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 ›
art
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 ›
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 ›
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 ›
No present like the time
Ginger is on top of a stuffed rabbit with a squeaker, looks like she’s sodomizing it. The rabbit has a cartoon eye, looks nonplussed. Ginger thrashes it to break the neck, sniffs its underside, walks off distracted, comes back. I… Read More ›
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 ›
Writing about the weather
I’m not proud of this, but I read a weather blog every day. If you live in the Pacific Northwest, it’s hard to make the weather interesting to read about. In the winter, it’s generally “high 52, low 48…rain, changing… Read More ›
When night falls like this: life, in black and white
The streets are gray and everything on the edges has gone to brown, might be dead, hangs on waiting, like us. Looks dead, probably isn’t. I stare out the window at work and night has started at 4 o’clock. It… Read More ›
What happened in the middle
I’m happy for November because it’s the one year anniversary since I started writing again. It’s not what I’m writing that makes me happy, but the fact I’m doing it, and it’s changed the way I look at life. Last… Read More ›
Poet modeling: notes from the dentist’s waiting room
I walk the city in the morning as it’s waking up: shop owners sweeping the sidewalks after the storm, lights coming on in the apartment windows, a million lives to live in the red brick buildings overlooking the city, due… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 