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When I picked it up in disbelief, the beautiful initial N stared (yes, manuscripts can stare) into my soul.

Lone Woolf

“I’ve tried this book before,” said I, “with the success of a sore-legged predator. It stings and slogs in a circus of circumlocutions.”

Master of None

What if our words were less like swords (sharpened, polished) and more like textiles—equally demanding to make, but designed to warm rather than to wound?

The Jersey Shore

Rusty antennae form a kind of industrial crown of thorns, and the typeface doesn’t say “beach day” as much as “we interrupt this program to bring you a SEVERE WEATHER ALERT.”


The employee scanning tickets even told me excitedly that I was the second person ever to use their “add tickets to Apple Wallet” feature.

Monky Business

I watch over my friend’s shoulder as they make mistakes and then correct them, reassured somehow that typos aren’t just a modern malady.

Tree Song

You grew the way trees have always grown, glorying in each new branch and stretching toward the sky to show them off.

Forgive Us

And often I decide that these excuses are all stupid and that I’m failing the world and God by not taking more drastic action.

Hilary and Me

I wanted to give my audience that same assurance that everything was under control, that beauty and certainty could coexist.

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