May Day has come and gone without celebration in my part of the world. Time was that it was a big celebration with May Pole dancing, May baskets left on doorsteps, all gone now, overshadowed by a clogged calendar by which we are paid, billed, birthed, etc. The loss of May Day is barely noticed,…

A writer’s tools are personal. Some, like me, start with a pen on lined paper. I cannot explain why I have to use such archaic tools, but there’s some connection between my imagination and barely legible words on the lines in a notebook. I write early in the morning when there’s fresh coffee, instrumental music,…

For years I stood in front of a classroom, trying—sometimes succeeding—to convince college students that they could and should write. I suspect that most of them were checking a box, composition–check, intro to lit–check. A treasured few have let me know, decades later, that writing, and reading were useful, even pleasant. We were together before…