Here’s what I believe: the best works of art are acts of public nudity. The artist, subtly or overtly, is exposed, even in works of fiction, even if the exposure lies only in the creator’s desire to communicate something true and real. To some degree, that kind of nakedness is inherent to the act of…

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Tomorrow afternoon, I embark on a weekend getaway. I’ll be totally offline for three days. (Just ignore my little involuntary shudder right there. I can do this. I’m committed.) I’ll spend my unplugged days ducking in and out of quirky-hippie-one-of-a-kind shops as well as my all time favorite used bookstore; hiking in forests and along…

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I have trouble with silence. Even when I’m alone, I have a tendency to talk to myself, or hum, or sing. When I’m with somebody else, it’s even worse. Silence makes me nervous. It’s a mystery I can’t solve, a dark, calm surface under which there may quite possibly be monsters. The longer it stretches…

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As I write The Love Essays about my year of loving fearlessly, I find myself, time and time again, brushing up against the edges of what I’m willing to reveal. (And by brushing up against, I mean crashing into.) I hadn’t originally worried about that. I thought I was writing a sort of guide, a…

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