Author Archives

Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.

• A different kind of blue | rain prose, 29 März 17

  By Bill Pearse on March 30, 2017 • ( 11 )

  

  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 ›

• Winter’s playground is closed for the season

  By Bill Pearse on March 29, 2017 • ( 21 )

  

  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 ›

• The fear to really be | what scares us most, about art

  By Bill Pearse on March 28, 2017 • ( 26 )

  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 ›

• “One more red nightmare”

  By Bill Pearse on March 27, 2017 • ( 24 )

  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 ›

• Not too far into the first side

  By Bill Pearse on March 26, 2017 • ( 8 )

  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 ›

• Anthony’s Navel: Kevin Brennan, on discovering jazz

  By Bill Pearse on March 25, 2017 • ( 15 )

  One of my favorite writers and friends on WordPress, Kevin Brennan shares his story for my Saturday guest blog series, answering the challenge “what book, movie or record changed how you see the world?” “Out of a clear blue sky”… Read More ›

• Dumb questions asked in a Dutch smart shop last Easter

  By Bill Pearse on March 24, 2017 • ( 1 )

  

  The day after I got back from Amsterdam the sun came out and my mom and I took the dog for a walk in the woods in the nearby town Bietigheim, while the kids went to a circus. All the… Read More ›

• When you’re lost in the rain in Juarez when it’s Easter time, too

  By Bill Pearse on March 23, 2017 • ( 20 )

  I envied Andrew Gabler for all he had that I didn’t have. He wore name-brand clothes, had chestnut-brown hair that shone, was good looking and built, athletic, played soccer better than I did and wrestled (though I always thought wrestling… Read More ›

• All the men at the bar bent over their phones

  By Bill Pearse on March 23, 2017 • ( 14 )

  

  All the men at the bar bent over their phones and me among them, with Jimi Hendrix and sports recaps playing and the dull chatter that burbles and rolls like the tide spitting up their remains, making it all disappear… Read More ›

• A clean house does not a clean mind make

  By Bill Pearse on March 22, 2017 • ( 25 )

  

  When we bought this house I planned to take care of it. It was bigger than any place we ever lived, and the guy we bought it from looked frazzled when he was showing us how you do everything, and… Read More ›