In which a sandbox is procured, children graduate, and old authors pass on.
Turning 40? Nothing to it really, once everything was said and done. With chaotic detritus from the recent move still littering areas of the new house (and my own psyche), we celebrated my fortieth birthday a bit early on Saturday night by escaping to my favorite restaurant, Tres Lobos. No […]
I haven’t written much about him, my father. There’s a brief cameo here and there — fragments stolen from conversations we’ve hadover the years, hard-earned insights of his that I plagiarize from time to time — but not much more than that. He shows up a lot in my dreams. […]
On this day, at almost exactly this same time, my son started to work his way out into life, thirteen years ago. He saved me, plain and simple. I was abandoned in a horribly lonely place, no chance of happiness. But then he was there. He protected me, focused me. […]
“It still seems like a strange way to make a living, sitting alone in a room for long periods of every day… I never go out looking for stories to tell; they grow inside me and become a weird compulsion. So, even though the story might change day to day, […]