are in an ice house celebrating a stag party. I enjoyed it and had some good laughs. Michael Legg, the artistic director, thanked us all for coming and shared some disconcerting news that the Rep has lost some of its funding. All the grief I’ve been feeling hit me in this moment. Needing to cry, I left as soon as Michael shared this news.

Back at the hotel where I live, Jen, a dear housemate, was leaving as I was coming in. When she hugged me, I let out a deep cry, “Everything is so fucked up.” As a government employee, she was hired for a remote job working from home. The government is now requiring her to work in an office and, she lives in fear of losing her job entirely. All this after she was finally able to buy a fixer-upper house.

Since I was meeting friends at the Wilma to see the comedian, Tiffany Haddish, I tried to nap to no avail. My friend, Susan, is a fan of comedians, so we treated her to Tiffany’s show. Susan has terminal cancer, and every opportunity to enjoy her, I take. Tucked back in the nose bleed section of the theater, laughing, Susan grabbed my hand, promising to look up turtles having sex, when Tiffany shared this as one of the sites she goes to take her mind off the troubles of the world. Tiffany’s rendition of the turtle noises had us crying with laughter.

It was good to laugh at the end of the day because sometimes, damnit, that’s all we can do.

But please do what you can; write your representatives, call them, donate to the arts, to PBS and NPR, and boycott unethical businesses.

Save Public Media

Boycott List

Thanks for reading, take care of yourselves and each other.

Frances

PS, if you want to check out turtles having sex, here you go: Turtles having sex. And imagine Tiffany Haddish on stage imitating them!

The Warmth of Dogs

A few years ago while pet sitting for three dogs and three cats I was inspired to write an essay about my connection to pets from an early age. Marilyn, their owner, mentioned I probably wouldn’t see one of the kitties. Millie was very shy and spent most of her time in the basement.
Sitting on the couch a petite tabby cat waltzed up to me, put her paw on my knee asking to be pet. It was Millie! Quickly, I took a picture of her and texted it to Marilyn who replied, “you must be an animal whisper.”
It got me thinking that yes, there has not been a dog or cat that I didn’t connect with over the twenty plus years I’ve staying with pets in their homes.

I wrote about how it all began, my connection to dogs, and how pets continue to bring comfort.

After submitting the essay for a couple of years and several revisions then resubmitting, The Warmth of Dogs has been accepted and published today with Bright Flash Literary Review.

I dedicate this essay to Marilyn: for the seed she planted and her love of animals.

Thank you for reading. I hope you read The Warmth of Dogs (just click on the title)

Millie

Ollie

Where the Light Shines

The clinks and hisses of the old heat radiators gently wake me this morning. I don’t mind. In these early hours, it’s quiet and peaceful at the hotel where I live . I can walk the hall with coffee in hand noticing where the light shines.

When I have been away pet sitting for several weeks in a row, I have nothing but gratitude for this one of a kind place where I live. My room is a cocoon of comfort filled with books, notebooks, plants, photos of those I love, artwork of dear friends, the knick knacks that have lived everywhere I have lived. It feels like home.

Hope you have an opportunity today to notice where the light shines.

Interview on PBS, Fractured Families

The PBS Weekend Newshour segment on estrangement aired on December 22, 2024. They chose parts of my interview for the segment. You may watch it here: PBS Weekend Newshour Fractured Families on YouTube. Fast forward to eleven minutes in.
I’d be interested in any thoughts you may have on it.

I learned from one of the estrangement support groups I am in that the therapist who was interviewed, Whitney Goodman, endorses estrangement. She throws around the idea that a parent may be emotionally immature.

Therapist, Rachel Haack states there are therapists who are using terms such as emotional immaturity which is not a clinical term or therapeutic. See Rachel Haack on Instagram. She is one therapist out there who is encouraging healing between those who are estranged.

There is also a trend with therapist diagnosing another person without ever meeting that person. I find this to be common in the support groups. Adult children often diagnose their parents as narcissus or have borderline personality disorder. I believe the influencers on social media such as Whitney Goodman, contribute to this unfair diagnosis.

Psychoanalyst Jamieson Webster states, “In a world where we now diagnose ourselves on TikTok, rare is the occasion to actually see what these diagnoses really mean… Diagnosis is the starting point for a long conversation between a therapist and a patient about what makes for a life.”

Armchair diagnosis is a term used when professionals or non professionals diagnose someone they have never treated. When a person resorts to name calling, they’ve lost the argument. When they resort to diagnosing, they’ve lost credibility.

A therapist from the UK responded to an article dealing with estrangement in the Guardian with this:
“It is very timely, then, that calls are being made to better regulate those “clumsy” therapists who can unleash so much trauma and grief. For the sake of our children and society as a whole, we should be seeking better familial relationships, not sowing the seeds of division.”

I couldn’t agree more. All this division hurts.

Meantime, I’m finishing up my memoir on estrangement. My book proposal editor gave me this encouragement:
“Your two sample chapters are EXCELLENT! They’re tight, well-written, flow smoothly and really engage the reader making them want to read on to find out what happens. And for what it’s worth, they’re also heartbreaking. Frances, I continue to feel there is a strong commercial market for this book. It’s an important topic, and a lot of people would benefit not only from your story, but hearing about what you learned. As a result, I encourage you to make the changes I suggest and keep writing.”

It’s been an emotional roller coaster writing this memoir, but it is important and I have learned so much and grown through this process. And this trend of children cutting off their parents is still mind boggling and sad.

My wish for the New Year is grace, grace for ourselves and others.

Thanks for reading,

Frances