Creative Nonfiction

This life is a book I don’t want to finish

It’s a game where there is no winning, only the joy in the odd and unexplained.

Maybe the art was in the refashioning of otherwise useless things.

That was the first time I realized that just because you put something in print doesn’t make it any better than it was from the start.

I started to learn that to write is to live, and you can’t do much of the former without the latter.

The end of the world or start of a weekend when everyone’s away.

Early morning walks from the cottage in January as the light is coming on earlier day by day.

Knowing we had it good then but not realizing how much.

Who gets a day with nothing to do? What time is this?

It was hard to live with an eye for detail and not crumble beneath the weight of these corrections.

I remembered what it was like to leap out of bed with an eagerness for the day but that feeling was long gone.