I want to notice the moment everything changes, like the subtle shift in daylight, when what was impossibly bright is now a smaller, deeper dark coming on.
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Fall Diptych
Meditations on a season
Essays
Flight to Balad
We pushed it way too far but miraculously escaped with our lives
Medics flung open the cargo doors and deposited an Iraqi man whose drawn and lined face exposed a life well acquainted with war and hardship. Shouted instructions to “Get him to Balad!” — the site of the big American trauma hospital — sent us on our way.
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Brushing the Divine
For novelist Amy Greene, a haunted town hidden on the Cumberland Plateau is the perfect place to write
FROM THE CHAPTER 16 ARCHIVE: The Celts believed heaven and earth are three feet apart but even shorter in these thin places. Are such locations where we’re able to brush up against the divine? Sometimes writing feels to me like a brush with the divine. Maybe that’s why places like Rugby call out to those of us who write, putting stories into our heads and almost demanding that we set them down on paper.
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The Leiper’s Fork Way
Helping neighbors in need
We were a community then, and Tommy remembered.
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We’re Back, Baby!
A booklover’s guide to the Southern Festival of Books
The festival is about love. Love for the beautiful words that move and delight us, love for the authors who put those words on paper and screen, and love for the culture and community of the book.
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Halfway Home
I connect with Memphis in a way maybe only outsiders can
Beautiful and brutal. Brash and fruitful. Memphis means something. I love it as a place, I love it as a people, and I love it as a promise.
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