
Even though the train must still be at least 50 miles out, I can feel it chugging towards us in the darkness. It’s out there like an old friend in the night who’s got the means to come gather me up and take me away.

It is clearly betrayal, indeed bodily insubordination, these hands that type “writhing” when my brain means “writing.” Even so, getting fingers-to-keys has gotten easier through the years, and the best writing advice I’ve ever received was modeled for me in the heat of the moment, two decades ago: “I need to let my subconscious work…

I had a rather strange experience last week where, in the span of one day, three separate people recommended Elizabeth Gilbert’s latest book to me. It wasn’t even a suggested reading type recommendation. It was a “stare deep in someone’s eyes and whisper, you have to read this book” type recommendation. I was hesitant because…