From Claire Carey Deering

THE MINIMALIST
Claire Carey Deering believes less is more, in writing and in life. She’s not too fond of makeup (much to her mother’s chagrin) or clutter, but can’t get enough of sentences that cut to the heart and people that others overlook. She spends her days dreaming up characters, writing YA and memoir, and enjoying the grace of a second chance. Claire currently lives in Seattle, but feels most at home wherever her husband and son happen to be.

Surprise ending

When my boy was born, I could not nurse him. No matter how much Mother’s Milk tea I drank or lactation consultants I visited, I was bone dry. The fancy pump? It could not extract what my body refused to produce. I felt on par with Lady Macbeth’s maternal capabilities every time I went to…

Breath

In tiny waves of light the morning came. I stood above my son, watching him sleep. Outside the ash fell and the birds were quiet, but, inside, the house was full of his breath. I wonder if this is how all mothers will feel on the day the world ends. The wildfires are still burning…

Homesick

There is a field behind our new house, with an invisible stream buried under all that tall grass. I know–from a map–that this little swath of hidden blue becomes the Lacamas River, just east of where I can see. In the morning, I watch the cows, gathered in circles, gossiping in voices that sound like…

Candle-Makers

From the freeway, the empty wagon bows straddling the Oregon Trail museum look like the giant ribcage of a prehistoric whale left out in the sun. Inside the museum, we join school children as they watch a documentary in which dramatic voiceovers of settlers talk about their run-ins with the “Red Man.” A few minutes…

The Ghost of Joy

We’ve just returned from Hawaii, specifically Ko Olina, a stretch of land named for joy. Literally: the fulfillment of joy. I’m not great at joy. Empathy? Yes, pretty solid. Introspection? To a fault. Raucous, made-you-look-joy? Well, let’s just say it isn’t my default. We’ve recently moved 143 miles from Seattle to Vancouver, and I’m in…

Blind as a Bat

As I left work in the afternoon, I felt my contact lens bunch up into the corner of my eye. I blinked a few times, contemplated getting off the freeway to fix it, and then decided it wasn’t that bad. By the time I was on the 520 bridge, both eyes were watering. I squeezed…