What would a driftwood fort built by Elizabeth Bishop look like?
What would a poem by her about the experience read like?
Why not build a cairn?
How do driftwood forts made from redwood differ from the ones I build?
Why did I spend three hours writing a piece about biscuits and gravy?
Why does the flight of pelicans swinging low over the ocean entrance me so?
Why don’t more people start conversations by asking “how are you?” instead of opening with agendas or monologues?
Why do I evangelize on behalf of writing with AlphaSmarts and keep giving them away to aspiring writers?
Will I catch a surf perch the first month of fishing?
Where are you?
How come I feel like I’m the only one in the world who knows or cares that the poet Richard Hugo wrote an incredible mystery novel, Death and the Good Life?
Why do I want spread the word on this lost Pacific Northwest classic?
Why are gulls so underrated?
Why can’t people do their jobs?
Why is Sonny Sixkiller such a great name? (I once owned his football card.)
Why do I derive such incalculable joy from receiving handwritten letters from the Oregon Coast’s best unpublished writer?
Why do I know that I will publish this writer’s stories one day?
Why do I want the next Nestucca Spit Press publication to be a broadsheet printed on a 150-year old letter press?
Will there be another 20 years at the Oregon Coast for me?
Is there really gold in Gold Beach for me?
When will I start really paying attention to my reoccurring dreams about Sonny? The answers are there, I think. The one with her running wild on a glacier cannot be ignored.
What are the ingredients of my perseverance? Should I bottle and market them?
Why is the high road the better road for me?
Can I still play tennis?
Why do I love watching people surf but have no wish to surf?
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