Author Archives
Bill Pearse publishes memoir, travel journals, poetry and prose, and lives in the Pacific Northwest.
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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 ›
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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 ›
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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 ›
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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 ›
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Cooking the carcass
Thanksgiving falls so late this year, it’s like two dinner guests turning up at the same time who shouldn’t, making things awkward. Neighbors were out putting up lights before Thanksgiving even started, and I found myself doing the same. The… Read More ›
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Arriving: mid 40s
We’re getting displaced at work, because they’re sub-dividing our cubes. It means we have to pack up our things and vacate for a month, and work from home. I don’t work from home well, because my home is my work,… Read More ›
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Sneaking up on your readers: on trust, and surprise
A good surprise is a good thing, when it comes to film and literature. People like to be surprised, but not in a way that violates their trust. I can jump out at you from behind a bush and make… Read More ›
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Make Believe
Early morning moonlight on frost-covered fields, no sound. The white of the digital screen by the window: outside, the stars are Christmas lights along the roof lines, flickering. It’s like going back to the place where you grew up, everything’s… Read More ›
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Happy poet blues: the upside of down
There’s some good that can come from feeling down. The punchline to most jokes is someone getting hurt and if that’s your life, now you’ve got something to work with. If nothing bad’s happened to you yet, you’ll have to… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 