Linda K Sienkiewicz

Writing life, line by line

The Little Pill and Deanna’s Big Story to Tell

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You know the TV commercial... And it probably annoys the heck out of you because after you hear it, the tune plays in your head on endless repeat. I bet you could sing it in your sleep. That's the power of a good jingle. Whenever the Jardiance ad aired, I looked away. If I couldn't mute the TV, I stuck my fingers in my ears and said "nanananana." I asked my husband "Look at her! Who IS this … [Read more...]

I Came, I Sewed, I Pillaged: Winning Ocracoke’s Pirate Costume Contest

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Apparently, I pirate better than people half my age: Well, I don't mean to brag or anything, but guess who won Most Authentic Adult Female Costume at the Blackbeard's Pirate Jamboree on Ocracoke Island? Sewing skillz. I thank my momma. I had fierce competition against women half my age, some of them wearing short polyester striped skirts, bustiers and fishnet hose. Which is … [Read more...]

What, Why, How: Andrew Collard

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What: I write poetry! My first book of poems, Sprawl, won the Hollis Summers Poetry Prize and was recently published by Ohio University Press. Sprawl is about life in the metropolis of southeast Michigan centered on Detroit. It attempts to evoke the complex relationships between various people and places within that metropolis, as well as Detroit’s relationship to other places. The opening … [Read more...]

Love at 350° A delicious romance-comedy

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Welcome fellow Detroit author, Lisa Peers, to my blog: Lisa Peers and I met many years ago at a Detroit Working Writers Conference. I remember her sitting at the table in the conference room with her latest book, Love and Other B-Sides. So much time and so many books have happened since then for the both of us! Lisa has a brand new book to celebrate, Love at 350°, that Booklist describes as … [Read more...]

What, Why, How: Sarah Carson

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What:  This neighborhood, our boulevards, neighbor boys’ whose long legs count cement stoops, whose daddies warm motorcycles on the driveway, whose mommas can’t leave their card tables, tell these men to ride along. South of the mailboxes, the box elder tree, the box truck now half empty, there was no justice but one solder burn, one pen knife. Momma held us to her thigh as … [Read more...]