Recently, I've been writing, or trying to write. And, to be perfectly honest, writing makes me feel kind of weird. I get tired, I find myself lost in my thoughts and, as painful as this is to admit, I can get kind of prickly. It's an isolating experience, but, as a good friend would say,…
"I was sad all day, and why not. There I was, books piled on both sides of the table, paper stacked up, words falling off my tongue.The robins had been a long time singing, and now it was beginning to rain.What are we sure of? Happiness isn't a town on a map, or an early…
This isn't the post I thought I'd be writing this weekend. Really, in a way, this isn't a post that I thought I'd ever be writing unless I somehow managed--miraculously, amazingly, brilliantly--to concoct the cocktail of my dreams. But believe me when I say that I've found it. It's a Peanut Torito: peanut butter and…
To die your while life. Despite the morbidity, I can't think of a better definition of the writing life. There's something about writing that demands a leave-taking, an abandonment of the world, paradoxically, in order to see it clearly. This retreat has to be accomplished without severing the vital connection to the world, and to…
Recently, I've been having a bit of a hard time deciding on my yearly slogan. I was thinking that this should be the Year of Fresh Starts, but, considering that half the year will actually be spent tying up loose ends, that didn't really seem right to me. I then wondered if I should call…
Dining with Dostoevsky 