Yesterday, Doe and I were in that place in the park… just north of the bridle path, on the East Side but west of the road. The hill there slopes down on two sides to form a bowl of newly … Continue reading
I was at Housing Works the other day — Doe drags me in there numerous times per week: they give her dog biscuits, the shitty kind she isn’t allowed at home. Anyway, I don’t mind being dragged into Housing Works. … Continue reading
I’m sitting here at my desk by the window with its view of the big maple tree. All the rain this spring has turned it into a beast of beauty. I need to find other words for lush and green … Continue reading
It’s been a long time since I’ve written here; since I’ve wanted to write. I read an article in the New Yorker this morning about a Brazilian author, Raduan Nassar, who wrote two short highly regarded novels years ago and … Continue reading
Just in time for spring, the winter issue of 3 a.m. analog was ready. Maybe this speaks to the way musicians conceive of time, always a little late. Although, I tend to be early (which is why I’m calling our … Continue reading
The warm weather continues through the last days of December in New York City. These were taken in Central Park on the same day. One of the koi pond in the Conservatory Garden, the second of the hill where we … Continue reading
Well, 3 a.m. analog is up and running! The stories are available for sale on Amazon. It feels like we’ve been working on this forever, but it’s truly been a labor of love. There’s a link to the site here … Continue reading
Last week I found a bloody bird on the street. I had an appointment to take Target to the vet, because he wasn’t feeling well, and didn’t know what to do. I didn’t have time to do both — to … Continue reading
This is a photo of the morning that inspired these paragraphs from the new might-be-someday novel I’m working on: “She liked to lie on the bed in that small room and watch the clouds drift past. Sometimes they created an … Continue reading
I was ahead of the curve when it comes to the Norwegians. Finding Per Petterson’s Out Stealing Horses felt like a personal discovery in 2005. I’ve always loved a good translation, one that retains a book’s original idioms, place, and … Continue reading