words & art by shé

bookshelf

Tag: women artists and writers

  • Benevolence

    Three years in México and the language still gets away from me. To be fair, I’ve had huge misunderstandings with people in English; Spanish simply adds spice. Yesterday, slogging back from provisioning, towing the wagon, the gatekeeper at the athletic field asked, “¿Se vende?” The fatigued interpreter in my brain translated this to “What did…

  • Shoulds are for Saints

    It’s out! Shoulds are for Saints: the true life adventures of Suzy Le Speed has finally been published. She sprang to life in college, got derailed, then surfaced again and again. Shoulds is a quirky, non-formulaic P.I. novel. Funny feminist fiction for fans of Rita Mae Brown, Linda Barnes, and Susan Isaacs. Set in 1980s…

  • Pura Vida

    Oh, metallic blue paint at the office supply store! Oh, canvases and silver hue! I hold my sunglasses in my teeth, the better to pile art supplies into my arms. Was hard to leave the quality paints behind on Kaua’i. Back aboard Habibi, these treasures now take up three shoeboxes in a cubby and a half. Satisfaction.…

  • Anniversary

    Push down to go up – that’s what dancers do, push down through the feet in order to rise, turn, and jump. Push down to go up. I did this on my surfboard recently, pushed down into the board while catching a wave, and it worked a treat. Balanced, baby! Riding easily! This morning I…

  • Marina Life

    I’ve given up trying to leave Mazatlán for the nonce. Maybe I’ll head south again after hurricane season. I have settled into a writing rhythm, and am working on the memoir. I’ve rigged an uber-long extension cord to the dock post in order to recharge the devices and run the electric kettle. Now to find…

  • Pity Kiss

    He snaked his arm through my open 4Runner window, snagged my shoulder to pull me closer, and kissed me on the cheek. I was too surprised to resist. I had pulled over when I saw him to find out why he suddenly stopped texting in the middle of negotiating a visit to Habibi with his…

  • Meditations

    “What the fuck are you doing in Mexico?” scathed a thought during meditation. A beat… two… then, “I AM HEALING,” roared my inner Capitana, much to my surprise and delight. Usually I am cowed by these raging judgments and scornful doubts, and tuck my head in like a turtle resisting attack. But not this time. I…

  • Reflection

    “Don’t want no short dick man.” The singer is adamant, and I am shocked by the explicit English words emanating from the Mazatlán bus speakers. Loudly. Repetitively. Blatantly stating what she does not want.  I am sitting next to another sailing woman, part of a group on our way to a store with maritime supplies…

  • Hauling Out

    I’ve been over the edge for a while, and wondering why. Did the math and realized that I left Kaua’i 15 months ago. Seems to be my limit, as I wrote a book about an earlier excursion, also 15 months. Crashed in Florida in 2018. Now I’ve crashed in Mazatlán. Too much time doing hard…

  • La Bomba

    Para bailar la bomba, se necesita una poca de gracia. To dance the diesel engine water pump dance, you need a smidgen of grace. Because the mechanic everyone recommends does not respond to text, phone, email, or WhatsApp. But you have marina angels on your side, and hard-won patience. You finally garner an appointment, to…