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 …
Tag: writing
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 …
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 …
Dishonesty Is the Best Policy
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 …
Winnowing Out the Bad Words
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. …
Consequences of a Crazy World
What if it is discovered, oh, in a decade or so, that the smartest people are the ones in prison because they aren’t allowed to use Twitter? What if the language changes, veering in the direction of mindless simplicity by means of the use of “u” instead of “you,” “2” instead of “to” or “too” …
A Book, the Highlights of Which Were …
Sometimes reading is a pleasure. Sometime it is more an investment. At the moment, I’m fairly racing through Frank Deford’s Over Time: My Life as a Sportswriter. He’s been my favorite writer of sports since I read his first novel, Cut ‘n’ Run, when I was about 15. I’ve been using a highlighter, as if …
Nightrider's Lament 