Tag Archives: coming of age

I’d love to turn you on | Field notes from the Pacific coast

This is a series of posts I started in late May and plan to continue for 40 days, with a goal of hitting 50,000 words by July 5 (#32 post). It’s inspired by a three-day solo trek on the Washington … Continue reading

Posted in identity, Memoir, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , | 26 Comments

“Hang on to yourself” (the faith, identity theme)

Half-way complete today! This is a series of posts I started in late May and plan to continue for 40 days, with a goal of hitting 50,000 words by July 5. It’s inspired by a three-day solo trek on the … Continue reading

Posted in identity, inspiration, Memoir, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 11 Comments

Entering Elma | field notes from the Pacific Coast

May 28, SAMMAMISH By the time I got to Kalaloch they’d stopped serving breakfast and were turning things over for lunch, but not in a rush for anyone. We were backing up in the lobby and I was second, a … Continue reading

Posted in identity, Memoir | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , | 60 Comments

The Larry Dugan complex

There were probably a dozen boys packed into that air-conditioned room at Kyle Gardo’s house in the early ’80s, the first time I saw porn, a lot of hair onscreen and squishing sounds, all of us rapt and speechless; it … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 25 Comments

Not too far into the first side

That Easter weekend my girlfriend Marie’s parents were away she stayed home and I lied about where I was going, and went to Marie’s. There’s something about going to work the morning after you’ve lost your virginity that feels invincible, … Continue reading

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‘How little remains’ (on youth, memory, memoir)

I went back to the old apartment. The old apartment was best going back to alone. I tried taking my kids there or Dawn, but to them it was just an old apartment. To me, there was so much more. … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 26 Comments

Chameleon, don’t paint yourself the color of perfection

It was very late August that summer we stopped in Portland on the way to the Redwoods and Loren made me some CD with early Pink Floyd I hadn’t heard, and I waited to play it until we left a … Continue reading

Posted in musings | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 22 Comments