Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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Good Friday, 1981
On Good Friday my parents wake me to say Michael has passed away, we’re both around 11 — something I can’t pronounce or spell that came from a mosquito bite with blood taken from a sick horse that made his… Read More ›
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How to set yourself apart
This time six years ago I was cramming for the PMP exam, a professional certification in project management I thought would set me apart as the economy was slipping and my development opportunities at work had come to a dead… Read More ›
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Die Rechnung (The Reckoning)
If you want your bill at a German restaurant you say, “Die Rechnung, bitte,” which means the reckoning. And that’s what I’ve been doing by cleaning out my garage and going through personal things — I’m reconciling the past, settling… Read More ›
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Sunday afternoon in the suburbs, Spring
I’ve taken the stowed-away things from our garage and laid them out on the driveway for reckoning. One pile gets donated, the other we get to keep. There’s a laundry basket full of plush toys, the unwanted/extra dolls and stuffed… Read More ›
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No Plot? No Problem!
I bought this book by the guy who started the National Novel Writing Month, an annual project in November to encourage people who want to write a book to produce a first draft in just one month. A 50,000 word… Read More ›
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Chance meeting, Mr. Zhang
Today I met Mr. Zhang at the park. He passed us once then returned a second time and pulled up a seat. He was a non-person to me before he stopped, we got to know each other through words. I… Read More ›
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The spirit begat you
The old fishermen who gather on the docks in the early morning bundled, bent over, drawing out line and outfitted with plastic bags and baseball caps The sky clouds trees, The water reminds us there is more than ourselves and that’s why… Read More ›
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Put away for safe-keeping
That first night you turned your back and my arm fell off in bed, we were made statues then like brittle, precious things put away for safe-keeping, hard to move.
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When the sun came through my window
The backs of the butterfly wings caught fire and it was a deep-blooded copper glow when the sun came through my window, the backs, and it has come to represent so much more, the stained glass pane my mom and… Read More ›
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Putting the man in project management
The weather has been like a Greek play and I don’t understand what’s going on, one moment it’s calm and there’s singing, the next it’s like the world will end. And you would have thought with all this fussiness I… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 