No Tears in the Writer, No Tears in the Reader
We write to taste life twice, in the moment and in retrospect
These last several years have become increasingly solitary, as I transformed from a busy law enforcement executive into a monastic wordsmith.
Books, fountain pen notes in journals, black and white street photographs, and the clicking of keyboard keys all coalesce into words and images on my computer monitor. Words and images that tell stories.
What is it that I’m trying to say?
Why do I haunt my library, prowl for literary books that speak to my soul, and compose stories and essays late into the night? What is this creative compulsion deep within me, entwined in memories of joy, sadness, and longing, that demands release and expression?
Why did I put down my paintbrush after years of landscape painting to pick up a rangefinder-style camera and shoot monochromatic images of strangers on the street, amid their things and environment? Why do these black-and-white images compel me to craft fictional stories?
Perhaps a long career in law enforcement, from idealistic young patrolman to experienced police chief, had a cumulative effect on my soul.