James Joyce can describe a commonplace train commute as something wondrous. Shouldn’t it be? You can take pictures of trees and rocks or write poems about them. There aren’t special glasses for artists, though. You have to find the fruit… Read More ›

Irish
On Memoirs, Getting Lost in the Labyrinth
I’ve gone back to A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man for inspiration, this year. As I suffer through the exfoliation phase of writing and the need to purge my life through memoirs, I hope it will lead… Read More ›