The Front Story
Born and raised in New York City.
Corrupted at college in California.
Have a bunch of degrees, none of them in writing.
Did the bicoastal back and forth thing a few times.
Landed outside of Washington DC in 1996, been here ever since.
My hometown is like every other little progressive community in the US: a nice place to raise children, lots of free trade coffee, great selection of artisan bags from Nepal, but nowhere to buy underwear.
The Back Story
Why is there always a back story?
Wouldn't it be nice if writing was the front story?
Maybe because it’s so tough.
You thin your skin to bleed the stories. Then you thicken it back up to deal with rejection. After awhile, the bruising gets to be too much. So you quit.
Until you find that quitting doesn't work either. So back in you go, only to find the bleeding runs a little deeper each time. And so does the bruising.
Why stick with it then?
Because you love it.
Years of workshops, short stories, writers groups, freelancing, starts and sputters ...
An epiphany one day–simple but true–if I wanted to call myself a writer, I needed to write. That novel was not going to write itself.
And so the book was born. And a commitment to take it all the way.
In other words: scribbling on napkins, index cards, notepads, my hands, in my sleep, while running, cooking, on the train, in the woods, the car office.
And then the attempt to publish.
Had I known that publishing it was going to be harder than writing it…
Oh, never mind. Still looking for an agent. And a publisher.
You can find a synopsis of the novel here.
Here's my stories and essays/articles.
Gel pens Bicycles Family The Atlantic Ocean--every wet and salty molecule The Northeaster Contemporary novels A posse of friends That D40 Guild Guitar