Growing up in the 70s it’s hard to reconcile the kid I was then with the person I am now. A shoebox full of Polaroids and old prints, in the days before smartphones when everyone looks surprised by the camera,… Read More ›
Creative Nonfiction
Aping Carver
She talked about him a lot, the ex. Like an instruction manual for how to treat her, but in a different language. Woman Language. If I could figure out what went wrong with him, maybe I could be the one…. Read More ›
Purpose
Charlotte loses her dollar from the tooth fairy, but it takes too long to look for it, and we give up. The woman outside the supermarket is selling newspapers for the homeless, and I buy one. She compliments Charlotte’s sweater,… Read More ›
Moss-Petting in Portland
I love making fun of Portland. And I love making fun of my friend, Loren. Since Loren lives in Portland now I get to make fun of them both. I caught a bus down there last weekend, to treat Loren… Read More ›
Buckets of Rain
I got into Bob Dylan’s Blood on the Tracks in high school while riding in the back of Mark’s Mustang, on the way to New Hope, Pennsylvania. The car was fast, and we hugged the twists and turns along the Delaware… Read More ›
The Train to Portland
Shana worked at the IKEA south of Seattle, where she met Marne. Marne was with Don, and Don and I hit it off. Don and I made plans to go to Portland over Memorial Day weekend, which is where we… Read More ›
Temp Work
They reassigned me from the chemical sales group to a new one, in a different building, the main office where the CEO resided. Here in the lobby was a gallery celebrating the company’s history, through oil paintings of all the… Read More ›
Getting into fights on email
Rich and I got in a fight on email, in 1996: I had two responsibilities in my job, and one of them was to collect information from secretaries once a month. I sent a form email to all of them,… Read More ›
Behind the Hatred
Len had a lazy eye and was balding, our English teacher. He wrote on the chalkboard and directed us to copy the lines into our notebooks: Behind the hatred there lies a murderous desire for love He didn’t quote the… Read More ›
Put things back
I’ve been carrying around this Pendaflex of old writing for years, and yesterday I made the mistake of getting it out. I haven’t read most of it since it was written, dating back to 1992. Once you start, it’s hard… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 