Latin is dead, thankfully.

I don’t mean to presume these habits are universal to writers. But I suspect some may be. My Favorite Let’s say you’re writing a paragraph. Doesn’t take long to produce. Why? The words breathe. All you need is a pen and paper to transcribe the breath strokes. Editing? Barely existent. Satisfaction guaranteed. My Least Favorite … Continue reading Latin is dead, thankfully. →

Who Turned Off The Lights? And Who Shut The Door?

Who Turned Off The Lights? And Who Shut The Door? Hood

Chickens

The grand scheme of things is of no interest to me. Rather it’s the incidentals, the minutiae observed, and reported fragments of reality that matter. How the occupation between the edges of the sink and stovetop is the extent of workspace, and mutation of elsewhere, and skills of novice jugglers. How recombination of energy creates … Continue reading Chickens →

Which Way Is Up?

There is one thing I can state with absolutely certainly. I never end where I began. There’s nothing really unique about that. It’s probably true for others, as well. But in this instance, I am referring specifically to art. This, too, may be true for other artists, as well. Whenever someone asks how I select … Continue reading Which Way Is Up? →