The title itself could distract me, if it came before anything I was meant to write, and stopped me up before the first sentence had come. An idea had been there or maybe just a glance of one? All would vanish with the name. …
Last night the hotel was like a living organism, the hallways warm and dimly lit in embryonic crimson. We wandered together down corridors lined with low couches on which strangers reclined, conversing in murmurs. Earlier, from across a crowded room, I saw you talking …
On those tranquil evening hours during lockdown when the lights were dimmed and the dogs quieted, I would sit at my desk and work for hours on end with no break, not even for water. I would hammer away on a piece, cutting here, adding …
The rain pitter-patters against the skylight. It is soft at first, only a light drizzle until the sound of the thunder shakes the world. The rain crashes down like bullets. I am afraid. It isn’t just the sound that’s scary, but the eerie loneliness that …
Alex had dug up irises in the driveway at Faulkner’s Rowan Oak with a spoon and had them in a clay pot on his desk. The rocks from Flannery O’Connor’s flower beds were paperweights, and a nice piece of pottery held peacock feathers he’d picked …
