I went to see her straight from the airport. (Was I, then, a good son, or only the semblance of one, going through the motions, performing goodness because, perhaps, there was someone up in the carpark above me, watching me swim back and forth, back and forth?) I knew my mother’s health had deteriorated. I [...]

[this article - or, at least, some version of it, originally appeared in WQ] Every morning when I slide out of bed I put on coffee and open my notebooks, sit down at my desk, and write. It seems simple enough and, to a disinterested observer – to the birds outside my window – perhaps [...]

“To know that one does not write for the other, to know that these things I am going to write will never cause me to be loved by the one I love (the other), to know that writing compensates for nothing, sublimates nothing, that it is precisely there where you are not — this is [...]