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September 4, 2017

I can't see the muse, but I feel her pushing like the wind's hand on the small of my back, saying, "Here, step through this way," but it's just a suggestion, not a command.

When I can't see her, I look for the turtles on the logs, sunning, implacable and shining, necks...

June 29, 2017

Writing surges out of us in quietude as well as chaos and sometimes surges not at all, but rather seeps and trickles with surprising lassitude.

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March 25, 2018

October 26, 2017

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June 29, 2017

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June 29, 2017

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