Cold, or: Hot

Bottles never used to last me too long; now cognacs and whiskeys stand around bored for many long months on our kitchen shelf. Sure, I pour a glass every so often (rarely, truth be told); but excitement's gone. Is it my writing, my medication, my age? Hard to say, but that beer I had yesterday… Continue reading Cold, or: Hot

Getting my prose on… (kinda, sorta)

I was going to write a blog post about my six-year-old daughter's fear of death; and then I wrote a poem about it [instead]. That's not to say that I've entirely abandoned the idea, as there's a lot for me to say on the matter, but... it's been hard for me to make progress on… Continue reading Getting my prose on… (kinda, sorta)