Writing
Morning Man
Utah. White skies, flurries, and temperatures around zero. The days around my birthday often find me rethinking the rhythm of my life and nursing morning fantasies.
Middle Path
Ohio. The snow outside my window is melting as soon as it piles up, and there might be a lesson here.
Word Count
Ohio. Wind chills in the single digits and still no snow. If I’m not paying attention, I can push commas around for hours.
Ship
Ohio. Forty degrees with gusty winds. The sun goes down at 5:21pm tonight. In the far corner of the library, an elderly man sighs over a big dusty book of trees.
Post-Internet
Writing about online living feels tacky for some reason, even though it might be the only thing we have left in common.
Rainy Day
The first day of the year, and there’s a new supermoon tonight. I tried my best to feel fresh and brand new for these first hours of 2022.
Freewriting
Sunset: 4:27pm. Last night I watched C. paint, and she moved so quick and loose, belonging entirely to the moment as she swirled her ink across a massive canvas.
Burning
Sunset: 4:35pm. Tonight the moon is full. “When you do something, you should burn yourself completely, like a good bonfire, leaving no trace of yourself.”
Gift
I was heaving and hauling myself across 85th Street when something clicked.
Holy Day
Sunset: 4:44pm. Last night the clocks fell back an hour, and it’s my favorite moment of the year because we create more night.
Abattoir
Sunset: 5:47pm. There’s a new supermoon tonight. Embrace speed. Groove on distraction. Let everything get garbled and weird.
Monster
Along the way, I began to think of my book as a monster.