If you read last week’s post, you know I’ve been in a bit of a Trump Slump. Turns out I’m not the only one suffering at the hands of the cotton-candy coiffed thing currently residing in our White House. Other writers far more successful than I have been admitting similar afflictions. Take science fiction writer John Scalzi, for example. He recently wrote in an LA Times guest editorial piece that “It’s difficult to focus on writing, particularly fiction, when the world feels l

I can’t put an exact date to it, but I’ve come to a realization that over the last few months I’ve been suffering from the worst ailment a writer can ever succumb to. Broken fingers? Nope. Blindness? God forbid. No, I’ve officially got Writer’s Block. Interestingly, it didn’t come to me like, say, the flu where you go to bed with a scratchy throat and wake up the next day unable to pull a Lazarus. It was really much more insidious than that. It was that tickly cough that just

I wasn’t very kind in last week’s blog post, which is something I try to avoid; my mom taught me if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. With that in mind, I’m going to gush this week about one of my favorite indulgences – a treasure that arrives in my mailbox so rarely, I begin to have withdrawal symptoms a week before it arrives. I’ll get to Lapham’s Quarterly’s written content in a moment, but I first want to share what a treat it is on multiple