Were you to ask me—more years ago than I care to mention, back when I was a child playing my Atari—what I wanted to be when I grew up, my answer would have been, “a writer.”

…Excluding those who are working the front lines in health care, essential service employees, or parents who are taking on extra responsibilities, the majority of us who are sheltering-in-place, staying-at-home, and waiting out this pandemic, life is a little less busy…

I’m not sure how much stock to put in coincidences… but what are the odds that the one apartment tour I was at home for would bring people who were moving from not only the city, but the school I was soon heading toward?

I’m a creative nonfiction writer – which is to say that I write personal essays about family relationships and dynamics. Which is to say that, for me, writing involves a lot of hunching over my laptop…

I’d stayed home from school one day in second grade with a ravenous cold. As I attempted to sleep the day away, our home phone continued to ring (remember landlines? those were kinda dope) bringing me out of my slumber. I’d curse the thing—salesman!— they’d never quit calling.

It has become a weird thing, to me, to read and write toward a theme, some assertion about human nature. It’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately. Is the job of the writer to parse all of their […]

I’ve never been much of a blogger, so when I realized I had to opportunity to write a blog post, I obviously reacted with nothing but excitement. Excitement, that is, until I realized that these blog posts seem to have […]

The reservoir was lapping and lapping at my chest and my hair was silky wet. I closed my eyes to the sun and I let her warm me like a baking croissant. Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh, I thought. Ahhhhhhhhh. I am nervous I’m […]

I was seven, I think. I had lined up several dolls at the end of my bed and was attempting to show them how to do long subtraction. They were an unruly class, constantly pushing each other down, never remembering […]