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Sandra Ann Miller

Writing all the Wrongs. ©2011-2018 All rights reserved.

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©Sandra Ann Miller

All rights reserved.

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Last night at the Bowl, Dudamel did Verdi. I love watching him conduct. It is so much fun. Spoiled by a friend wbu shared her box. Thank you, Lynne. xo

What I still love and appreciate about both writing and social media is the connections made. Thank you for these kind words, Michelle. xo . . . #Repost @michelleleighmiller_writer ・・・ Today turned in a reading day for me. This title caught my attention when I first connected with @writegal on Instagram. I just hadn't checked it out yet. This evening I did. Downloaded the sample. And. I. Was. Hooked. I was 16 pages in before I realized it and had to make myself stop reading to run to the store before my dogs die of starvation because I didn't know we were out of food.. (Not really. But one is extremely persistent when he thinks its dinner time.) I also have to finish the current read. I have about 20 pages or so left. Guess I need to get that done tonight, so I can read this. 😂😂😂😂😂😂 I already love the main character and want to know what will happen next. Yay! The other library books will have to wait. #amreading #readingbook #independentpublishing #books

#Repost @theannehodder ・・・ In not mad at it. // #repost @beigecardigan

#Repost @theannehodder ・・・ Something similar happened to me while walking on 14th Street in my pajamas, on my way to get some Tasti D-Light. This was 2004, more than a decade before it was socially acceptable, dare I say on-trend, to publicly rage about the prevalence and permanent impact of sexual assault and sexist power imbalance, with men across industries being held accountable for their deplorable actions. After the grab I was so shocked and ashamed, the only thing I could think to do was yell, "You can't do that to people!" The guy and his friend laughed at me, clearly tickled by my reaction; meanwhile, no one around me, not even the person I had been walking with, seemed to notice what had happened. They just wondered why I was yelling. Read Mary Karr’s full story at https://www.newyorker.com/culture/culture-desk/the-crotchgrabber

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