I was dreaming about something beautiful. I could probably describe it if I had not staggered into the den, faster than my wits would allow, stubbing my toe on the exercise bike/clotheshorse on my way to the front door, on which my beloved nephew was knocking. It was about 6:30. I had already awakened briefly …
Author: wastedpilgrim
I'm a writer.
Blogs. Novels. Journalism. Songs.
It's all I know how to do well.
Little Things Mean A Lot
It’s funny what you miss and what you don’t. (I could’ve seemed intelligent and grammatically correct by writing “what one misses and what one doesn’t,” but hell, I’m already writing in first person so what’s it matter? Nowumsayin?) For instance – imagine Warner Wolf saying “in an upset!” – I haven’t seen The Weather Channel …
Literary Chili
Sometimes, here amid life in paradise, the sparks just don’t fly. I’ve been buying time all day, and it’s just about to exceed my credit line. Yeah, that one, too, but what I’ve been doing today is little things to bide my time until that great, daily burst of creative force arrives, shaking the dishes …
Talking Baseball, Yastrzemski, Petrocelli …
I love baseball. Tomorrow the local college is playing at home. I think I shall go. Right now the Los Angeles Angels, who also just happen to be of Anaheim, are playing the Seattle Mariners of Cano. This is from the MLB Network in the living room, but the actual game is apparently being …
Continue reading Talking Baseball, Yastrzemski, Petrocelli …
The Method Is Imprecise
I write novels. Here’s how I do it. It doesn’t necessarily work for anyone other than me, and it doesn’t work for me enough yet that I would be so presumptuous as to declare it a success. I’m not recommending the way I do it. I’m just describing. I’m a bit of a rambler. I …
Stuck in a Rut, Part Two
This is the continuation of a short story that itself is a continuation and expansion of a song I wrote. It was four in the morning. Josie Swenson found herself fixated with a full moon casting an eerie glow through the open window in a rundown home near campus. The front faced the soccer stadium …
Left to My Own (Poetic) Devices
“Love your liver with Liverite Liver Aid.” I just saw that on TV, right after, “Carolina. Duke. The rivalry continues.” That’s a juxtaposition. It’s about as juxtaposed as it gets. Why would Liverite be placed right after a basketball promo? Was it a matter of some programmer just popping in – or whatever they do …
Peering Past the Humdrum
I didn’t plan to be up this morning writing a blog. A car wouldn’t start across the field, so I got up at 5:30 to give my sister a ride to work. When I got back home, I realized trying to go back to sleep was futile, so I went the other way and put …
Stuck in a Rut, Part One
This is an extension of a song I wrote. It was a Thursday, but she didn’t have a class until eleven on Friday, and then she had to go to Lake Murray to spend the weekend with the family, and next week was Spring Break, so Josie Swenson didn’t see any reason she couldn’t have …
Phases and Stages
I’m going through a phase. It’s not numbered. It wasn’t “phased in.” It’s not a change of life. It’s decades past puberty and, I hope, a good deal ahead of dementia. I’m probably the last person on earth who would declare it maturity, a concept about which I have been in denial since it seemed …
Nightrider's Lament 