It was summer; it was winter. The village disappeared behind skeins of fog. Fishermen came and went in boats named Reverence, Granite Prince, Souwester. Whenever I find my writing drifting into the simple staccato of basic exposition, whenever I question the role of rhetoric in storytelling or despair over rumors of distracted readers and diminished … Continue reading “Why’s this so good?” No. 33: Michael Paterniti’s painted ghosts