Slow Man

“It is like a sea beating against his skull. Indeed, for all he knows he could already be lost overboard, tugged to and fro by the currents of the deep. The slap of water that will in time strip his bones of the last sliver of flesh. Pearls of his eyes; coral of his bones.”[…]

Some scattered thoughts on the MFA writing degrees

(in response to, or inspired by, Ruth Fowler’s rant at the Huffington Post.) Some thoughts on the debate about writing MFA programs: 1. Do visual artists argue about the merits of MFA programs? I know I’m not the first person to bring this up, but the idea of training in the visual arts and music[…]

Summer Reading

“The wind roars up the avenue. Trees stoop and bend this way and that. Moonbeams splash and spill wildly in the rain. But the beam of the lamp falls straight from the window. The candle burns stiff and still. Wandering through the house, opening the windows, whispering not to wake us, the ghostly couple seek[…]

Summer Reading

“They were filled with rage. All they really knew were two darknesses, the darkness of their lives, which was now closing in on them, and the darkness of the movies, which had blinded them to that other darkness, and in which they now, vindictively, dreamed, at once more together than they were at any other[…]