Original essays and other truth in writing. Subscribe: RSS
My mother was dead. I had a dentist appointment in ten minutes.
I wanted my own capability to be that beautiful. To be that subtle in its forcefulness.
When we didn’t carry phones, when we printed directions from the internet, kept fold-out maps in the glovebox, and slept in the rest stop lot...
He waits until everyone is asleep. Only, I am awake, sleepless in the middle of the night.
Perhaps the moment was sacred, not to be tainted, and Kyle was a gentleman. Or maybe I had it all wrong.
I was conscious that the Spanish we were using was Hemingway’s Spanish, that we reduced the animal to dialectical terms of good or bad depending on how it met the people’s ideal, and I partook of this with great enthusiasm.
Lit mags all start with a dream and an editor or two. The combination of magic, hard work, luck and editorial chemistry determine their path.
"got to have a yellow woman if you’re a yellow man": David Mura looks for an Asian American masculinity
I always worry about what you think about me, about what I’m doing. Even when I’m not hiding anything.
If I die now, I will have regrets. I am a writer who hasn’t made time for writing.