I’ve broken through a membrane in our garage, the garage that’s bigger than some apartments I’ve lived in, where our kids can ride their bikes or scooters when there’s no cars and I’ve cleared the boxes to the side. The garage,… Read More ›
coming of age
Working on leaving the living (2)
As I’m nearing my 500th post, and re-entering the job market as a writer after a 20+ year detour, I’m sharing a few stories of working for small publications in the early 90s, on the east coast. Blog title HT… Read More ›
Working on leaving the living (1)
As I’m nearing my 500th post, and re-entering the job market as a writer after a 20+ year detour, I’m sharing a few stories of working for small publications in the early 90s, on the east coast. Blog title HT… Read More ›
All this could be yours: being yourself on LinkedIn
I didn’t know how easy it was to post a blog on LinkedIn until early Monday, and I had about 20 minutes to write my first before I had to get the kids up for school. LinkedIn, through its Kevin… Read More ›
“Helpless”
I don’t think my parents liked me having the bedroom door closed when Marie was over, but it wasn’t tightly enforced. We closed the door and smiled at each other: there wasn’t anywhere else to sit in my room, just… Read More ›
The Quintessential Tune
СЕУТА И МЕЛИЛЬЯ. When I meet someone new and get to talking music, they’ll often ask what I like and when I ask them the same, if they say they like everything it usually means they don’t. Spend some time with… Read More ›
The Notes Between The Keys
I spent the last year here rebuilding my confidence as a writer, forcing myself to see my life as noteworthy every day, gathering inspiration. I didn’t know what I was doing, and half-hoped the sheer pursuit of a Broken Down… Read More ›
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 ›
Maps aren’t routes, just destinations
We sat Indian style in the dorm room listening to a band called Fugazi. We took it seriously; we were on to something. I read H.P. Lovecraft and woke from dreams about hidden passageways beneath my bed. Summer, 1990: surrounded… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 