Life makes no sense. So we create stories.

I crafted ads in the world of television and longed to tell other tales. Meanwhile, the first love of my life slipped away into delusion. Meanwhile, my dear friend tried to laugh off stage four breast cancer. I fought in the dojang until bruises bloomed on my thighs. My daughter became a dinosaur and then a man. My other son’s seizures stopped for three years. I dined on sushi in Singapore and sipped beer from a carton in Soweto. I found love with a South African.

Through it all, I wrote, trying to capture the ridiculous and the miraculous. My work appeared in literary magazines, until real life looked at my fiction and said, I can top that. So, now, I write non-fiction. I am diving into a memoir. They are my stories, but, really, they’re about all of us.

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