Author Archives

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

• Lost in the woods

  By Bill Pearse on December 29, 2014 • ( 3 )

  

  It wasn’t in the outfit I chose for myself each day before going to work, and it wasn’t in the mirror or the photographs on our walls at home. I lost track of where it went and sometimes wondered if I… Read More ›

• What little light reflects on the lake

  By Bill Pearse on December 24, 2014 • ( 3 )

  The house had the look of drunks about it, the left behind, random disorder of things not put away, fallen on their sides, not cared for. Light bulbs, plush toys, DVDs all sharing the same shelf by the stereo speaker…. Read More ›

• The day I turned purple

  By Bill Pearse on December 22, 2014 • ( 17 )

  It was a dark, moody sunrise from the top of our office building that day, No Roof Access. The kind of morning you can’t tell if the sun is really there, it’s just a band of white below the cloud… Read More ›

• ‘The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys’

  By Bill Pearse on December 13, 2014 • ( 2 )

  

  I leave work sick and catch a bus home. Catching a bus isn’t easy when you live in the suburbs, you have to catch different buses and string them together. Then, you don’t get right where you need to be…. Read More ›

• The ass from the manger scene

  By Bill Pearse on December 7, 2014 • ( 6 )

  

  It’s the 15 year anniversary since our first date, and Dawn and I get into a spat over the gingerbread decorating event planned by the Girl Scout troop at a local school. I ask, what do we do while they’re… Read More ›

• Part-time blogger, full-time ass

  By Bill Pearse on December 5, 2014 • ( 8 )

  I started re-reading Don DeLillo’s White Noise in October, inspired by connections to how our media was handling the Ebola crisis. Ha, ha: look at me! Blogging about Don DeLillo and Ebola! I have a third of the book to… Read More ›

• The strength of strings

  By Bill Pearse on November 30, 2014 • ( 16 )

  All the blood ran out of his face when my boss said they were putting me on a plan. It’s not the kind of plan you want to be put on. I became aware of my body language, uncrossed my arms,… Read More ›

• Song of my 40s, still life

  By Bill Pearse on November 22, 2014 • ( 10 )

  

  I can palm the cat’s head in my lap when she’s napping in the morning and it’s still dark — with just candles and Brian Eno playing, sometimes you can’t tell if it’s even on, that’s the thing about ambient… Read More ›

• So what about the mid-life crisis?

  By Bill Pearse on November 19, 2014 • ( 9 )

  Charlotte and I decide to walk to the lake. The lake is about 10 minutes away, she’s 7, and it’s the first time we’ve walked there together, just the two of us. She’s balancing along a stone wall about four… Read More ›

• The 1,000th time

  By Bill Pearse on November 14, 2014 • ( 7 )

  A part of me died that day in the conference room when I botched it with the process decomposition. I had a plan going in, aligned on it with my business owner, and the plan was to plot the as-is… Read More ›