I have been reading Annie Dillard’s ought-to-be-a-classic book For the Time Being very slowly. It’s a book that warrants the rereading of pages. There’s this one passage I’m totally stuck on. I’ve been reading it to everyone–in workshops, over the telephone. The passage calls me again and again. Here it is: There were no formerly…
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I’m finishing reading The Art of the Wasted Day, a book of essays about the lost practice of leisure time by Patricia Hampl. I’d been waiting until I completed a bunch of tasks to properly earn reading it (whatever that means), and packed it with me on a trip to Telluride for the (incredible, heart and mind…
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I know last week I said I’d tell you about Bad Stories, and I will soon. That post is waiting patiently in my drafts, but this weekend is a bit loaded and warrants something else. Yesterday my mom arrived back in town and her hair has gotten long and she casually mentioned that she wrote…
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