My favorite thing to do (within reason) is browse in bookstores. I like looking, seeing the books, watching people, watching what other people are reading/buying/looking at. I found myself in a bookstore recently (would find myself there daily, if I had my druthers). Was grabbed by the cover of Lydia Davis’s collection of short stories Can’t and Won’t. Continue reading
My mantra for all my writing. Because you never know. And if it all ended, now or then, what would I wish I had said? Continue reading
The cursor on his screen beat in perfect time with his uninspired heart. He had approached the temple, cautiously at first, then more boldly, thinking he would always be welcome. But now it was empty, and there was a sense of permanence about the vacancy, the only signs of life or sound the echoing, sing-song laughter of a thousand maniacs, also gone.
[BLINK] Continue reading
Was it Nabokov who described them as deer? Or maybe it was gazelles. Girls of a certain age. Maybe it wasn’t Nabokov at all. But there is certainly something Nabakovian about the fascination with the subject matter. Continue reading
whose daddy loves her,
receives a story,
in exchange for a kiss.
She closes her eyes,
wishes very hard,
and the story comes true
in her dreams.
The first time,
guilt (almost) outweighed excitement.
was mostly just thrill
(regret a nagging, background whisper).
was pure rush
(remorse a fleeting afterthought).
I’m afraid of what comes next.
“You’re on my last nerve, honey,” he said in the dark. No answer but the sleep-even breathing beside him.
The “honey” revealed a softness underneath his resolve. Or maybe just residual desire.
There is a reason all advice sounds cliched.
What changes is not what we should do.
What never changes is that we never do it.
Stop (just) dreaming and start (actually) doing. Now!