Author's Statement

One of the mundanities of humanity is self-doubt, and I am certainly not immune to feelings of inconsequentiality. The NEA, by valuing my project, provides an antidote of validation; and, equally significant, it affords me time, and "time" is something that I'm acutely aware of. On the morning of September 11th, 2001, while the Twin Towers were being destroyed, I was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer that, at that period, was typically found in men over the age of 60; my doctors had never interacted with someone my age with this particular cancer. Faced not only with a severe disease, but my own singular insignificance in light of the nation's tragedy, the concept of "time" became nuanced in a way I had not previously acknowledged.

I felt stuck in a slow-motion drama, disembodied and watching the world as though I were submerged in some viscosity that weighted and braked my movement in the world; simultaneously, days accelerated and I became increasingly aware of the body's internal countdown toward its own demise.  I was incredibly fortunate in that chemo, radiation, acupuncture, and amazing friends pulled me through, and so for me the National Endowment's Fellowship represents "gravy," to use the well known word of the late Raymond Carver who survived ten years after his danse macabre with alcoholism before a final, fatal diagnosis of lung cancer: "I've had ten years longer than I or anyone / expected. Pure gravy. And don't forget it." I am ecstatic and grateful to the NEA for seeing worth in my project and for providing me with such immense support. I will not forget; instead, I will create.