On Monday August 30, 1993, I got the call I do remember. Shock is too thin a word. The hardest hit to the most sensitive part of a man doesn’t come close to conveying how I felt when my brother told me my mother had shot herself. She was only 61.
Began writing mid-January 2018; just passed the 100,000-word mark. Historical fiction (my fourth story/project in the genre) for publication Spring 2019. The Rome he has been trained to serve, the Rome of Augustus and Germanicus, was gone. In its place stood Neronopolis, ruled by a megalomaniac brat.” ―James Romm, Seneca at the Court of Nero […]
As you get older, your experiences… the paths you’ve walked in life… all you know and have become (and what or who made you that way) rest in your memories. They sleep… but they’re there, yes they are and sometimes they’re lively and churn around. A sound, a smell, a picture; some little thing shakes […]
Are you a lucky little lady in the City of Light? Or just another lost angel… City of Night…” —Jim Morrison She had misjudged when they would take her wings; punishment for her questions, her doubts. For her the fall was real. Pain. She knew that was what they—humans—called it. But had never felt […]
Began writing mid-January 2018; just passed the 72,000-word mark. Historical fiction (my fourth story/project in the genre) for publication Spring 2019.
Hell—and Hurricanes—Hath No Fury Like a Woman… Overhead, the wild huntsman of the storm passed in one blare of mingled noises; screaming wind, straining timber, lashing rope’s end, pounding block and bursting sea contributed; and I could have thought there was another, a more piercing, a more human note, that dominated all, like the wailing […]
A little warm-up writing (draft) from this morning’s coffee… (spurred by this image and a ‘mock’ cover I created that could one day be a real story). Spring had died, drowned by the climbing mercury in the giant thermometer on the brick wall of Tilson’s bar she could see by day in rising and fading […]
Sometimes creation is spurred by a plan, a predetermined action. I’ve found it’s also triggered often by something random. A sound, smell… a picture or image… sometimes a place or setting. All of them have an effect. Music is intense for me. It, sometimes a specific song, transports me into a vivid memory. Songs figure […]
She watched the old man, who had brought her there, as he went about adding more forgettable things to what was already forgotten.
As I write this—from my Pandora random station shuffle—Joan Baez is singing, ‘The Night They Drove Old Dixie Down.’ A song written by Robbie Robertson and originally recorded by the Canadian-American roots rock group The Band in 1969. It’s a first-person narrative relating the economic and social distress experienced by a poor white Southerner during […]