When I was kid, I went through a period when I would build a variety of elaborate toothpick bridges only to the destroy them. Much later in life, I was delighted to discover that Tibetan Buddhists create elaborate and beautiful sand mandalas only to destroy them. There is, of course, much more to the Buddhist […]
February 27, 2012
Ludwig Feuerbach, a 19th Century German philosopher and a big influence in my life, argues that our conception of God is an externalization of all that is good in us. We are knowing, loving, and powerful beings, who imagine that there’s a being very much like us but who is also perfect. The problem with […]
December 19, 2011
What role does a writer play in the transformation of a space or geography into a city or country? Had I asked this question twenty, fifteen, or even ten years ago, I might have been tempted to answer, “the unique and special task of the writer is to imbue space and geography with story and […]
December 12, 2011
There’s a story, from one of my all time favorite books, that goes something like this: a musician plays a beautiful and complex piece of music for an attentive listener. When the musician concludes the piece, the listener asks, “what does it mean?” The musician, as a answer, plays the piece again, note for note. […]
December 5, 2011
In chapter 7 of my novel, A Derivation of Love, Desmond decides to write a semi-autobiographical novel about boys and girls and the problems between them. The chapter concludes when a friend tells him to put lots of sex in the book, otherwise, “it won’t sell.” At this stage in the novel, which has been […]
November 28, 2011
Writing is as much about exclusions as it is about inclusions. Parents are the biggest and, perhaps, the most important exclusion in Derivation of Love. I excluded parents because of the growing body of research that indicates parents and parenting have very little impact on how children turn out and because — contra the traditions […]
November 21, 2011
Desmond, the main character of my ebook A Derivation of Love, is not me, but I created him by writing — and thus reconceiving — specific moments in my life. I’m sure there is a family resemblance to the person I was but, ultimately, I hope he bears a family resemblance to some of his […]
November 14, 2011
In November of 2001, I set out to fail. I had decided, once and for all, to write a novel. Unfortunately, I had also recently decided that the novel is impossible (to borrow a fashionable phrase of the time.) A novel is impossible, I thought, because it is impossible to capture or represent a life […]
December 5, 2008
Friday, September 14th, 2001. Desmond’s cock was limp and wet with spermicidal fluid. He lay on his back, one hand behind his head, and the other across his stomach holding a cigarette. The smoke curled in front of him, up and around. Carmen was asleep, facing the wall. He was leaving Calgary, tomorrow. Probably forever. […]
December 5, 2008
Sunday, September 9th, 2001 Desmond blinked and turned towards Carmen. She smiled at him from across the table, across the newspapers, and across the pint glasses of coffee and the ashtrays. Her tongue pressed against the back of her teeth and her red hair framed her cherub face and bright blue eyes. Desmond’s notebook was […]
February 29, 2012
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