A living…


I don’t write for a living, but i do write to live.

Corralling my meandering thoughts into coherence (with the lasso of language?) often feels like an act of survival.

I’ve long thought that describing myself as a writer doesn’t really say that much about me. In a similar way to saying i speak a second language, my ability to construct sentences with clarity tells you nothing about the value of what i have to say.

Sure, most writers (and even some non-writers who take the trouble) tend to find the exercise therapeutic. Beyond that, though, the exhilaration of putting contemplations into words arises from the hope that readers will be moved to connect these expressions to their own experience.

I know of writers who are so driven, they say they cannot *not* write. I’m not one of them. For me there is often a substantial distance between an idea and its execution (whether fiction or non-fiction).

A familiar exhortation for writers is, “Write what you know.” Well, here are a few things i have been coming to know lately…

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