Forget your personal tragedy. We are all bitched from the start and you especially have to be hurt like hell before you can write seriously. But when you get the damned hurt, use it–don’t cheat with it. Thanks, Hemingway.

…and the privilege of access to a talented photographer and good lamplight (click to embiggen).

My favorite Smothers Brothers song has always been Hiawatha. Who went to hunt a bun-nee rab-bit to make a pair of MITtens from bun-nee-rabbitsfur. So he hunted over wood, he hunted over dell, he hunted all about where the bunny rabbits dwell-ell–ell-el-ellllll…. I digress. The Smothers Brothers have nothing to do with anything, excepting my […]

I’ve lived nearly half my life without my mother. In a lot of ways she’s a memory that’s faded over time, but as she’s faded, I’ve found significance in the small things I have left of her. I’ve certainly got stories–eating hot cereal every morning from the crockpot, plotting city park gardens and identifying all […]

In thinking about where to even begin to begin the first steps of a new journey, I’m taking some comfort in knowing that what is new and strange to me has been glaringly obvious for years to those who know me best. Case in point: the letter excerpted below, written to me upon my graduation […]