#NightstandChronicleTwelve :  Where I Go When I Am Not Here


Long ago, and oh so far away, I fell in love with you before the second show…don’t you remember you told me you loved me, baby?…you’d be coming back this way again, baby?

-“Superstar,” Richard & Karen Carpenter

October was kind of chockfull of travel, for me the home-locked.  I traveled to San Francisco to get my bearings and to Los Angeles to discover something, and I didn’t have much of a desire to write anything publicly about it.  When the reality of life is issuing judgments for how one breathes and how one spends one’s time on a minute-by-minute basis, when my timetable  is based on what the world thinks it should be, then I tend to close up so that I can open a blank book and shout obscenities at a world that shouldn’t be getting that much play to start with.  I wouldn’t have to spend pages shouting resentments if I just shut up as a means of disagreement and started dictating more of my own schedule, and that happened.

I feel a little better.  I wish the world would learn to accept each other (after Friday night more than ever), but that appears to be a pipe dream, so I coast back to the silence of observation.  If everyone else insists that they are right and there is only one right, then that’s the world I have.  My creativity has to pour into a fiction where I find my right.

Vive la France. 🇫🇷


I am reading all over the map these days–still chipping away at Kate Adkinson’s “A God In Ruins,” Patti Smith’s “M Train,” and Andrew Sean Greer’s “The Story of a Marriage.”  I have ribbons in a couple of writing books as well; they seem to grant me permission where no one else does.  Those books are Caroline Sharp’s “A Writer’s Workbook” (a book I had to buy twice because I left it behind once in a hotel room back when I had lovers), the 2015 “Best American Sports Writing” collection, edited by Wright Thompson, and “Writing Fiction: A Guide to Narrative Craft” in its seventh edition, my Cal Berkeley textbook back in the San Francisco days.  I read a couple paragraphs of one or more of these occasionally and replenish the need to write.

I’m grateful to have such a love of books, and that’s my Thanksgiving declaration…albeit a short one.  Happy Thanksgiving, readers.