A Girl at Eleven

The age of eleven was rough. I was small for my age and younger than my seventh grade classmates.  After gym class, I hastily dressed my child-like body next to a girl whose body was actually making a child. When I caught her round, naked belly jumping with life, she smiled at me with a mix of trepidation and pride. I didn’t know what to think. At eleven, I craved the company of groups of indifferent girls and boys. I was dismissive and even cruel to kids who were less popular, though they were kinder. School created such anxiety that I developed debilitating stomach aches. I wore…

5 Reasons Why I Don’t Drink

I don’t drink.  When I say I don’t drink I mean I don’t drink alcohol.  When I say I don’t drink alcohol I mean I have maybe five drinks a year, spaced out between months, never more than one at a time.  Some years I’ll have less. When I say I don’t drink, people assume I am in recovery. I don’t deserve that kind of respect. This is not a blog post about addiction. I do have a sugar addiction, and if I treated an addiction to alcohol or drugs the way I treat my addiction to processed sugar, I would be in a…

Rerun: Mistaken Identity

First run Friday July 26, 2013  (The photos are from 2015) Today in the middle of a five mile walk I stopped at the Rite Aid to take a break and look at make up.  I didn’t want to buy anything.  I just felt like looking at the little pans of powdered hope before I hit the road again. I was feeling pretty cute if you want to know the truth. I’ve been exercising all summer and I’m tan from swimming with my kid. I was wearing a tank top that in my mind showed off my glorious biceps, and a ball…

Elizabeth Holzman Reads “The Flat Earth”

Last summer, I was lucky enough to see a short story I wrote performed at Sacramento Stories on Stage. This monthly event is just one more reason why Sacramento is a premier literary town and a wonderful place to be a reader and a writer. My story “The Flat Earth” appears in the print edition of Night Train Journal released last March. The story opens on a scene at a ninth grade girl slumber party that is based almost word for word on something that happened to me when I was a kid. Someday you should try having one of…

I Stopped Dyeing My Hair

In the late nineties my baby and I waited at the corner of Euclid for my husband to get out of class at UC Berkeley so we could go to dinner when a beautiful young woman walked towards us down Hearst Avenue. We were about the same age, twenty-seven or twenty-eight. She wore a plaid skirt and tweed jacket like somebody out of The Paper Chase and her long hair was shot with gray. I stood amazed, fraught with jealousy, horrified. By the time she passed us without even a smile for the baby, I had constructed an entire mythology surrounding her. She was…

I Pretended to Be a Guy to Get Published

I attended a private Catholic high school for girls, across the street from a private Catholic high school for boys. Students were allowed to take classes at both schools. My mother taught on the girl side, my dad on the boy side. The boy side’s English department ran an annual writing contest. Winners got award and publication in the school literary magazine. It was a project of the boy side teachers, therefore only boys could submit work for consideration. The girl side had no such thing going on. I thought this was bullshit. I wrote a story called “Pretty Red Lights”…