Long form reporting and essays from a working writer's desk. Filed early, edited honestly, never longer than it needs to be.
After twelve years, I have stopped writing in the morning. Not for any romantic reason — only because the morning is when the bakery on the corner finally opens.
Slowness is not a virtue but a logistic. The chapter that follows began as a single line in a sketchbook in March of 2024, and it took until the following spring to find a paragraph it belonged to.
— from The Quiet Years, ch. 4 §3
A piece moves through three drafts — discovery, structure, and edit. The third one is always the shortest.
Two weeks of interviews and reading. The pitch is rewritten as a tighter outline before any prose.
First full draft, structural only. Voice is intentionally flat; we test the architecture before we paint the walls.
Cuts, voice pass, fact check. Final shorter than draft two by 18% on average.
Solomon files copy that needs no second pass. Ten years in, it is still the smallest miracle in the building.
I take roughly twenty pieces a year, plus one book. Retainer slots open in January and July.
Started the eighth chapter of The Quiet Years. Four thousand words, all of them slow.
Speaking at the Linnea Conference on the discipline of revision.
Two new bylines in The Fold — both filed a week early, for once.
Migrated from Scrivener to plain text. The world did not end.
Most commissions begin with a question someone is afraid to ask in print. Drop a note — I will write back, never with a deck.