I'm at my desk. I've written two new stories and am reviewing several
others. I brushed off an appointment today, neglected several friends.
I'm a writer. But recently I've asked myself, "Is that all I am?"
This postcard is for Michael.
I began writing fiction in earnest hoping to atone for what I did, to
reach you. But instead the stories began reaching others, strangers.
Ultimately, the stories reached me. I may never be forgiven, but from
knowing you, I am finally being heard.
This postcard is for Chaz.
I love you, but I've decided to start lying to you. I've spooked too
many men by showing them the stories they helped inspire. Occasionally,
I'll show you one in which you do not appear for a moment. Like all
those I knew before you, I believe the world will benefit from knowing
your life. I certainly have.
This postcard is for Erik.
You hated my stories. You hated even more I drafted you into one of
them. I was never honest with you except in those 600 words. And even
then, I sent it so you'd never suspect an even more dangerous story
lurked at the sidelines. Perhaps I'll explain why I've chosen the life
I have to you one day. Perhaps you will listen. Regardless, I must keep
This postcard is for Chris
Every story you inspired has sold. Yet I do not like you, do not trust
you and do not respect you. I've no idea what you truly think of all
the stories you've read. But it's nice to know that for a group of
readers in the cyberland, our friendship seems real. To an unlikely
This postcard is for my parents
You don't approve of what I write. You don't approve of how I let it
dominate my life. But I'm finally happy, Mom and Dad. Today, at least.
And that's more than you thought I'd have.
This postcard is for me
Every story is about love. Bookmark this webpage, Thomas. Stop hoping
for love and keep giving it, one story at a time.
I'm home. Please, let me show you my room.
- - -
Photo detail on main page courtesy
of Florrie Bassingbourn.
Read TK's story, "Always Beautiful."
w i g · l e a F