Ever wondered if you could travel in America without a car? Most people wouldn’t think it were possible, but we traveled from Seattle to Victoria BC via Port Townsend and Port Angeles with nothing more than our feet, buses, and regular ferries. Initially we thought of taking our tandem bicycle along, which would have added a few complications we weren’t ready to encounter. If you’re going solo with a bicycle, most buses and all ferries could take you when you need a push. We started from San Jose, taking Amtrak’s Coast Starlight to Seattle, a 24-hour journey through Northern California, Oregon, and Washington State. The purpose of going on a trip is to slow down, and avoiding the hustle and bustle of airports was just refreshing. We took a roomette, which in Amtrak’s world is the equivalent of Business Class, providing us with a small compartment where the seats transform into bunk beds, complete with sheets and pillows, made by our attendant when we asked. Right before departure time, I ran to a grocery store …

For the past two weeks, I’ve been writing assiduously on a new Clairefontaine notebook with a fountain pen.  I do get hand cramps after a couple of hours, but the process is exciting.  Every morning, I seem to look forward to learning what my characters are going to do next, how they’ll proceed with what life throws at them.  Here’s a transcription of a paragraph, just to prove it exists.  It really is a first draft, which plows through the story and defines the characters, the scenes, what happen to them, their history, and where they’re going to end up.  A second draft will probably be entirely new. “… That’s him on the photos there,” he said, designating the photos on the wall behind the computer. “You guys were cute,” said Marc. “Yeah,” Peter said, thinking of the past tense in “were cute.”  He paused in his work, his hands supporting him on the table, looking at the back of the frame, having one of his moments, as he called it.  At the beginning, those …

Exploring ideas and directions for the novel project… “Even though I have a boyfriend,” he said, “you can kiss me now.” The invitation, as strange, dangerous, and illicit as it sounded, could only be accepted.  I acknowledged it first by a discreet kiss on the cheek, on his left side, my right side.  Our arms soon followed, and like an airplane on its approach to landing, my nose guided my lips to that mysteriously sensitive area under the ear, where they dwelled for a while, tickling the thin layer of skin, muscle, and nerve.  With an unconscious decision to move on, again led by a nose excited by the softness of a fair skin on which only the suggestion of a beard manifested a pleasant resistance, the lips found each other and locked in.  It felt as if they had been measured for each other. “Oh, if only…” my head started to reason, raising the alarm that the moment was about to end.  I tried to ignore it, tried to think of a mantra as …

One of my favorite teachers, Ardavan Davaran, died this week. I had seen him one day this year on my way to the grocery store, and I remember thinking I’d wave at him had he not been deeply engaged in conversation at the restaurant where he sat. Had I been him, I would have simply walked through the low bushes separating me from the restaurant window, and knocked with a big grin. He was my first teacher in the M.A. program at NDNU, where I showed up completely unsure of my abilities. After all, I spoke English with an accent, the excuse I proffered when he asked me to read a poem in class. “I’m an English professor with an accent,” he told me. I read, and he congratulated me. Later, I wrote and he congratulated me. When I wrote for the magazine, The Bohemian, he said my story was fantastic.  One night after class, I joined him at Ausiello’s, the local tavern across the train station, and made it a personal tradition to wait …

I didn’t see a fallen tree today Or the sun’s trajectory But leaves dropped at the first rain Sunk under wet air On the sidewalk Where my soles warned of slippage Paused and watched Each new drop at the end of a long journey On denuded branches Like a snail following a trace Drawn by the ineluctable force Of gravity To dive, once more, and collide With the fallen leaf Releasing on impact a whiff Bouncing back to my nostril Suddenly aware of the new autumn.