But Back to Me

At my sublet. Sunday, July 26, 2009. Dusk, after a long, hard rain.

A brief and incomplete history of me

I had lots of different jobs in high school and college—bread-truck delivery person, phone-book deliverer (until I got attacked by a guard goose—I was assigned to a rural route in far east Orlando that had one mean, snippy bird living under its house), Spencer Gifts salesperson, library clerk, clerk in the radiology department at a hospital—but I've always been a writer.

In my junior year of college, I got a job as a copy kid at The Orlando Sentinel. They were great about nurturing young aspiring journalists, and I was soon writing stories in addition to doing things like composing obits and the weather and running photos to the editors. I eventually switched to being a part-time student so I could accept a full-time job at one of the paper's news bureaus. There, I reported on city council meetings and the like, but I also had the freedom to wander around in my car and look for stuff to write about. I was always drawn more to stories about people and what their lives were like, rather than hard news. The breakfast crowd at the truck stop. The sad man who lived in the back room of Pant World, with his collection of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. The frail old widow whose house was being painted by a group of volunteers. The people who ran the scrappy animal shelter. And so on. I just liked learning about people and the many different ways in which one can live one's life.

In 1993, I moved to New York City. I had no job—nothing, in fact, but a duffel bag filled with clothing, my not inconsiderable love of the city, and the kindness of my godmother and her husband, who let me stay with them while I found my way. I got lucky and landed a job as an editorial assistant at American Artist magazine. In the years since, I've worked as an editor, a writer, or both for lots of different places: the New York Post, Entertainment Weekly, Revolver, eMusic.com, Photo District News, Paste, Barnard Magazine, Inked, and more. I'm still drawn to stories about people and the many different ways in which one can live one's life. Whatever else in my life changes, that inclination, I suspect, will forever remain the same.

Saturday, November 21, 2009

At home, in Chelsea, after the day.

Saturday, November 14, 2009

Custom Hotel, L.A., Friday, Nov. 13

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

3 more days

Wednesday, September 09, 2009

Opaque morning, Noho, September 9, 2009

Friday, August 28, 2009

Hudson River, dusk, August 27, 2009

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Greenwich Village

Friday, June 26, 2009

Red Hook, Friday evening, June 26, 2009

A brief and incomplete history of me

Links

Blog Archive