Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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Rain prose: going to work, to live
We were between fronts again. In the morning the sound of the birds seesawing the air in their rocking chair, rhythmic arcs: those sing-song loops like fireworks for wartime, warning cries, maybe just bliss. The air was damp from last… Read More ›
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The Larry Dugan complex
There were probably a dozen boys packed into that air-conditioned room at Kyle Gardo’s house in the early ’80s, the first time I saw porn, a lot of hair onscreen and squishing sounds, all of us rapt and speechless; it… Read More ›
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First date anniversary, December 5, 1999 (Langley, WA)
I don’t remember much about the day but it was December 5, I know that much, it was Dawn’s friend Joey’s birthday and after our first date, where Dawn and I went to Whidbey Island, we went back to Joey’s… Read More ›
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“Jimi thing”: last day on Whidbey Island, spring break ’17
The last morning I went down to the whale-watching bench to say goodbye and there were no sounds on a Saturday but the birds, a crow clicking on a totem pole, elderly folks shuffling up the sidewalks, bearded construction guys… Read More ›
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Anthony’s Navel: Ilona Elliott on Jackson Browne
So glad to be featuring a Pacific Northwest writer today, Ilona Elliott, sharing stories about her coming to age with music from the ’60s and ’70s, on my Saturday guest post series Anthony’s Navel. Visit Ilona’s blog Rainy Day Writing… Read More ›
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Jawbone arch over Useless Bay
How quiet outside at night with the crickets coming on and the sound of a fan somewhere, then something papery in the breeze, rainbow-colored wind socks, phantoms, deep sea creatures floating on a different speed, a dark, ancient voodoo, a… Read More ›
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This is where we put in
We went looking for whales. We rented a condo for a few nights on one of the nearby islands, small towns with hippies, locally owned stores, everyone in sweaters and graying. It was spring break for the kids but Dawn… Read More ›
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32/30, more like 34
The jeans were getting harder to get into and the beers harder to get out of. The beers were getting easier to get into and the jeans to get out of. The reclining chair was bent and sagged but I pulled… Read More ›
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When they slide that heavy rock slab across your lids where will you sit, with what you’ve done?
And were we like those same straps they used to hold up trees, that look like slingshots tied from the trunk to the post—were we that same post for our kids, meant to just stay there in the ground long… Read More ›
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A stream of consciousness, passing through April
We felt it winding down, that April. Who gets to be in Europe for nine months like that? I had no business complaining about having to go, it was time. It was starting to leaf out on the trees along… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 