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I came within a few hours of dying last Thanksgiving. It’s taken these last eleven months to get back to writing. The previous project, the Neon Church, was both 1) undiscoverable and 2) a reminder of what was different before the blood clot almost killed me.

1) because there was a Tim McGraw song named the same thing I’d never heard of. Just because you can get the domain doesn’t mean it’s a good idea (I finally learned the lesson my wife has been trying to teach me)

2) I am almost entirely the same. The clot was in my abdomen, not my skull or nearby. But whether stress, or whatever, there have been impacts. Not only physical, which is the most obvious. Writing’s harder.

Sometimes words aren’t there.

I reach for them. But it doesn’t matter. You can reach into an empty closet all day. You’ll never lay your hand on what you’re looking for.

It’s not a lot of words, and not frequent. I am not used to that. Read any of my writing and you’ll probably argue I have too many words, instead.

The new name is a fragment I’ve held onto in my writing notebook for eighteen years or so, waiting for the right use. It also has the benefit of being a sequence of words only I’ve used, apparently, so discoverability’s not an issue. And it fits the kind of thing I’ve been writing, it seems.