Writing is a lasso, Ariadne’s thread unwound, the flesh written, the form which contains the writing and the body, contains the life, a narrative of life, and,
What returns, what finally comes home
to me is my own self.
—Friedrich Nietzsche
Writing is life, is sustenance. We are syntax. Syntax is being. We read to live. To read is to touch, to continue in becoming.
I live in Bellingham, Washington, a small town on the Northwest coast,
writing, editing, consulting. Most mornings I begin the day by swimming, then go to a café or return
home to spend a few hours typing out a hand-written manuscript
contained in twenty-five pounds of blank-books which have been slowly
piling up in the writing studio. I have yet to aptly describe this
writing, this experience, except to note it is experimental and meta-fictional, a kind of novel/memoir, written in the last eight years, which is finally at
its end, ready to continue its becoming elsewhere.
My most recent project was editing a work co-authored by a
writer and a therapist: a memoir of the writer and a therapy. To read a sample of her writing, click here.
There is always more to say, to write, but I will leave that to
your phone call or email