My novel, Everywhere She’s Not, is in large part about the relationship between a man, David, and his mother, whom, when David was ten years old, disappeared for two years. Here’s an excerpt from the book: [Read more…]
“Apocalypse.” Sorry. That’s too strong a word.
Oh, wait. Murder wasps. [Read more…]
Literature-wise, I cut my teeth on plays. My father was an avid amateur actor in the San Francisco Bay area, and I grew up reading him his lines. By the time I was sixteen, I had read a ton of popular plays from the 1950’s through early 1970’s. From there I read Chekhov, Ibsen, Odets, Ionesco, Albee, Miller, Beckett, Tennessee Williams, Eugene O’Neil–and, always and forever, Neil Simon. And Shakespeare for my next three thousand lifetimes, which won’t be nearly enough time to appreciate half of that other-worldly genius. [Read more…]
Remember yesterday, when I said that today I’d write about my thrilling foray into the wonderfully wacky world of straw bale gardening?
I did that because to me every day now is Wedmontuefrisathursunday. [Read more…]
Not to brag or anything, but I was a carbo-scarfing, chronically napping, antisocial television addict way before that was cool.
I was born to be that way, is why. And I mean that literally. [Read more…]