Clare Frank

Part of me could have stayed in the fire department forever. But worn out body parts and a lust for uninterrupted sleep convinced me to hang up my tattered fire boots and face an inherited affliction: the compulsion to write. Step one: admit I am powerless over it. Step two: unleash it. With thirty years of pent-up stories roiling in my head, I’m starting to relieve the pressure—one tale at a time. Take a look.