Category Archives: WRITING

Oh man, I just can’t let this one get away either. No story, but a title: “I Was a Shoo-in For Hell ‘Til I Found Jesus!” Continue reading →

I’m getting better at this. Only two out of five morning shower thoughts made it to this weblog. Continue reading →

I am elbow-deep into a very interesting exercise for a storyteller; learning to tell lies in another language. Short writing assignments in Spanish have been difficult for me because I don’t yet know the vocabulary well enough to find the … Continue reading → Continue reading →

Well it was bound to happen eventually. Woke up this morning without a goddamned thing to say. Yet. Continue reading →

Our self-image is often so very different than as others may perceive us. This morning’s shower revealed much more to me than the usual shock of middle-agedness. I am an addict and so am marked. My arms reveal tracks of … Continue reading → Continue reading →

With what fever I write. An all-consuming passion that is grudgingly interrupted by my life. So much more than is put here is put into that secret place. I curse those and that which halts the flow, the bank deposits … Continue reading → Continue reading →

…gone. Because I was not up at four or five a.m. Because I was left to sleep in and lost the predawn moments. I have to do so many things today, and must not forget to buy Halloween candy for … Continue reading → Continue reading →

Wow! Insight or Acceptance? In thinking of my quest to find my voice, a moment of inspiration—or finally facing up to something I have always known. I am truly of the mind to believe that Susan can only be found … Continue reading → Continue reading →

Looks like the computer in the shop isn’t adequate. It’s still hooked up to phoneline internet only and seems so aggravatingly ninety seconds behind my thoughts. It also is not happy with the cold nights out in the barn, and … Continue reading → Continue reading →

It really bothers me that I’ve been told many times that I do not have a voice in my writings. Is it possible that the voice of my stories—cold and flat—is the truth, and the voice I exercise in reality … Continue reading → Continue reading →

Perhaps the nicotine has not yet accumulated enough to inspire the wild writings I expect from it. Could be a counter effect from all the Sour Neon Worms I’ve eaten as substitute oral satisfaction. Or perhaps because I cannot be … Continue reading → Continue reading →