Now that I'm 50 and respectably settled in New England and markedly happier and more contented than I was in my youth, I modestly hope there's time to realize some of my youthful goals before I croak, but I'll take what I can get.

I grew up in an all-female family - two sisters and a mostly single mother - and we often bonded, in part, by disparaging men and feeling superior to them.

The male muse is an unaccountably rare thing in art. Where does that leave female artists looking for inspiration?

I think there's a part of my brain where food, language, and memory all intersect, and it's really powerful. I think I'm not alone in this.