I will be doing just that for the month of June at the Smithy on Sunday evenings.
Every life is a story, a seamless unity from one point to another.
The hard part comes from isolating the moments that compose that unity and expressing them to people who weren't present. When I first started this column, I wrote about the night I knew I wanted to be a writer. My father, who passed the profession along, gave a reading at a loft in the Village in New York City. I listened with the daughter of another man reading that evening, and we both decided that there was nothing else in the world we wanted to do. We've both persisted.