The Writer
I write essays. Not stories, not plays, and (evidence to the contrary)
not poems. The word essay comes from the French word
essayer, meaning
“to try or to attempt.” Well-known essayist Edward Hoagland
says the essay is “like a human voice talking, its order the
mind’s natural flow, instead of a systematized outline of
ideas.” He’s talking about the personal essay, not the
formal, academic essay you might have been required to write in
English classes. That’s what I like to write: personal essays,
leisurely explorations of my experiences and my feelings.
| I like to examine small, peculiar, or annoying things about being alive
and see where they lead my mind; I listen for insights about
my life. |
Like many personal essayists, I steer clear of broad cultural,
political or social issues. My writing topics run toward the local,
not the global, the mundane, not the sublime. Like my fear of
getting loose skin, my fear of driving over bridges, my fear that
I’m supposed to do something but no one has told me what
it is. Some say fear is the engine of all good writing. In the
tradition of Michel de Montaigne, the grand-daddy of the modern
personal essay, I like to examine small, peculiar, or annoying
things about being alive and see where they lead my mind; I listen
for insights about my life. These writings are by turns humorous,
thoughtful, oddly revealing. They are my attempts to order my
experience and understand it more fully.
Here you will find a sampling of some of the essays I’ve
written in the last few years. Bush League Essays is a collection
of humorous essays written over the last six years. “Rejected”
is the introduction to this collection and sets the tone for the
ten essays that follow. I hope these older essays will offer a
balancing spirit to the newer essays provided here, which show
my more serious side.
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"Like the less-than-artful examples of your favorite aunt’s latest craft craze (you know, her lopsided pottery or gaudy needlework or homely decoupage), you have to accept this gift graciously and then find a corner in a closet to stow it away."
Rejected
What's
In A Name |
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"It was one of those moments when you sense something vital, something hard, something dear and undefinable before you; you are about to be pierced. By grief, by joy, by pain, you’re not quite sure, but in some way, your larger self is preparing for opening."
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Packing Up Mom
"But that cold night in the spring of 2001 I said goodbye to the mother I grew up with, to the family I had known in my youth, to the town that showed me lilac bushes and northern lights and snow cones and county fairs and well-lighted streets available for midnight walks. "
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"For one split second their skins melded. Her hand burned into her sister's back. The two were inextricably connected by Lezlie's anger, and that anger jumped along that line of connection like an electrical current out of control."
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Poetry
Desperate Woman
Do not save what is new
First Drink
What It Takes to Write a Poem
Wounds
Writer
What is left of her
Here's what I want
Getting organized today
Come Red Star Dog
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