When I started this I didn’t know what I was doing, and I still don’t. The first time I got an email that someone was following me, I thought Why? I didn’t understand the tagging and I didn’t know who… Read More ›
DPchallenge
The Stack
Unfinished table by IKEA, manual typewriter, one-bedroom apartment, the stack of pages sitting there as evidence, the same place I eat and drink. The answering machine, pictures of heroes on the wall. Rapping the keys until the bell goes off,… Read More ›
Where all things go to die
Our basement flooded. And so it was easy to rationalize getting rid of things once they were damaged by the water. Dawn said all things go to the basement to die. There’s a basement inside us where we keep things,… Read More ›
Sure
Seven years old, in the bathroom at the Jersey shore, I had to use the one in my grandparent’s room and there was my grand-dad’s reflection in the bathroom mirror, through a crack in the door. He was napping with… Read More ›
Chantez, chantez
Laurent told my mom he had to go to the car to get some things, and gestured for me to join. It was the kind of gesture that implied wrongdoing, a wink from across the table. We were in the… Read More ›
Writers, spiders, and why silence wins
It’s hard to argue with silence. It’s what takes over in elevators and locker rooms when we have nothing to say. It’s where I go if I can’t find what I’m looking for, if nothing comes out when I turn… Read More ›
The end of words: a brief rant on the etymology of the word DEFINE
We spend a lot of time as project managers defining things. We define things so we can put up borders, confine. Define comes from the Old French, to bound, limit, finish. As a writer, I try to use the least… Read More ›
A lather of voices
Riding the charter bus uptown from SODO to the Starbucks shareholders meeting, I lost myself in the din of small talk and made myself disappear. I thought of a young guy who used to work for me in a store,… Read More ›
The way is dark
We live in the country. Actually, we live in the suburbs but it’s a small patch that hasn’t been developed yet, so it feels like the country. The first morning of Daylight Savings Time I walked to the end of… Read More ›
Chicken crap for the soul
Dawn’s been egging me on to embrace my dark side: no more chicken soup for the soul crap, she said. At some point, you’re going to have to decide if you’re Mitch Albom or David Foster Wallace. When we bought… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 