Braving the Landscape
Even when snow is “falling faintly…faintly falling,” prospects for publishing literary work are appallingly dismal. How did your story start? “A writer climbs out of his clothes like dead skin, sloughing off every vestige of waking life, walks down to the dock, stands facing a darkness deeper than night alone, wind moving tiny hairs on his naked body, each distinct, independently felt, every motion sensed, every noise swallowed in an open mouth before he dives into black wate
