I’ve always been drawn to writing about the places I know and love—to write from those environments in a way that is committed to understanding the subtext of the place, honoring the complexities of each small spot on the globe. And yet, more than ever, I find this writing a placeless work—one that can be done from anywhere. More than ever, my “place” is the computer.

In some ways this saddens me—though I don’t think I’ve abandoned my interest in local knowledge—and in other ways it thrills me. All the good folks I’ve had the pleasure of meeting recently also engage in this practice. We may be in one city or another working away at our words and our manias, but we also hope that what we end up with will mean something to readers all over the place. Moreover, with Facebook and all of our other virtual hangouts, it feels as if we have surpassed the need for a physical place in which to be grounded. Of course, it just feels this way because I’m sitting here in beautiful Port Townsend longing for the chance to be in the same room with friends that each live on a different part of the map. Okay, so what? Matt misses his friends? Sure.

I may be wrong—though I hope not arrogant—in thinking that we have a rare community, one that can stay connected through the personal and through the writing we get out into the world. I can wish and wish to live in the same town as a friend for the chance to talk face to face, but I don’t have to do anything more than read a friend’s work to feel that some piece of their life has landed in my living room, that for a few moments we occupy the same small piece of earth.