William Loizeaux

William Loizeaux

I grew up in the rolling hills of central New Jersey in the late 1950s and early 60s at a time when housing developments began to fill up the farmlands but there was still enough space for a boy to wander, dream, and even get safely lost in the woods.  Early on in one of those summers, I found a baby mockingbird in the middle of our road.  I took it home, fed it, and cared for it.  It grew and learned to flutter, sing, and fly.  It was my constant companion for a couple of months, during a period when I was still a kid but could sense that things were getting more complicated.  Near the end of that summer, when I went on vacation with my family, I left the bird behind.  When I returned, it was gone.

In the following years, I went to junior high, high school, and then off to college in upstate New York.  I worked summers on a road crew and for a year as a greenskeeper’s assistant.  Then I went to graduate school in Michigan, where I prepared to be a scholar and critic of literature, though mostly I found myself admiring the act of creating literature, the doing of the thing itself—as well as admiring the woman who would become my wife.  Soon after, we got married and moved to the Washington D.C., area, where I started writing stories in the mornings and painting houses in the afternoons.  While most of those stories still clutter my drawers, a few—as well as some essays—were published and have rea


Clarence Cochran, A Human Boy

William Loizeaux; Pictures by Anne Wilsdorf

When Clarence Cochran wakes up one evening, he’s shocked. Where are his antennae and his beautiful wings? And what is this strange pair of shorts that he’s wearing? Clarence has...