Detour.
I’m not a big fan of that word.
So when a row of orange cones and a large Detour sign told me that 322 East had succumbed to the turbulent influences of Irene, I wasn’t happy. My friend needed to get to the Philadelphia airport, and that Detour sent us off the familiar path. Continue reading “When Your Detour is Someone Else’s Destination”
There are lots of good people out there. I’m fortunate enough to be friends with more than my fair share of them. Here are five friends who either have books coming out now, or will soon:
Continue reading “Five Friends and Five Books You Should Read”
For the last four days I hung out with an unlikely friend.
His skin is the same rich color as the Mexican earth from which his ancestors eked a living. His hair is so black it soaks up the light – all except the thin, crescent-shaped scar, subtle as the small stream that runs past my house, hidden in the undergrowth. On his face is etched the pride of a Native American chief, the kindness of a paisano, the mental quickness of some desert fox.
Twenty-two years ago, on a small airstrip in South America, a Panamanian soldier shot him in the head. Continue reading “The Most Unlikely Friend”
Cade grabbed my arm, urgency written all over his face.
“Dad, what day is it?”
“Um, August 24th?”
“No, the day? You know, Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday –“
“Oh, yeah, it’s Wednesday.”
His face wrinkled up in thought. Continue reading “The Best Friday Night This Dad Has Ever Had”
I have a lot in common with my dad. (Somewhere in the space-time continuum, my fourteen-year-old self is screaming in agony at that sentence).
We both like to have our alone time. We both like communicating with people. And perhaps most importantly (drum roll please)…
We both have an inexplicable disdain for cold water.
Hold that thought. Continue reading “Should I Run the Tough Mudder?”
Twenty months have passed since Maile and I came to the conclusion that I should write for a living. Some days I wake up with this almost paralyzing fear that the day will come when our finances will dictate that I cannot do this anymore – other days I’m scared that I might HAVE to do this for the rest of my life.
Continue reading “Confessions, After Twenty Months of Making My Living as a Writer”
