Author Archives

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

• Texting about drinking, Blogging about texting

  By Bill Pearse on January 11, 2014 • ( 6 )

  I’m 43. I don’t really text. I could, but I don’t, and when I do, it’s pretty lame. Which isn’t much different than when anyone else texts, I think. You look back on the strings and they’re precision details about… Read More ›

• Getting to know you

  By Bill Pearse on January 9, 2014 • ( 14 )

  The hardest thing about starting your new blog is filling out the About page. The About page is your prompt to explain why the reader is here, on your site. I had to make it up when I began because… Read More ›

• Retreat, to the dark

  By Bill Pearse on January 4, 2014 • ( 6 )

  The backbone of a cottonwood on the clouds, a fossil through my window — The nail of the moon, cupping the weight of the sky, low-lidded demon, jeweled crown. Hands sticking out of trees, green hands and fingers, quiet hillsides… Read More ›

• Corpse Pose (On Creation)

  By Bill Pearse on January 3, 2014 • ( 2 )

  The Barbie dolls are on their backs, arms in supplication, dead bugs frozen in the position of a child’s imagination before it moves on to something else. Me and the dolls and our glassy eyes, plastic smiles, a battlefield of… Read More ›

• Winter’s Playground

  By Bill Pearse on December 30, 2013 • ( 4 )

  Drinking good wine out of paper cups at the Howard Johnson’s in the mountains, the knocking through the wall could be the neighbors signaling Keep it down, or the neighbors knocking each other around, with the bed frame. We decide… Read More ›

• Lower case letters

  By Bill Pearse on December 27, 2013 • ( 2 )

  I got up then, it was time to get up, and I made my way down to the den, to write. The clock said 3:20 and it took a good long time to make out whether it said 3:20 or… Read More ›

• White pigment

  By Bill Pearse on December 24, 2013 • ( 6 )

  A frog makes a corkscrew croak, keeps warm, sings A friend’s mix tape in the garage, where men go, to hide A picture of a writer on a rocker with a notepad and pen, threads pulled from his pocket, he… Read More ›

• Weekly Writing Challenge: Collecting Detail

  By Bill Pearse on December 21, 2013 • ( 4 )

  You don’t need to leave the house to enter different worlds, they’re all hiding right here. I got down on all fours at eye-level with the three dogs and galloped across the tile from the kitchen through the dining room,… Read More ›

• The Desolation of Smaug: Rant on violence in art

  By Bill Pearse on December 19, 2013 • ( 24 )

  

  Somewhere in the 90s I got tired of violence in movies. It happened in a scene from the film Copycat, which shows the point of view of a victim through a plastic bag as she’s about to be slain. It was… Read More ›

• Seaview, 2003

  By Bill Pearse on December 18, 2013 • ( 13 )

  

  We lived in a 800 square-foot, two bedroom shack in West Seattle built in 1919. You had to go outside to do the laundry, to get to the basement. That was the one drawback because the basement flooded, you had… Read More ›