March 17, 2016
I wondered how to write about sexuality. It was a few weeks later. I was lying on the bed in my room. Summer light filtered through the window. I had read Henry Miller and D.H. Lawrence, both wonderful writers. But…
March 13, 2016
Writing about Ross gave me incredible joy. I crouched on the bridge, bent over, cross-legged. A breeze tumbled against my back. Bluegills fluttered in the water beneath me, then soared away. I could smell the prairie sage on the bank….
March 12, 2016
In June, 1973, after I left school, I found myself sitting on a bridge built of railroad ties over the Kishwaukee River. My feet dangled over the side. Below me rushed green and black water. Above me hung a blue…