memoir
-
Author’s Note: This essay is, in part, an homage to Annie Dillard’s “Living like Weasels” A deer is wild. Who knows what he thinks? He sleeps in a bed of leaves or patted down grasses that he leaves so warm you can feel it with your hand and guess how recently he was there. He
-
An essay from a 2018 writing workshop, all the way back when I was a student at Ohio State These shoes are bright red. Or salmon. Or fire-orange. Whichever color you see, they’ve got a carbon-fiber plate between the sock-like upper and the sole made of foam originally used in military aircraft, with the unmistakable
-
A previously unpublished essay about how I found running – it feels a bit dated reading over it again now, so I figured I’d might as well publish it here. I think that people assume that I like running because it doesn’t hurt when I do it. They’re wrong – it almost always hurts. Sometimes
Cam rentsch 