William Reese Hamilton likes moments–not just breathless, passionate, violent moments that flash and pop, but also quiet, subtly fashioned moments that hang before you like a Monet or Cezanne or Hopper. Sometimes when he’s not writing, he rides a river or a wave off the coast of Venezuela, or walks the trails into the mountain rainforest above his colonial town of Choroní. Sometimes he just stares at his swimming pool or the wind in the banana trees. What the hell, he’s old.
Stories in Smokelong Quarterly
Story:
Crossing the Orinoco
Interview: Smoking With William Reese Hamilton
