Poem "We The People Who March" in Writers Resist

Since I moved back to the US on November 8th, I have been searching for the right forms of resistance in this Upside-Down. Writers Resist is one form that has brought me motivation, enlightenment and a sense of unity. It's such a honor for me then to have my poem "We The People Who March" written for the Women's March on Washington as part of Writers Resist's 100 Days issue.

Especially after yesterday when the House of Representatives chose cruelty over humanity, putting millions of vulnerable Americans' health at risk, I needed a reminder of the hope and energy of the march, a first congregation of compassion and iron determination, back when the horrors ahead were still vague and uncertain. Now that so many have taken very certain forms, I need to, have to remember why we marched and why we'll be marching for the next four years. One of the protest signs that day said: "Rich White Man Rights for EVERYONE." Ok let's get that done. 1355 days of resistance left.

Story "The Sudden" in Wigleaf's 2017 Longlist

Last night I had the writerly blues. After a whole day of being at a standstill with my novel, feeling like I didn’t know anything about anything, and couldn’t write a single sentence worth a damn - I ended up binge watching Forensic Files on Netflix because there’s nothing like disturbing true crime stories to make you feel even worse. Then this morning, woke up to surprising better-than-bacon news: my Icelandic short story “The Sudden” made it on this year’s Wigleaf Longlist!

When it was first published with apt Magazine, it was already a joy to be alongside such beautiful and brilliant work, plus Carissa and Randolph are two of the loveliest, most compassionate and dedicated writers/editors/justice-fighters you’ll ever meet. I’m lucky that my bout of creative pessimism was disproved so quickly (thank you Wigleaf!) but it’s a nice reminder to work through the darkness,  to withhold judgment while holding yourself to a high standard. And make your Netflix choices wisely.

Congratulations to all the Wigleaf Top 50 winners!

Story "The Lady Clock" in decomP Magazine

My story “The Lady Clock” is out with decomP Magazine! I wrote this after I went to pick up my orchid from a friend who kindly took care of it during the holidays, and discovered the difficulties of walking down the street with a potted plant. Now that orchid has a home with another dear friend and Granita the cat. Super excited because I’ve been a big fan of decomP for years, they’ve won Best of the Net and other awards and are just perpetually awesome. And how cool is this "time lapse" cover art for the February issue?

Read the story at decomP

Poem "Second Child" in Roanoke Review

Starting the year off right thanks to Roanoke Review who just featured my poem “Second Child” about China’s change from one-child to two-child policy. Check out the journal - they regularly feature stunning work (including new poems by Pulitzer-prize winning and founder Henry Taylor) plus they treat their writers with lots of kindness and support.

Read the poem and my commentary on the private impact of the policy here.

The Waterfall and the Phone

Ok it’s time for me to write my ode to the Samsung Galaxy S7, because if any cell phone deserves an ode, it’s that one.

It all started with someone’s need to celebrate her birthday this year by staying a night at the Giessbach Grand Hotel in Interlaken (ahem, me). Mike met me in Interlaken that afternoon, and one boat ride and charming old funicular later, we were at the hotel. It’s grand all right: a 19th-century hotel complete with long staircase entrance, sunset lake and a 500-meter waterfall called the Giessbach Falls. We had a little time before dinner so we went to check out the waterfall. It has 14 stages of roaring white water, and at one of the stages, there’s a steel bridge that takes you behind the fall so that you can look down at the hotel through a misty curtain.

Definitely a selfie moment so I took out my cell phone. Because it didn’t have a cover and the back is made of slippery glass, I told Mike, “I’d better not drop this.” Two minutes and six selfies later, I turned around and knocked into Mike’s hand which was holding the phone. The phone fell in excruciating slow motion, a Peter Jackson movie kind of slow. We watched it flip, flip, turn and disappear into the waterfall.

We looked at each other with the exact same thought, “Did that just happen?” Freak out. Quick calculation in my head of the pictures and files I hadn’t backed up yet. Then I remembered I was supposed to give the phone back to my company the next week! We left the bridge and I went to sit down on a boulder to hyperventilate properly.


Mike had the idea that he could try and retrieve the phone. Before I realized he wasn’t joking, he was climbing down the side of the waterfall. I yelled at him to come back, it wasn’t worth it, but the falls drowned me out. I watched his head bob up and down among the slimy black rocks, then he disappeared behind a boulder. I thought, I’m going to lose my fiancé AND my cell phone on my birthday.

Mike’s head reappeared. He was smiling, waving at me. Jacket wet and glasses misty, he skipped back and showed me my phone. He found it in a pool of water along with other people’s dropped objects: a teddy bear, selfie stick, scarf, etc. Turns out that all his mountaineering in Switzerland and hours at the climbing gym were actually useful.
The phone worked! Not a scratch. Screen clear. All systems functional. At this point, all my up-and-down emotions burst out into tears. Mike took the phone and snapped a picture of me sobbing into my scarf. As we walked back to the hotel, I grabbed onto his wet jacket and told him, “I have to marry you.”

So congratulations Samsung, you’ve created a waterfall-proof phone. It gave me a birthday of tears, joys, adventures with water and gravity, heart palpitations and declarations of love. Plus it takes GREAT pictures.

