Being a Writer in New England
My output is amazing during the winter. For me, cold, dark days are conducive to hunkering down and writing as is the soggy, cool springtime. But once warm, sunny, blue skies roll around, it is so hard to keep my…
My output is amazing during the winter. For me, cold, dark days are conducive to hunkering down and writing as is the soggy, cool springtime. But once warm, sunny, blue skies roll around, it is so hard to keep my…
Shakespeare did it. Flannery O’Connor did it. Jonathan Franzen does it all the time. Every playwright, short story writer, and novelist does it as a matter of course, yet there is still plenty of debate over the writer’s right to…
It’s said of the James brothers that William wrote philosophy like a novelist and Henry wrote novels like a philosopher. Something similar came to mind while reading Cynthia Ozick’s essay, “W. H. Auden at the 92nd Street Y” in her…
Between the Zika virus and the latest warnings for Olympic athletes not to put their heads under the water in Brazil because it is full of disgusting stuff I’d rather not talk about here, it feels like the summer Olympics…
My wife called me over to the garage and pointed down to a piece of machinery the size of a fist. “I think it fell out of the car,” she said. The metal thingamajig was pointy on one end and…
I never went to summer camp. I always wondered what it was like, that thing that other kids in other places got to do. My mom couldn’t afford it. Instead, my brother and I spent our summers trying to stay…