I don't even know what to say at this point.
Warning: this newsletter contains spiders.
My plan for celebrating Chrismas with a bottle of expensive bourbon has gone a rye.
In which I accidentally create a religion.
Snakes. Why did it have to be snakes?
For possibly the final time, I visited the Countway Library of Medicine.
Well, here we are in the middle of a pandemic. So, uh -- how's it all going?
For about a month or so, Boudica and I had almost daily arguments about the existence of Yetis.
You know what The Script is - it's the ritual with which we signal to one another that we're not alarmingly unusual.
I don't care who you are, there's something other-worldy about having your conscience called-out by a three-year-old.
I'd been ignoring Halloween for the past decade.
So a friend got himself a cat, and now he needs my advice.
I'm an unrepentent introvert.
My quest to find a literary agent, its reasons, and some very excellent advice on how you too can query a literary agent.
I'm back