“How’re the eggs?” I asked Beta (not her real name), one of my daughters—I have four—and twin to Alpha (not their real names) who’s five minutes older. Beta has a poor opinion of scrambled eggs and preferred fried. But the way—the pace at which—she emptied the bowl, showed she liked them. “They’re good,” she confirmed. […]
The end of 2018 I did some calculating—and reflecting—on what’s been accomplished since deciding ten years ago (in July 2008) to focus full-time efforts on my writing and publishing. Since Summer 2009: 1,593,906 words of ghostwriting (9 novels — 9 memoirs — 12 nonfiction books/guides) for clients. This besides the work of publishing 73 titles […]
“Life was as delicate as the paper held in her hand.” Lessons learned… from what was found in the old trunk.
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.
I answered the phone, and after the “Hi, how’re you doing,” he had started the conversation: “I believe many of these students have already formed the way they view life. If they don’t have basic honesty as part of who they are…” It was Tom Faught, one of my clients on the phone; he’d emailed […]
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 […]
Old photographs of strangers, discovered in this way, seem precious, even faintly sacred. And who can resist studying the stranger’s face for clues to a suddenly pressing question: Whatever happened to you?” -Dan Barry, New York Times January 25, 2018—while at the New York Times building—I got to meet Dan Barry, a reporter, and writer-at-large. […]
The man sat on the patio chair and watched Petunia play with her string of beads large and small. She’d grab them and run across the yard, look back at him to make sure he was watching, then take off again… a pale pink streak with them streaming behind her like an optimistic kite tail […]
I work with clients internationally, so travel as needed for their project. Sometimes I’m included in things, events, etc. as an observer, which contributes to and helps with the writing. And sometimes unexpectedly—to me—things happen, that are both strange… and funny (to me). XXXXs in the narrative that follows indicate redaction of some details. Below […]
On those evenings, the backyard would become thick with fireflies; a dozen and more points of light. I’d sit on the steps and watch the little gold sparks wink in and out of the shorter grass close to the house as they moved towards the tall grass further back.