American writer Thomas Wolfe nursed a stout belief that, “you can’t go home again.” It became a theme of his first and most famous novel, ‘Look Homeward, Angel’ as well as the title of his final work. Of course, his line is highly ironic; one certainly can go home again. But when you do, good luck recognizing the place!
Our era’s main and mega, superstar playwright—Sir Tom Stoppard—shuffled off his mortal coil too soon, even if it did happen after he attained the ripe old age of 88.
Far and away, an ocean trek was a pinnacle of my sprawling, 40-year journalism career. And by any measure, it also became the soggiest.
In olden time, sailors navigated by staring up at the stars; some still do. Similarly, many folks help chart a life course simply by observing others.
A pure flat-lander, a Florida boy from the Everglades, went to learn to ski on snow up in the mountains. That kid drove to Badger Pass in Yosemite, and—I guess this is the proper instant to reveal it—he was me.
“A writers’ conference? That’s a misnomer,” Kurt Vonnegut once said. “Since writers don’t confer. They just drag themselves past each other like great, wounded bears.”
