Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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‘That you’re tired of yourself and all of your creations’
I hung the hammock out back on the ponderosas, tried to rest but couldn’t, drove to West Seattle to meet Anthony and Mike for Sunday beers. We got a letter they’re moving forward with the project next door, to tear… Read More ›
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In the morning coming off the plateau the fog looked like clouds over the lake
That April we got married the weather had been good every weekend three weekends in a row and I worried our luck would run out by our wedding day. There were about 50 people coming in to a mountain lodge… Read More ›
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‘Most likely you go your way and I’ll go mine’
We got up. Though it was a Saturday we were out of bed by 6. It was getting grayish out and I wanted to see it. There’s a soft fade in reverse, mornings here. There’s some quiet before the kids… Read More ›
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Anthony’s Navel: Ross Murray on Manhattan
If you’re lucky enough you may have a couple friends you’ve met blogging who inspire your own work or you give you a special kick, sometimes in the butt. That’s my friend Ross at Drinking Tips for Teens, aka my… Read More ›
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This is what it sounds like when doves cry
That night Grundy gave me a ride home. It was starting to snow as the sky was getting light. I remember the flakes hitting the windshield and the wipers, the flakes looked funny, I was still feeling the effects. When… Read More ›
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A different kind of blue | rain prose, 29 März 17
Double the average, normal rainfall for the month and year so far, double. It makes the trees look distorted like they’re rubbed out by TV static snow, makes the same crackling hiss on the ground and pavement. The static snow,… Read More ›
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Winter’s playground is closed for the season
If you were to look back through a hole at your life, if it were like a kaleidoscope when held to the light, the days would fold in on themselves and combine, and collapse to form a frame called “your… Read More ›
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The fear to really be | what scares us most, about art
It had been many months since I went around the corner from our house to the new development. Why would I?—turning left instead of right, I could go down to the lake. Turning right, and right again, they’d taken out… Read More ›
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“One more red nightmare”
Donnie said he forwarded my email to Fripp and would let me know if he heard back. I sent that to Loren, because I wasn’t sure I’d ever get an email like that again, that said “I forwarded your message… Read More ›
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Not too far into the first side
That Easter weekend my girlfriend Marie’s parents were away she stayed home and I lied about where I was going, and went to Marie’s. There’s something about going to work the morning after you’ve lost your virginity that feels invincible,… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 