iPhone snapshots of an early winter vacation on Hawaii, or the Big Island.
An end-of-summer visit to the Neon Boneyard in Las Vegas, in haiku and photographs.
Ziplining on the mountains of Whistler in British Columbia, Canada.
As I prepare for my company’s annual meetup, I revisit my past flash talks and (not surprisingly) amass a list of abandoned topics for my next one.
Notes on editing, writing, and working — and a Q&A with writer Richard Gilbert, who recently published “Why I Hate My Dog” on Longreads.
A collection of door images from around the world, from Macau to Malta and Granada to Lisbon.
A week in Oregon, including Portland, Multnomah Falls in the Columbia River Gorge area, and Bend and the Deschutes River.
I started to hear the beat differently; I didn’t identify it with the face of a guitarist, drummer, or violinist — it transformed into the actual voice of the technology the DJ manipulated, and it talked to me, shapeless and mysterious, so I could mold it however I wanted.
When we were planning our move and building our little house in 2014, I honestly didn’t know how I’d acclimate to a rural area, but after nine months of living in a small town, I love it. It’s just what I’ve needed, and it feels like home.
This experience continues to mold me and shape anything that I write. There’s a bit of that romantic writer in me that has felt the need to find closure. But last night, feeling everything that I love about this scene in the sound of Underworld, I’m reminded again that this moment continues to evolve, and as long as I’m able to stay up past midnight on occasion, I’m still a part of it.