After decades of aborted attempts to write a novel, I've decided to befriend objective reality: I'm a creative nonfiction writer (mostly). I rebuffed the notion for so long because I'd falsely assumed nonfiction was a lesser art, a testament to creative dearth.
But nonfiction is merely art of a different sort. A way of making meaning out of memory—of alchemizing the past.
In my MFA program, an oft repeated idiom was that everyone's first book is a memoir. And I think there is a truth in this: that in the act of creation we plant something of ourselves.
This website is my generative seed. The fertile ground in which I'm exploring the connections between things: notes I’ve left in margins and on scraps of paper, old journals, reflections on art and life, thoughts, fears, longings. It’s not an end, but, like me, a work in progress.
Thank you for taking the journey with me.
I sit on roofs and write things. I'd like to share them with you.
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