I promise to talk about less domestic things at some point, but I'm still in that critical nesting-the-place-up mode. And I just bought a desk! Now, I did have a writing desk in my old place. It was also my breakfast nook, dining room table and chopping block. It served its purposes well. It had been in my family's home as a kitchen work surface, then I adopted it when I lived in Chico (way back in '96-'99) and used it as a dining room table. Then it lived in my kind, former roommate's family's barn for a few years while I was away at Seminary, and she kindly gifted it back, complete with little mouse teeth nibble marks when I moved into San Francisco. That table and I had history. I wrote a memoir of all the homes I'd lived in on it, all of my MFA papers were written there, and the novel that I finished earlier this year was entirely drafted and re-crafted there. And given my proclivity to inanimate object loyalty (see The Blue Armchair ), I felt b
"In the midst of winter I found in me an Invincible Summer." - Camus ...On exploring strength in its many forms: strong people, strong writing, strong curiosity, obsessions, stances, and loves. Strength as a concept wide enough to encompass fear, truth, vulnerability, and joy.