Am I a writer?

In which I talk about the nature of the craft, the ones who are good at it and the ones who aren’t, and the stories I’m working on that aren’t the novel


On Friday night I met a guy named Paco who stood up and just told a story off the top of his head. It was essentially a coming-of-age tale about a terradactyl who seeks her fortune by talking to a fortune teller. The story was admittedly infused with a fantasy element, but I don’t think […]

What a novel idea

A few years ago, before there was a Hillary and an Ava, I started writing a novel I was calling Coming From My Mother. It was/is about a young woman named Chloe and her Soviet Russian mother, Lydia, who left Chloe in England with her paternal grandparents and came to the U.S. to go to […]

I am not really comparing myself to Herman Melville

I’ve been reading Billy Budd. My professor calls it a “problem text,” but it is not causing me the problems I expected. It is making me afraid that I will die before I’ve said everything I want to say—or, even more, I am afraid that I will die having said something I didn’t mean to […]