I’m surprised at myself. It wasn’t suggested to me. I didn’t borrow it from anyone else. It just occurred to me that the poetic haiku works very well on Twitter. I’m sure there are haiku Twitter accounts, probably hundreds, maybe thousands, but they don’t show up on my timeline, and I haven’t followed any. While …
Author: wastedpilgrim
I'm a writer.
Blogs. Novels. Journalism. Songs.
It's all I know how to do well.
Where Might the Suspects Be?
Paralysis. Groping for some coherence. Doing menial chores just as a substitute for creativity, in the desperate hope that something will arise, something out of thin air or gray matter. Pairing socks. Washing dishes. Paying bills. Biding time till something, anything, happens along. He picked up his guitar, started strumming, but he wasn’t of a …
Alone Amid the Loneliness
Lots of folks are lonely. They’ve been left behind by modernity. They’re too old to peck away at the portable devices. They wish life could be simple again. On Monday, I’d been writing all day and hadn’t even left the house. I went to Wendy’s for supper because I didn’t want it to take much …
Writing Its Ownself
Nothing about writing is absolute. General rules of thumb abound. Discipline is required. It’s keeping score at a baseball game. The only way to do it is what works for you. Some etch a path around the diamond. Some rely on little dots and lines. Some worry about the balls and strikes. Some don’t. Few …
Broad Based Appeal
When Wyatt Posey showed up at work, the woman who spent all day behind the main sales desk – i.e., the receptionist – was wearing clear plastic gloves. Wyatt didn’t say anything, but he couldn’t help staring. “I don’t want to get Ebola,” Grace Northers said. “Has Ebola been seen?” Wyatt asked. “Well, no, but …
One Thing Leads to Another
Sometimes I think all the good songs have been written. Everybody’s been doing something different, applying new wrinkles, and adjusting to changing times so much that it’s gradually gotten hopelessly convoluted. I told you, baby, from time to time, but you just wouldn’t listen or pay me no mind, so I’m moving on, I’ll soon …
Who’d’ve Thunk?
I grew up with Granddaddy Dutton and Papa Davis, and Granny Dutton and Mama Davis. It was always Daddy, never Dad. Mommy was replaced by Mom at puberty. Succeeding generations have added such innovations as Pawpaw, Meemaw, and Mawmaw. I’m sure they existed somewhere, but not around here. Meemaw. It’s a modern term, at least …
Still Chipping Away
No, I’m still not through with the first draft of Forgive Us Our Trespasses. This morning I completed the forty-fourth chapter. It’s getting there. Two or three chapters more, and a postscript. I would write “you can’t force these things,” but maybe you can. I can’t. As I bring this crime story to a close, …
See Change
Autumn isn’t really based on dates on a calendar. My belief is that it has different lengths in different places. This isn’t original. People say they like where they live because “it has four seasons.” The best way to determine the beginning of fall is that wild onions start growing in my front yard. When …
Upon Further Review …
Until I did it occasionally a year ago and regularly this year, I hadn’t written about a high school football game in more than fifteen years. Back then, I thought myself quite the whiz kid. I could keep running accounts of the game and cumulative totals at the same time. Then I could talk to …
Nightrider's Lament 