The High Dive

Since going sober sixteen months ago, I’ve dreaded Friday nights and the party mindset that comes with the weekend. But recently, I decided to change my perspective. I took my 12-year-old son David to the public pool, and we spent the early evening redefining “Happy Hour.” I joined him on the long twisty-turny slide, and…

Arms and the Woman

In eight years of hardcore writing, I’ve probably amassed several thousands pages of content. But only a few hundred have amounted to anything. The process of choosing words to shape selected stories from my head is, in itself, very telling. And never before has that been more clear than with my latest project, The Octopus Club. As I laid down these particular 50,000…

In Memory of Memories Yet to Be

“It’s a poor sort of memory that works only backwards,” said the Queen to Alice. Lewis Carroll’s quote seems prescient to those of us who have loved and lost someone to Alzheimer’s disease. How can we carry memories forward? Wait a minute! I just looked up “prescient” because I’m not sure it means what I think. Turns out that prescient…