I have a talent for killing time.
For years, I murdered it. I didn’t believe I could do anything worthwhile, or I was afraid to do anything worthwhile, so I did very little. Stagnating and stricken, there’s so much I could have gone on not doing. I could have kept going through life with a million ideas screaming in me, in voices getting fainter and fainter.
Eventually the fear of doing nothing outweighed other fears and considerations, and so I moved to Kilter Street as a questing spirit.
A little about me
I’m youngish. I’m better at listening than speaking. I enjoy laughing, observing, exploring. I wear smudgy glasses. My alter ego, HKatz, sometimes thinks I’ve sprung from her head, but is that all I am, her projection? Or am I something more? I look forward to recording some of our conversations here.
What am I doing on Kilter Street?
I’m a writer by trade. But I came here to also work as a storyteller.
Zeb, my landlady, told me after she stuck me in the attic, that part of my rent will involve telling her stories. They will all go into her Book of the Barely Believable, regardless of whether or not they’re believable. They can be anecdotes, one-liners, the first three chapters of a novel that will never get finished or an epic trilogy. Just give me stories, she said.
As for time, I plan to play with it, not murder it. It will be fierce play, I hope, sweet anguished play.