I started thinking about the novel and got anxious that the characters are stupid and unappealing, or stock, or boring. They are duds and the story is a dud and the language is ugly and the writing forced. The voice is wrought or annoying or soundless. The plot is vapid. The pace dull. This is called doubt. Crushing, debilitating, self-loathing doubt. I take full responsibility. I am...
This is a photo of Mirror Lake in the Village of Lake Placid in upstate New York. One of those lights on the far shore is a catalyst to my imagination. I am inexorably drawn to Lake Placid and the Adirondack Mountains. For its natural beauty. For the 46 High Peaks of the Adirondacks (those summits over 4,000 feet). For the lovely village and one of my favorite bookstores—The Bookstore Plus—which...
Chris is one of those guys who is a tennis friend. I like him. I like to play tennis with him. He is about my age, a steady player, a variety of shots, quick on his feet, willing to go for angles and winners. But . . . Chris is loud. He talks a lot. He screams the word “OUT” when my shot is long. And he just talks. During games, between games. Mostly about himself, sometimes about...
That’s Danielle Collins in the photo, competing at the US Open. I was inspired by my day at the Open, where I saw the world’s best players compete with intensity and ferocity. I couldn’t wait to play again, and this morning I did. I won the first set handily. I was hitting my shots, my opponent wasn’t. I tried to focus on moving my feet and getting in position to hit the...
