stories

It’s no secret that I believe I have in me a book. I also have in me essays. Unlike the book, these have been coming out in a fairly steady stream over the past decade. Less so in recent years. But certainly something that I took seriously in the last years of my marriage.

I pulled out some of those essays this week. I could have thought: splendid! I must do something with these! But I didn’t. Instead, I thought – what a bunch of amateurish crap.

This is not unusual. Tearing apart my own work is a fairly common event for me. I go through so many drafts before I stop and think – why am I doing this? Why am I reworking stories that will never be audience ready?


I’ll leave you with this day – told in four pictures: morning (familiar, no??), noon-ish, evening, and nearly night.















Yes, and night... or nearly night...