And vita brevis
I'm not interested in anybody's guilt. Guilt is a luxury that we can no longer afford. I know you didn't do it, and I didn't do it either, but I am res…
I was asked recently about how one writes flash fiction, which is the form my first published stories took. (Example.) The piece of flash fiction most …
Tight lines, Yeats, and Elizabeth Bishop
Etymology & multilingualism
The shooing of the soul to its home, that is our work. The releasing of a shower of sparks to fill the day, and creating a light so we can find our way…
The trilliums were—are—blooming; it was the right time of year. I drove a hundred miles into the Cascades with a map of past years’ fires, hungry for t…
“Orleans will never forget the 8th of May, nor ever fail to celebrate it. It is Joan of Arc’s day—and holy.”
Three times in two weeks, I became aware of small, difficult choices that I would have to make, choices with no clear good outcome, that would likely c…
On certain days that are dark and hard, as well as some days that are bright and easy, I pour British-style tea, Earl Gray or cardamom black or blackcu…
On research for writers
Who am I kidding, I threw the literary equivalent of a rock through a window, and you can find it over at Locus Magazine today. And it is thanks to you…