Short, Sometimes Sweet (Like Iggy)

So much to read, so much free “wisdom” floating through the internet, so much distance in the anxious wish to commune. I’ve run out of wise-ness. I’m watching to see what happens, here on this planet. I want to give my children — and therefore everyone’s children — a chance to inherit the exquisite beauty and quick sweetness of a precarious world. I retired from academia a couple of years ago; great gig but now I get to switch from “truth” to a more blatant form of fabrication, because fiction is the only kind of language I trust myself to write. To claim. I write fiction because it’s about paying attention, and, in my definition, it’s about all of us leaning in to to perceive something elusive, together. That’s pretty much the whole philosophy. The commonalities of human being-ness, in small doses and tiny details. And, because I love it: the most beautiful language I can summon to story. Here on this most begrudging blog: mostly photographs, small paragraphs. And my best will to anyone who takes a moment to attend.