Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
-
Saving butterflies in books: making memories fiction
Dawn’s trying to help her mom figure out how her laptop works, on the couch. The two of them marvel over how simple it can be when you do it the right way and it’s like the seven wonders of… Read More ›
-
Open your heart to a map of the badlands
Peel drew a map on a cocktail napkin: a laundromat between Avenue A and Avenue B on the lower east side, New York. He said they sell it right there on the street, through a gate. I took a bus… Read More ›
-
Post card from the food bank
I volunteered to help Lisa man the diaper station, by the front door. A woman from a mental illness organization gave us a talk before we opened, and another explained the logistics of how it works, warning us that it’s… Read More ›
-
There’s a happy feeling nothing in the world can buy
Time gets pushed to the corner and online commerce swoops in for button-pushing holiday shopping. I’ve done it, because I don’t have time and I get stressed out about missing deadlines, so I enter my credit card and walk away…. Read More ›
-
Song for winter
The ocean pounds the rocks and the sky’s gone to slate, and it’s the sound of lovers dashed to pieces, in the mist: and it’s all we ever wanted, to disappear to the roar of the applause and go back… Read More ›
-
It’s not your story once you tell it
My friend wrote a blog post about a Thanksgiving where his uncle got drunk and they had to call 911. He told me more about it when I met with him on Friday, and described some detail I didn’t remember… Read More ›
-
The Golden Hour of Knowing, The Witchcraft of Writing
I repositioned a photo of my dad in a mirror over the fireplace in our den. It’s odd because I look at the mirror and see myself, and also see him in the corner, and I look at both of… Read More ›
-
Youngs Snug Bar: the story behind the sign
Mike and I drove down from London to the south of France in a VW camper van with a gay couple my step-dad befriended in the 60s. Rob and Paul were a gruff duo who rarely touched, and slept in… Read More ›
-
Myths of the living
I keep a journal in a pocket notepad, but the journal is different from what I write here. The notepads cover about three months at a time before I get a new one, and then I save them in a… Read More ›
-
As I lay dying, lying about death
All the people who work at the bar seem to have part of their brains missing. They’re confused about what’s on tap and always have to check with someone else; I wonder if they’re hungover or just stupid. And that’s… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 