Most nights, after a long day of work, I’m greeted first by my dog and then by my teenage son’s detritus – his backpack, sneakers, a sweater he’s shrugged off and let drop to the floor – littering the front hall and obstructing my path to the kitchen. Yelling at him doesn’t help nor does it feel good. Lately, I’ve taken to calmly opening the front door and tossing all of his things outside while remarking that I think a rainstorm might be coming
December 26, 2016 | Eve Bridburg
We at GrubStreet believe that the narrative arts are a sanctuary. No book has ever refused a reader. Great writing cannot exist if it is based on hate, fear, division, exclusion, scapegoating, or the worship of injustice and power. Writers cannot write if they are incapable of empathy, of imagining what it is that an other feels, thinks, and sees. Through reading and writing, through identifying with characters who are nothing like us, we who love words learn to love others.
November 29, 2016 | Eve Bridburg
Last winter, at a packed open mic in Cambridge, I watched a young girl of Turkish descent stumble on stage. Glancing between the sheets of paper in her shaky hands and the audience, she lost her composure as she recounted a conversation with her father, earlier that day, about her safety as a Muslim. She explained that, yes, she was crying because she no longer felt safe, but mainly it was the pain she registered in her father’s face that made her sad
August 17, 2016 | Eve Bridburg
Spearheaded in part by GrubStreet's Eve Bridburg, the Boston Literary Cultural District was founded in 2014 to provide a window into Boston's literary history through tours and events. Now the LCD has a new Director: Grub Instructor Alysia Abbott. This week, Eve and Alysia got together to talk writing communities, Alysia's award-winning book, Fairyland: A Memoir of My Father, and historic literary sites that might surprise the modern Bostonian.
August 5, 2016 | Eve Bridburg
It’s hard for me to wrap my head around the notion that GrubStreet will be twenty next year. I was twenty-nine when I put $400 on my credit card to produce our first flyer advertising two fiction workshops. Next year, I’ll be just shy of fifty. My two children, babies in the early days who crawled through the legs of our first volunteers during gatherings in my living room, will both be in high school. This summer, my daughter, for the second year running, will ride the T into the city with her friend Molly to take classes with ...