Writer/editor. New Mexican tumbleweed blown east to skyscraper country.
Right now, I am working on a book about F. Scott Fitzgerald, Sheilah Graham, and Hollywood in the 1930s. It will also contain a lot of drinking, powder blue suits, dances at the Cocoanut Grove, betrayal, gossip columns, crazy ladies, secret Jews, film lot moguls, and Dorothy Parker quips at funerals. If the world is still around then, it should be out from Random House around 2014. So let's hope the Mayans were wrong.
If you want to say hi please do. Or find me in short form, here.
[Don’t ‘make’ your mind do anything. Writing practice softens the heart and mind so that rigid distinctions between apples and milk, tigers and celery, disappear. We can step through moons right into bears. We are all connected, metaphor knows this. There is no separation between ants and elephants. All boundaries disappear, as though we were looking through rain or squinting our eyes at city lights.]
-Natalie Goldberg, whose slighty woozy, zenned -out musings are just what I needed today.
