I‘ve heard that writers are never really done with the books they‘ve written. That there are sentences they‘d wished they could change, long after the book goes to print. That even after it hits the shelves and the reviews are in, it haunts them like the memory of an old love they can‘t seem to
I spend a lot of time trying to make sense of things in my world. I‘m often looking for explanations when there aren‘t any, and inevitably find myself frustrated by the lack of answers. Why does Rand leave his shirt and jeans on the ground next to bed, stretched out, as though someone had been
Santa Fe has the highest concentration of galleries in the world - many of which sit side-by-side in adobe buildings along Canyon Road. It‘s like visiting a bunch of tiny museums, the price of admission being the occasional side-eye you get from gallery owners once they‘ve sized you up and realized you can‘t afford anything.
I broke my long-held rule about not taking photos of artwork while at The Georgia O‘Keeffe Museum. I don‘t know if my views on the matter have changed or not. Perhaps they‘ve shifted only slightly. I still get angry at people using flashes to light up ancient works, I still want to scream at the
My book came out yesterday. It is out there floating in the world, while I sit at home in my pjs eating cake and repeating the words I am an author to myself over and over again. To be fair, I have been doing this weekly since I was 8, but now it carries with
Being an American on the road, you often become an ambassador of sorts for your country and culture, and I find myself answering a lot of questions from friends, family, and the occasional well-meaning stranger about the U.S. And while these questions usually run the gamut from pop to culture (No, I don‘t know why
I was doing a radio spot a few weeks ago and the interviewer noted that my blog and my Twitter feed had become increasingly political in recent months. I laughed and noted that the same was true for nearly everyone I knew. Over the course of a year, I went from tweeting things like
What‘s the hardest part about writing a book? I‘ve been asked this question a lot lately, and my answer is what you‘d expect: figuring out which darlings to fight for and which to cut, weaving a cohesive narrative, and finding an author bio photo of me that doesn‘t have obscene words in the background.
I thought Santa Fe was beautiful. Rand had been wanting to visit for years, had built it up in his mind so much that he had already asked me if I wanted to move there before we‘d even set foot on the ground. He‘d idealized so much that reality had trouble living up to what
The refrain I‘ve heard again and again among American travelers over the last six months has been this: Time to pretend we‘re Canadian. That seems to be the best way to avoid having to explain, well, anything that‘s going on in our country. We can gently maneuver around any awkward conversations about the demise of
I‘ve heard that living well is the best revenge. This always struck me as ridiculous because everyone knows that the best revenge is actual revenge, and if it subtly hearkens back to the way that you were originally wronged by the party in question, all the better. As many of you know, I get