Thoughts: Weariness

At 48, I seem to have reached an age at which the daunting prospect of growing older has given way to the desire to be done with my "career" and back in control of my own life, a life which to this point has been largely a failure. Meanwhile, I have no idea how--emotionally, intellectually,…

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Thoughts …

“Look at him swing that freaking arm!” Blessed by the heavens, our town had its own human metronome by whom we set the tempo of our days. Fuzzy and disheveled, The Arm loped along warren and thoroughfare alike, always a clutch of worn paperbacks in left hand as if in counterbalance to the exaggerated arc…

Craft Notes: Dialogue

Paul West asserts that dialogue in fiction is for the eye, a way of offering the reader a bit of a rest now and then, and little more. I've been accused eschewing dialogue in my own work. But such readers might want to reconsider: could be all my work is composed of a dialogue, with…

Thoughts …

While my stubborn, or stupid, or philatelic nature won't allow me to give up, I am fairly reconciled to the reality that my chosen form of creative expression becomes, year after year, ever more an oddity--like an American cricket team, but with fewer enthusiasts.

Thoughts …

Graffiti on the underpass wall implored us to do something awful to the Pope with planet-cracking nova bombs. I might have appended a Henny Youngmanesque “please,” because surely the author intended this muddy echo of the William Burroughs word hoard as a kind of one liner. Must I tell you Jean-Paul II blitzed the countryside…