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Not me, her

In 1987, I found myself trying to write about a high school girlfriend that had been molested by her father when she was a child. I was 19 years old, struggling to find my way through a screenwriting assignment about delivering character. The idea was to describe messy young love between two Sid and Nancy want-to-be's. But that failed, as I could not stomach oversimplifying her complicated past, events that shaped her life as a 16 year old with a mohawk, a smart mouth, a lingering stare. I understood that I had to start at the very beginning.

No one wanted to hear the story. When it was my turn to read in class, it even came to be that some of the other students asked to stand in the hallway before they heard another description of what happened in that lonely little house in the middle of nowhere. I was trying, and failing, and trying again to get things right, to explain how this happened, how it could happen to this girl, how this man found his way to acts of selfishness and d…

make you feel my love

Moscow in winter

work sets you free

coney island baby (licorice and Hershey bars)

Brooklyn Bridge (eggs and sausage)

an early Sunday morning

white riot

after the shoot

the ocean

combat boots and red socks

not even a whisper

the playground

orphans and old bones

that good tired

Their dogs must be barking

the road to the parade

not yet

Ouroboros

late summer

faces (a flood)

the reward for silence (a different person)

a series of surprises

the ocean waits

miniatures (a storm)

the hardest thing

the faucet (drawing a line in the sand is not as easy as I thought it would be)

best personal blogs
best personal blogs