by Bunny Terry | Feb 18, 2022 | Being a Writer, Daily Gratitude, Gratitude Nerdiness
Two years ago, only weeks before the beginning of the pandemic, I figured out another of the reasons I am grateful. I sat in a chair in a hospital room while my sister stood beside the bed, holding my Aunt Crystell’s hand, talking through the stories we had heard all...
by Bunny Terry | Feb 4, 2022 | Being a Writer, Gratitude Nerdiness
There’s a story that’s been circulating on the wire since early Monday morning about an apologetic burglar that left $200 for a broken window as he exited the house he broke into. I found it this morning on such far-flung and interesting sites as the...
by Bunny Terry | Jun 2, 2021 | Being a Writer, Daily Gratitude, Favorite Authors
Every day I thank Anne Lamott for introducing me to Frederick Buechner. Not as in, we were standing on a patio at a party and Anne Lamott and I are visiting right before Frederick Buechner walked up, which would be the ultimate gift of life, almost as good as...
by Bunny Terry | May 25, 2021 | Being a Writer, Writing Practice, Writing Prompts
I remember. In her magical book, Lift, Kelly Corrigan writes, “I heard once that the average person barely knows ten stories from childhood and those are based more on photographs and retellings than memory.” When I read that, I immediately turned to Toby...
by Bunny Terry | Apr 13, 2021 | Being a Writer
I owe a huge debt of gratitude to my parents for giving me a love of books and the Bookmobile. I love the Bookmobile. I love that where I grew up in rural northeastern New Mexico had a few things to offer that you couldn’t find in an urban area. Like the...
by Bunny Terry | Feb 23, 2021 | Being a Writer, Daily Gratitude, Writing Practice
I’m grateful that someone told me to write a thousand words a day. That this was the best way to become a writer. Someone somewhere taught me that if I wanted to be a writer, I needed to write. (It was probably Natalie Goldberg in Wild Mind.) That creativity wasn’t...
Bunny Terry is a native New Mexican who grew up on a farm in northeastern New Mexico. Her first writing job was typing stories on index cards on her family’s Underwood, stories that were uncannily like the ones she read over and over in O Ye’ Jigs and Julips, her favorite childhood book. No one thought to save those index cards for posterity, although there is the theory sarcastically circulated by her siblings that they will certainly be worth millions someday. 