[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 [...]