Author Archives

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

• An eye, an ear, a voice, a heart: the journey to find

  By Bill Pearse on August 23, 2014 • ( 6 )

  

  (This post originally titled A voice, an ear, an eye, a heart, but I resequenced it.) Writers talk about the importance of finding your voice. That’s been the premise of this blog, to see what I sound like as a writer… Read More ›

• What happened when the vanpool driver cracked

  By Bill Pearse on August 22, 2014 • ( 4 )

  This is a confession about me, the vanpool driver, and how I’ve begun to secretly hate the other riders on our van. It’s no different than what happens to bus drivers, taxi drivers, airplane pilots: people who get paid carting… Read More ›

• Gay weddings, recreational pot

  By Bill Pearse on August 20, 2014 • ( 3 )

  

  Our state legalized both, this last election cycle. The laws behind gay marriage made sense, but many of us didn’t understand what legalizing recreational pot really meant, until now. Louie and Michael pulled up in an antique Rolls Royce, wearing… Read More ›

• Remote diagnostics: kids and phones

  By Bill Pearse on August 15, 2014 • ( 5 )

  The kids got phones yesterday. They’re 9 and almost 7. Charlotte clasped her hands and said, mine has The Internet! Lily sat on the steps in the dark and lost herself in the folds of the display. They were both hand-me-down… Read More ›

• Song of myself, ourself

  By Bill Pearse on August 9, 2014 • ( 12 )

  

  I stood at the Hoh Head on the Washington coast and looked out on the lone, proud rock that stood hard against the sea And the clouds moved like a membrane, how they swelled and became gauze across my eyes… Read More ›

• Bad thoughts precede bad thoughts: flying, drinking, writing, landing

  By Bill Pearse on July 25, 2014 • ( 6 )

  Flying, sipping brandy out of a cup, 5 in the morning. Leaning back in our blankets, in our seats, reclining. We raise our hands to the displays and tap the screens and look as dull and robotic as the figures… Read More ›

• Still

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

  The girls are in the bedroom with the sun washed over them, mouths slung open. The water here is either too hard or soft, it’s hard to make a lather. I’ve been up more than 24 hours flying, eating, drinking,… Read More ›

• Last Seen With

  By Bill Pearse on June 25, 2014 • ( 6 )

  The cats spend the day outside killing, then come in for their canned food. I stood in the garden watering, having the sense something was wrong, and noticed a small rabbit on its side with a gash in its neck…. Read More ›

• Writing about thieves

  By Bill Pearse on June 19, 2014 • ( 10 )

  I take a break from work to walk the uneven alleyway north, downtown. The walk, the street, the faces: they’ve all become a metaphor of the writing process. It’s always the same but a little different if you look carefully… Read More ›

• The Life is the Story

  By Bill Pearse on May 31, 2014 • ( 5 )

  

  I had to give up caffeine because it was giving me anxiety and sleeplessness, and I positioned it as a way to be less of an ass to my family, a kind of sacrifice for them, which was part-true. But… Read More ›