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A shared language for craft, and enough time and space to actually apply it.
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A shared language for craft, and enough time and space to actually apply it.

It's the last month of 2025! Starting this month (NOT in January, just as a reminder that you can always start new things in any month, day, or moment you like), we’re rebooting our Friday Fire series, prompts designed to keep you on fire (or on a slow burn) as a writer, and on Mondays, insights and observations with the very on-the-nose-name of Monday Motivation to uplift you as the person,…

This season, it is just about 6 years since Emily and I first soft-launched Circe Consulting. The world was on the brink of 2020, though we as of yet had no idea what that meant—no idea that we would all soon be in lockdown, working, teaching, learning, and gathering on a thing called “Zoom.”

This morning after I dropped my daughter off at school, I turned on the radio and heard a song I would never listen to by choice – “I Will Follow You into the Dark” by Death Cab for Cutie - and burst into tears.

This creative collaboration between Jeannine Ouellette, Emily Rapp Black, and Gina Frangello—three established writers with extensive teaching experience—is for prose writers of all levels who want to deepen and accelerate their craft through dedicated effort with close reading of acclaimed published work, an array of live (virtual) cross-disciplinary instruction, visiting writers and editors,…

If you are like many humane, justice-minded individuals, your answers may include "overwhelmed," "horrified," "aching," "feeling helpless," "hustling to do more and worried it can never be enough," and "spinning with pain and fear."

Confused about the ever-shifting landscape of the publishing industry? Unsure whether you need an agent for your project...and how to get one? Treat yourself to the publishing industry expertise your manuscript deserves.

Our closest friends are our chosen family, and their loss can be devastating. Amy was more than "just a friend." In many ways, we were life partners, sharing a history longer than many marriages and longer than our children have been alive.

I am from basil leaves simmering in chicken cacciatore, from Stella D’oro cookies dunked in Taster’s Choice, from thinly sliced and salted eggplant stacked on paper towels while sand drained from an hourglass like The Days of Our Lives. I am from rice medley boiled in airtight bags, from frozen Salisbury steaks and guilty mounds of Peterson’s ice cream by low TV light, from “blowjobs taste like…

It began as a joke. My friend Emily, who lives near my desert house in California, and I started quipping about the “feminist retirement commune” we would someday form in our old age. “Rob’s the only man allowed,” Emily said of my husband. We laughed…but the idea had resonance.