So something I do when I’m not stuffing my face with junk food writing my novel at the office is go to the gym and work out. Yes, you read that correctly; me, who won the 2004 Olympic Gold Medal for Ass-Sitting. Who would always, always, rather be asleep than be awake. Who has coasted…


The office is where I am these days; that is, the 113 year-old bar in the Centro with my laptop and my cell phone and my glass of vibrant orange Crodino. I’ve officially become a great big ball of novel-writing momentum, which is why I’m there and not here with ye would be-pigeon eaters but…

Back To Life As I Now Know It

That is to say, back to Terracina. Back to the looming maga circe, the beach – freshly littered with lean-to beach shacks and beach umbrellas, and the ancient city. Back to the office. Could be a hell of a lot worse.


It’s three p.m. on a Thursday in St. Stephen’s Green and it’s sunny – so ridiculously sunny for Dublin that everyone’s out and everyone’s in shirtsleeves and everyone’s on the grass and someone, some bold someone, is smoking pot; it floats on by in a sour whiff and Em and I remark on the absolute…

Swift, Stoker, Rushdie, Wilde, Beckett, Me

Five years ago, nearly to the day, I wrote this in my journal: I need to just give up – I’ll never be a writer. what ever made me think I could be one? HOW CAN YOU BE A WRITER IF YOU’RE NOT CREATIVE?????? HOW CAN YOU BE A WRITER IF YOU NEVER WRITE EXCEPT…

Serial Expat Haiku #1

Back, back to auld haunts/ Looking good, Dublin town but/ Where am I again?      


Again. Brick. Brown bread. Pasties. Statues. Mussels. Craic. Graduation Time.


On the platform of the Q train, heading out to Queens. A crush of people; all of us staring down the train tracks. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. I think that girl pregnant. I turn to my left and it’s a middle-aged woman; short sandy-colored hair and a soft Eastern European accent. Smiling at me, speaking in…


Back in New York now; a lengthy layover between the wedding madness in Guatemala and my graduation from Trinity in Dublin. A layover because both far-flung events took space in a short time frame and the trip to Guatemala is, in essence, my trip to the West for the year so why not make the…

My Country ‘Tis of Thee….

Lots of turbulence, but 9 hours later, home in New York for a layover before continuing on to Guatemala City for my cousin’s wedding. Full of guacamole; no hitting, or I’ll bust open like a pinata. Unless that sort of thing turns you on. And I hope it does.