More Modern Love Illustrations…a Dozen. Yes, a Dozen!

It’s one thing to have people read your story — but to have it illustrated? For me, there is no higher praise. These following artists took my words and turned them into their own works of art.

Huge thanks to Grant Shaffer (https://www.instagram.com/nyseecomic/) for sharing these with me. And thank you, each and every one of you beautiful artists: Abigail, Adrien, Cecil, Fiona, Francisco, Dora, Junhan, Kayla, Maggie, Sarah, Sol, and Andrea. I’m just floored.

Jingying Zhang (Dora)

Modern Love Illustration, Take 4

So you may recall that a little while back, a third artist had painted their take of my Modern Love essay. Now there’s a fourth — and all I can say is wow. I’ve always been jealous of artists, their ability to say so much through a single visual statement. This is by Rumi Hara (@rumi.hara – https://www.instagram.com/rumi.hara/). Wow. Thank you, Rumi!

@rumi.hara – https://www.instagram.com/rumi.hara/

The Old Man and the Gamepad

Well, it’s happened — I’m now a gamer. Thank you, pandemic! Look what you’ve made me do.

But seriously, it’s good news — it’s really just another experience in fiction. Last year I wrote about how I just drove around the world of GTA V. But then I played it — to completion! And now I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time in 15th century Italy, thanks to Assassin’s Creed.

Read: The Old Man and the Gamepad (or listen to me read it, if you wish!)

On Medium’s #StopAsianHate: The Lingering Sting of ‘Konichiwa!’

I wrote an essay on Medium’s #StopAsianHate — the header graphic is rather forceful, but it does symbolize what happened two years ago, when my wife and I were visiting Copenhagen. Usually I write, “Enjoy!” with just about everything I write, but for this one, “Be informed!” is probably more appropriate.

CrimeReads: How I Stopped Worrying About The Rules And Learned To Write A Mystery Novel

Thanks to CrimeReads for featuring an essay on my journey to writing Skin Deep.

One of my greatest thrills as a college student was when I was let into the intermediate-level creative writing workshop. You couldn’t just sign up and walk in—you had to submit a short story good enough for the professor to deem you worthy. That first day, I sat around the rectangular table with my future colleagues and was handed a set of rules for the class. It’s been almost thirty years since I laid eyes on this single xeroxed sheet, but I can still remember one of them: You will not write stories about serial murderers, or even regular murderers.

CrimeReads