I call myself a storyforager. I gather stories and carry them alongside the acorns, feathers, and seaglass in my pockets. Sometimes I return from foraging and lay down the words I’ve gathered like stones, discovering how they stack together. Perhaps they’ll direct a fellow traveller, invite a new way of looking at an old path, or offer assurance that nearby is another wanderer, as we all are. The stories mark a way—possibilities for walking into territories known and unknown.
My writing explores the mysterious edges of spirit and nature, liminal spaces, the wonder of the everyday, the wildness within and without. I tell stories. I help others tell theirs. Sometimes these become books. I enjoy humans who embrace their eccentricities, who care and connect, and who want to live into their own imperfect fullness.
I believe other-than-human voices and ways-of-being matter. I believe the landscapes have songs, and we can participate in those songs, in remembrance and celebration. I want to give others reasons to revel in the joy of connection, unleash their empathy, taste wholeness and their essential place within it. I want people to have the tools for practicing faithfulness to soil and sky. I want stories to navigate with and get lost within—stories that crack shells, melt wax, and sprout wings, opening up paths to living well in a living world.
Chicagoland: Interview with director
A conversation between me and Ben Kauffman, of Manual Cinema, about urban wildlife and a particular pair of watchful coyotes.
In March/April 2016, I had a delightful stay as a writer-in-residence at Mesa Refuge, in Pt. Reyes, California. Highly recommended for anyone looking for a place to write "from the edge."