My Icelandic short story "The Sudden" in apt Magazine

My short story set in Reykjavik has just come out with apt Magazine! I wrote this after visiting Harpa Concert Hall a year ago and was struck by the beehive architecture. Read here.

Harpa Concert Hall, Reykjavik

Actually, I dare anyone to go to dark magical light-filled Iceland and NOT feel compelled to write a story.

Vik and the East Glacier

Iceland Day 2

Driving to Vik was like slicing through darkness. We couldn’t distinguish mountain from ocean anymore and only occasional gas stations lit our way. When we pulled into Vik the town surprised us with its smallness. At first we thought we missed it and soon realized that the church and handful of houses with a sports equipment store were the town. By the time we pulled into our hotel a few miles East of Vik we were ready to make up for the Easyjet morning flight in some sleep dipped in pure Icelandic silence. When I closed my eyes I could still see flashes of the Golden Circle.

The next day we got up at an early bird 10am when it was still dark and jumped at the traditional breakfast at the hotel. M was way too excited about the super salty anchovies while I settled on some lamb pate spread with bread and tiny cucumbers and tomatoes – compact vegetables from their lives in geothermic greenhouses.

When we started driving the sun was finally lighting our way and we started squealing at every farm animal we found. Just like the tomatoes at breakfast, the sheep and horses looked smaller as if the winds and storms had hammered them down, legs a little shorter but their bodies strong and steady. The birch and juniper trees too looked like defiant dwarves. We soon passed through miles of volcanic fields. I had never seen a plain so flat, so uninterrupted, except for the occasional mangled lava rock deposited by melting glacier. Then the waterfalls started showing up, one after the other, there were so many we lost count. Thread after thread of white water cutting through sudden mountains who wore clouds like veils. Once we got close to the Glacier Lagoon, the blue ice started filling in the mountains.

The Ice Caves

As soon as we met our tour group at the Glacier Lagoon Jokursarlon in Eastern Iceland, we realized we were severely under-camerad. Almost every person had a professional camera with massive lenses and a tripod tucked under the arm. My iPhone seemed like the smallest kid at the playground. We piled into the massive truck with chunky, oversized wheels that would take us across rocky terrain to the mouth of the cave.

What surprised me at first was all the dirt: sandy, dark, volcanic dirt that coated the glacier where you couldn’t see where earth ended and the ice began. But as we drew closer, we started seeing more of that brilliant blue. They say the bluer the ice the older it is, as the color is formed from snow that has been compressed into the glacier, crushing away water and air bubbles to make room for blue-reflecting crystals.

The guide was more like a babysitter. He made sure we kept our helmets on and stayed away from the risky areas of overhanging ice that might collapse. He led us into the cave, dark at first then giving away to palatial arches of sapphire. It seemed impossible that these ice crystals could be so bright when lit by nothing but sunlight, so complex in their facets when cut only by nature.

On the other side of the cave there was a large clearing in the glacier which led to other caves off-limits to us. Some holes in the ice spouted water, others took on recognizable shapes like cartoon hearts. We were able to scramble on top of one lump of ice and watch the small dark birds circle above. As we left, I was startled to find the remnants of a bird that must have slipped, fallen – a pancake of feathers and bones flattened by ice.

Swimming with the Icebergs

“I’m going to swim to that iceberg,” said M.

“I’ll hold your socks,” I said.

We had been circling around the beaches and the glacial lagoon, walking through the chunks of ice shed by the glacier. By the entrance to the glacier, there was a big blue iceberg with some ice ledges floating near the shore. I knew M was serious when he picked out one of these ledges to swim to, and I only made a half-hearted attempt to talk him out of it. A few years ago we had participated in the Coney Island Polar Bear Swim. I couldn’t feel my feet for the next two weeks; he was as warm as a bear.

We waited until most of the other tourists had left, then M stripped off his clothes, handed me his socks and splashed into the ice water. Just watching him made me shiver as if I could feel the water on my own skin. He quickly splashed to the flat piece of ice, lounged on it like an 18^th century French boudoir painting, I took the photographic evidence, and he splashed his way back.

“It wasn’t that bad,” he said.

A few meters down, a couple laughed and shook their heads.

Even though I only watched the insanity of swimming of icebergs, I was dying for some warm, homey dinner by the time we got back to Vik. Luckily we found the Halldorskaffi restaurant, with its string lights, fireplace, menu of grilled fish and burgers, was like eating at your Icelandic-American grandmother’s house.

Travel tips

For the complete 4-day Iceland itinerary and map, click here. How to get there – Vik is in Southern Iceland, a 2hr15min drive from Reykjavik. Don’t underestimate the distance! The East Glacier ended up being much farther from Vik than we thought, a 2hr30min drive further East. Tours - When booking tours, note that several companies simply repackage the same tour, you ultimately attend the same tour as others but might be paying a premium. The Ice Cave Tour seemed more geared for photographers. If you’re looking for something more active, try one of the ice climbing tours. Where to Eat – in Vik have a hearty meal in the sweet and homey Halldorskaffi. Where to Stay – The Country Hotel Katla is located slightly outside of Vik. It offers basic but clean rooms that are generously heated for an affordable price. They also have a great Icelandic breakfast which starts off your day with a full stomach.