Danish author Glenn Ringtved was back in NY recently. He walked, a lot. And I walked with him, a little…Read More
“Please,” I say, quietly and professionally, with only the barest, tiniest bit of desperation which could, at any moment, escalate to full-volume pleading.Read More
I was privileged to work with Xavier Cha on her performance art piece BUFFER, which received its world premiered Nov 2 - 5 at Next Wave Festival 2017, at the Brooklyn Academy of Music.Read More
Jim was one of my best friends; I met him when he was begging. He had cerebral palsy, and when he sat in his chair, hands askew off clenched arms, head sometimes lolling back, legs dangling, he might have–until you caught the gleam in his eyes–seemed completely inert.Read More
I just began reading Phillip Roth’s Indignation, prompted by the film’s release reminding me that this novel was one I’d missed. I go way back as a Roth reader (college, Goodbye, Columbus—the short stories—then the excitement of his first novel, Letting Go), dropped out mid-way, picked him up again about five years ago. But had missed this one. And The Humbling. I double-ordered.Read More
Yes, of course, "the writing space"—used to be the Writers Room, now it’s Paragraph on West 14th Street. My friend Jack, commenting on my first blog, asked why I didn’t find a more congenial place to write, as it seemed like a long bunch of work to get here. It’s tough, yes. But for me, the quiet sound of other writers’ brains engaged, the quiet tap of computer keys, the occasional muffled cough, all are eager fuel to my fire.Read More
When you’re five years old, every day begins the same. I remember staying in bed those cool August mornings, the only one awake, floating with my eyes closed as the birds rummaged through the next door palm tree. Then I would fall back to sleep until I heard my father in the bathroom, softly whistling the Ovaltine commercial as he sharpened his razor on the leather strop.Read More
Rosellen sipped her lime rickey and puckered her lips. She wished the drink had gin in it, but here at the pool everybody knew Daddy and would tell.
Rosellen tried to think, but it was difficult in the sun. She liked thinking and planning. It was fun to be pretty and smart, but have everybody think she was just pretty. The last chords of “A Summer Place” crackled through the loudspeakers. When she heard it last month she knew that nineteen and fifty-two was the best year of her life; she knew it was her and Bud’s song and decided she loved this summer more than any other, ever.
Except for one thing.Read More
John Catanzarite, from a letter to RM 05-18-15, after 13 years of solitary confinement.
At this time so many things in my life started to change—released from isolation, two transfers, adjusting to being around so many people, etc.—I was overwhelmed.Read More
Why short stories? Because they found me at an impressionable time. Brandeis University, the very early 60s, and all everyone is talking about is Philip Roth’s Goodbye, Columbus. Those stories jumped out, individually and collectively, into our consciousness. Living zeitgeist. The shock of recognition.Read More