Have you been to the traveling fair? You know, the kind where your mother won’t let you ride the rides because they look too rickety and dangerous? Where you meet your friends, crunch cherry red snow cones so sweet your teeth hurt and slink away from the barkers who know you don’t have the money to spend on a game. Yeah, remember that kind of fair, circus, roadside show or gypsy campfire? It’s the kind of place you wouldn’t dream of taking your own kids now, but you remember. Yes, you do. Dark, but exciting in an adventurous way.

These days, my wild circus fix is Cirque de Soleil. It isn’t the danger that I crave, but the adventure, the colorful and wild imagination. Writing allows me to peek through the crack in the circus tent. It’s all that: remembering, imagining, projecting and living wildly. My characters can misbehave for me, strive and succeed boldly, or live a life that’s fucking wrecked – and I can enjoy all of it. As a writer or poet, I’m sure you do too.

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