At Sea
I live by the sea now. And mostly, I travel along one — up and down coastlines, both here in the US and abroad. It's a strange thing for someone who grew up entirely landlocked, in the flat, fertile northwest corner of Mississippi they call the Delta.
It was there, in a creative writing class taught by Mary Thompson, that I first found Ernest Hemingway. I fell for his clean, short, direct sentences — the way he could say so much by saying so little — and through him, for his adventures in the Caribbean and its waters. I didn't know it yet, but that class planted something. By the time I graduated from Ole Miss, also landlocked, I was already drawn toward the coast.
Starting Over, Stone by Stone
We all have to start over at some point. Some of what forces that on us is out of our control — a diagnosis, a storm, a door that closes without warning. Some of it we choose. But if we live long enough, the storm comes regardless. Finances shift. A friend betrays. A death occurs. Someone we love is gone, and the life we built around them has to be rebuilt around the shape of their absence.
I think about that a lot in terms of architecture — literally. How do you build something that can survive a disaster and time and still be standing, still be beautiful, centuries later?
Heat Is My Home: Notes from the Delta, Charleston, and the Caribbean
I really love the heat. I welcome it every summer here in Charleston, South Carolina — the way it settles over the city like something with weight and intention. Part of it is the setting: beaches you can actually get to, parks canvassed in mossy oaks and botanicals so large and boisterous they look like they're on crack. Charleston in July doesn't do anything halfway.