I love bad poetry. I’ve written bad poetry. In fact, when I was in college, Donald Hall used one of my poems in class as an example of bad poetry. Thank you, Donald. I appreciated that. However, in my second semester of poetry writing, X. J. Kennedy used a poem of mine as an example of, I guess what one could call, “acceptable” poetry. So I can learn.

What do you owe a father you’ve never known? Julian Billings asks himself that question when he discovers he’s the son of an artist.  Not a famous artist, a mediocre artist on the verge of discovery when the inevitable happens.

Does art imitate life?  Oh, yeah, I know the question should be reversed, but I find events in my life flowing into my—“art?”  Let’s just call it “writings.”

I had finished writing “The Moroccan” while my husband was on sabbatical in Israel.

How did I come to write THE WANKER. The truth of the matter is that I never really know how I come to write anything.