"Why do they [write] for their money? Why do they [work] for short pay? They ain't getting nowhere and they're losing their share. They must have gone crazy back there." — Michael Burton (paraphrased)
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 …
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 …
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 …
“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 …
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 …
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 …
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 …
My sister was dying. She was in hospice care. I’d just finished visiting her. She had only a couple days left. My cheeks were red with tears as I walked through the lobby.* Someone, I don’t even remember who, waved and walked over, slapped me on the back and asked, “Hey, how you doing?” My …
Every writer makes a transition in which he goes from being bold and erratic to precise and accurate. I don’t mean facts. It’s the words, stupid. It used to be the economy back before it became a football to be tossed back and forth between political parties. Everyone has memories that cause shudders of regret. …
Income taxes should be done by now. Necessity is the mother of completion (okay, okay, it’s really invention), and I’m going to get some righteous bucks back, and, God knows, I need them, but the motivation required to do taxes quickly and industriously is a virtue I lack. I chip away. One morning I go …
Continue reading The Trouble with Taxes Is They Are So Taxing
Nightrider's Lament 