The Lighthouse at the Edge of the Village
fiction, craft
A short opening — and a meditation on the small lights we keep burning at the edges of our maps, both in fiction and in life.
Read essay →Letters from the desk.
A short opening — and a meditation on the small lights we keep burning at the edges of our maps, both in fiction and in life.
Read essay →First novels almost always look like the writer who wrote them — long, uneven, in love with their own corners. That is not a flaw.
Read essay →Subscribe via RSS