Short pieces on writing, presence, and the work in progress. Longer essays live on the blog.
A sign in a Banff gift shop, and the difference between explaining the past and letting it keep choosing for us.
A door I had never realized was there, a speaker stack on fire at Compton Terrace in 1989, and the band that made me want to write.
Eighteen months into a first draft, the finish line kept moving. On outlines that rewrite themselves and characters who become real.
Proximity is not the same as connection. On the paradox of editing yourself to be included — and what belonging asks instead.
On Susan Jeffers, the things we postpone until we feel ready, and why growth sometimes starts before confidence does.
A walk past the Old Banff Cemetery each evening, and the question of what a headstone would say about the way I actually spend my energy.
A writing prompt asked about my first pet. A stray dog in Tucson, named after a hobbit, and the goodbye I never got to say.
Nothing in the actual world changed, but the story did. On job titles, the meaning we attach to facts, and learning to notice the script.
Every time you share something you wrote, you are practicing vulnerability. On Table Topics, honesty, and the greatest love of my life.
On scarcity culture, the symphony of voices competing for attention, and why the armor we use against shame is what keeps it alive.
On the quiet belief that we are somehow not enough, a cemetery that put things back in perspective, and paying attention to what lasts.
A concept rooted in Russian Formalism that makes the ordinary extraordinary. The goal is not beautiful language — it is to help the reader see.
Reading Brené Brown and nodding along because it felt written for you. Part one of a short series on fitting in, belonging, and creativity.