Named after Mount Holyoke College founder Mary Lyon, The Lyon Review celebrates the finest creative writing from alumnae and faculty, and provides a supportive forum to discuss literature and the writing process. We know there are scores of talented women writers who haven’t yet been published but deserve to be, or have enjoyed publication, and perhaps have even won literary prizes or critical acclaim, but continue to find it difficult to gain a wider audience given the myriad changes and challenges the publishing industry increasingly faces. And there are plenty of newer writers, whether twenty-five or seventy-five , who are just starting to wrestle with their craft. The Lyon Review is dedicated to highlighting the work of the former and helping to inspire the latter.
Alice Ruvane ’86 makes her way in the world as a promotional writer. She served on the Editorial Board of The Lyon Review during its inception and her first published personal essay, Creating a Life appeared in The Lyon Review in May 2011. Alice’s other works can be found online and in a yellowing copy of the New York Times Magazine (letter to the Editor and www.poetsagainstthewar.org, Truth & Justice.) Alice lives in Maine where she delights in spoiling her dog and her husband rotten (in that order). When she’s not spending time outdoors, on her yoga mat, on stage or with friends, she can be found at her desk writing. It’s no wonder she’s still at work on her first novel.
I didn’t tell my boy where we were headed the morning I threw his duffle bag in the way back and drove him to rehab. I lied. I waved the plane ticket I’d bought to Canada in front of his dazed eyes, “Maybe your father can straighten you out.” I’d had enough. Even if my boy hadn’t reached his “bottom,” I’d sure reached mine.
I packed his things the night before. Four pairs of tube socks, two pairs of jeans, an assortment of T-shirts and a sweatshirt. It wasn’t much, but it was clean. I picked the clothes off his floor and did the washing, drying and folding. He wasn’t home, but that wasn’t news. For the last two years he only came home to sleep, or really, to sleep it off.