Twenty-five years ago today I was asleep in Vancouver, three time zones and one skeptical roommate away from the rest of the world. He didn’t believe in TV. He got the news the old way: a phone call. His mom, in Boston, telling him his dad had missed the flight that hit the towers. That’s

This is where I’ll be documenting new work, process notes, thoughts on film, writing updates and whatever else I can’t stop thinking about.