writer /writing professor
seeking: a good chair, a happy reader,
a clock with a gentle face
Works in Progress
novel in late developmental mode
The Bowling Green Massacre
But the legs, attached to no person, are suffused with personality, an animating force so convincing that the eye doesn’t see an absence where there should be a torso: one sees a torso that cannot be seen. One sees a half-invisible woman. The legs are propped in front of the chair, the left angling in at the knee with the arched sole and raised heel of a foot in high heels...
I Think About You All The Time, Starting Tomorrow
novel in late editorial mode
“How do you know it’s not cotton. I mean if it’s inside your head, this ‘fog’, and so lacking material properties—?”
“No, that’s true," she said, "It could be cotton.”
“A lot of things could be cotton if you think about it."
“My therapist called it a foreshortened sense of the future.”
He raised an eyebrow above his good eye. Both of his eyes worked fine, it was that one had goodness in it, one was the eye of a good man, a helper, a doer. The other, with both the slant of the socket and the eye within the socket, belied cynicism and uninvolvement in the general struggle. That was the more attractive eye, of course.
The Return of Lefty
I sit in the office of a hand surgeon. She puts a copy of my X ray on the counter and says there is a certain amount of forgiveness you can expect, but that too much was needed here. She shows me with a protractor, fanning and setting it on the picture of my wrist. We look. We observe the beyond-forgivenessness of the fracture...
graphic fiction in development