Linda Merlino's Page

Every three minutes a person is diagnosed with breast cancer. This in a world of: wait-a-minute, give-me-a-minute, be-with-you-in-a-minute, and this-will-only-take-a-minute.

Sixty seconds multiplied by three is one hundred eighty seconds; that is all a woman has before her entire life is broadsided. Her drive home from the doctor, and the telephone calls to family, all will take longer than three minutes.

On August 13th I attended the Kickoff Breakfast for Making Strides Against Breast Cancer… Continue

Cancer is a six letter word. You wake up one morning, same as you did yesterday and the day before, but now everything is different, the color of the sky, the way the light falls on your favorite flowers, the way you look at life and your family, it’s all changed. Cancer has come through the back door, the disease has parked itself in the middle of your life and now you and all the people you love have to deal with the consequences.

Writing about cancer, using breast cancer as a back drop for f… Continue

Writer’s laryngitis, an ailment that on one level renders you unable to speak and on another level, unable to write, this condition is more severe than the common, ordinary: writer’s block. The latter can be remedied by long sessions looking at a blank page and even longer days in your jammies. Writer’s laryngitis requires medicine; the pharmacy kind of prescribed liquid that you pour onto a spoon and swallow with a grimace, then about thirty minutes later your whole body slumps over your laptop… Continue

I’ve blogged before about first time novelists, and to add another page to my album of obsession may be boring to some but here is my question anyway: How does an obscure, non-A-list published author slice through the thorns of who-are-yous and climb to public attention?

Luck. I was recently told this by one such individual whose friendship I’ve made through cyberspace. One can not disagree, however it would also appear to be their publisher’s influence and long arm as well.

Anyone currently o… Continue

The siren of summer lured me off my writer’s path and I went willingly to sit on the ocean’s edge and contemplate. Stretched before me was the Atlantic, so far into the horizon that even squinting did not allow me to see its end. When these moments came there was no choice but to stop and raise a hand to shield the sun from my eyes, to pause for the solar rising or setting. All thoughts passed away and my mind was relieved of burdens and bundles of musts and must-nots.

As I shake the sand from… Continue