When The Beer Is Gone, So Are

Journalism Taught Me How To Write A Sentence That Would Make Someone Want To Read The Next One. You Are Trained To Get Rid Of Anything Nonessential. You Go In, You Start Writing Your Article, Assuming A Person's Going To Stop Reading The Minute You Give Them A Reason. So The Trick Is: Don't Give Them One.

When My Mother Died, My Father's Early Widowhood Gave Him Social Cachet He Would Not Have Had If They Had Divorced. He Was A Bigger Catch For The Sorrow Attached.

The Year I Began To Say Vahz Instead Of Vase, A Man I Barely Knew Nearly Accidentally Killed Me.

In My Head There's A Broken Balcony I Fall Off Of When I Speak.

I Had A Mother I Could Only Seem To Please With Verbal Accomplishments Of Some Sort Or Another. She Read Constantly, So I Read Constantly. If I Used Words That Might Have Seemed Surprising At A Young Age, She Would Recognize That And It Would Please Her.