See you wherever we land

Thinking about Joseph Francis Mckenna.

We met as kids at the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary. The parish was established in 1875. We attended almost a century later. Joe recalled that when seated in alphabetical order, we Micks formed a pod. He and Tim…


Seven ways to stop beating yourself up on the page

“There will be more words written on Twitter in the next two years than contained in all books ever printed.” Christian Rudder, author of Dataclysm: Who We Are

I was doing research for a print magazine story when I stumbled…


Twilight is creeping on. The snow takes on a blue tint. The steepest street, abandoned by sensible drivers and persnickety pedestrians, is crowded now with scores of kids pulling sleds and plastic saucers, all but forgotten in the backs of garages until earlier this morning when they were dusted off…


I’ve written professionally since just short of forever. As a regional journalist for a daily newspaper, I earned a decent enough living. My articles were regularly reprinted in newspapers nationwide. Reporters did not earn additional money for reprints but the idea that editors I’d never met chose to devote precious…


We stood around a plaza in Delhi, India, near a post office or visa office, some sort of public building with space out front where young travelers gathered. The details blur. What remains in razor-sharp focus is how my eighteen-year-old self felt when I saw her; brutally smug.

She was…


It started with national Talk Like a Pirate Day in September. Jake was all argghs and ahoy mateys which made me laugh. Not that hard but, still, I did laugh. At first.

Then one Wednesday after work, we met for happy hour at this great little pub Jake discovered. I…


Women need stilettos like fish need bicycles

A funny thing happened on the way to the White House: Stiletto heels!

A bunch of Boomer Zoomers and I were talking about the wonders of the inauguration celebration. The extraordinary young poet Amanda Gorman absolutely wowed us all. Jennifer Lopez sounded powerful…


Summer crept into the edges of May. The classroom felt stuffy. Decades of dust hid in the spaces between the floorboards. It permeated the clothbound books, older than our parents, shelved on the windowsill in order of reading skill. …


Whether random firings of neurons or magical messages from the subconscious, dreams talk

I believe in dreams. Not goal-setting ambitious dreams but the sleeping ones that mix memories and future thoughts not yet fully formed, all together in moving pictures.

Most my dreams are forgotten before I wake. Or dissipate…


Memories of a journalist covering fashion in a least fashionable town

She was beautiful in a fierce sort of way. Physically arresting, for sure, aristocratic, elegant, toned, and fit, but most beautiful because of her aura of absolute confidence.

Diane von Furstenberg was/is iconic.

She gave the distinct impression she…

Vivian McInerny

Career journalist, essayist, fiction writer, and life-long spirit-quester.

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