If you’ve been reading Breaking Hip for a while, you may remember my vow to only write things that mean something to me. Which raises a fair question: Does this man really care about oversized meatballs and gleaming golden forks? Yes. The answer is yes.
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On dreams that don’t come true, stories that don’t sell, and the quiet possibility that they still matter more than we know. I was driving home from yet another doctor’s visit, the kind where you walk in with a little pocket of hope and walk out with it completely flattened, like a penny on a… Continue reading
My brother Ken and I were in our Dodgers caps and Ray Bans pitching screenplay ideas to each other – pretty much a requirement if you want to live in Southern California.
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