I kiss my son and daughter goodbye at their elementary school, risking parental censure for slowing the theoretical efficiency of the...

So my brother, Donald Quist, the author, approaches me. Asks me if I’d write something. When an author asks you to do something that is...

March 14th of 2008, was a Friday. I worked that night, ten years ago, the strip club was my playground. Most of the time, the club was...

It was Valentine’s Day, of course—but as I sat in the chair where I usually wrote my fiction, rather than ruminating on romance, I was...

I was twenty-three, back home, and desperate to work for the newspaper. I had just graduated that past August, and after three months of...

It was a Thursday. I was seventeen, single, and holding my breath until the day I finally graduated high school. I was single, and...

“It can ruin your life only if it ruins your character. Otherwise, it cannot harm you—inside or out.” – Marcus Aurelius I remember how...

Searching for a snap shot of my past a decade ago, our family photo albums lined-up like uniformed soldiers on the shelves of our den...

In my writing studio, beneath a cloak of grief and humiliation, I shivered in jeans, a t-shirt, and a flannel. There were half a dozen...

If my marriage is going to disintegrate, we’re in the right place: limbo. Between Paris, where we spent a week with the kids for...