I don’t remember exactly how old I was. The outer boundaries are maybe five years old, as that’s
The Velvet Couch
The Mutable Measure of Writing Success
One half of a lifetime ago, I walked into a Los Angeles bookstore.
When Music Breaks Us
Now and then music will break me.
Fake Santa
Icy wind stretched the full 250 miles separating Savannah from Spartanburg, but that was more the fault of my means of conveyance than it was some kind of force majeure.
380 Steps
During my mid-twenties, I worked a cruddy job in a call center. The company was great and the people with whom I worked couldn’t have been nicer, but
Why I Write What I Write (and Why I Read What I Read)
My first attempt at literary writing occurred at nine years old.
Confessions Of An Apathetic Football Fan
What follows is an accounting of nearly 50 years of football fandom, if it can be called that.
A Ghost Made Me Write This
I did not know my paternal grandfather very well. That was partly due to geography, and partly due to the fact that he rarely spoke around me.
Siesta
I am sitting in a diner, listening to Miles Davis’s 1987 album, Music From Siesta. I was managing a record store in Savannah when this album was released three decades ago. Thirty […]
The Bulldozer
It wasn’t a house yet, just a bare skeleton waiting for someone to make it into one.
Why It Matters 