Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
-
Winter’s Playground
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
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
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
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
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
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 ›
-
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 ›
Bill Pearse 