The Power of Miles and Water: How Movement Inspires My Stories
Some stories do not find me while I sit at my desk. They visit me in the water, where the sound is muffled and the only rhythm is the rhythm of my breathing. It is here, away from the blinding cursor and the expectant page, where the stories speak. I drive through the open highway, shedding the noise of daily life, and mile after mile, I hear the voices of men and women waiting for me. They come in bits of talk and recollection, like familiar acquaintances I have never met. That’s where the magic is. That’s where the stories begin.