So I’ve been up now since 3:30 AM listening to the rain and the sounds of Elton John and Styx in my head, toggling between the two as I try flipping over to my left and my right, but still… Read More ›
writers block
The Meaning of Existence
It shouldn’t take more than 20 minutes to figure this out, but it has, and I haven’t still. I walk this same road every day, the same road, but always different. I keep thinking I’ll catch the tail of an… Read More ›
Your web is a trap
I’ve compared writers to spiders before: I like that the words rhyme and they have unusual things in common. Both generally hide in the corners waiting, watching. We build fantastic traps to catch our prey, then slowly suck the life… Read More ›
Feeling real, really feeling
Life happens with or without you. When I struggle to write because the ideas don’t come, it’s how I’m seeing life that needs to change. In 1985, I got a job at the Allentown Fair. I worked inside a large… Read More ›
Killing Time, Making Time, Wasting Time
I don’t know what it’s “about.” That’s what people want to know when you say you’ve written something, that’s the first question. Is it published, what’s it about? I don’t make time for a pipeline, for blog posts. I spin… Read More ›
The artist as lion tamer
It’s a gift that can feel like a curse, to feel compelled to do art. It follows me around like a stray expecting to be fed, but won’t come when I call it. It’s the killer whale that drags its… Read More ›
It happens in the eyes
Country roads back East, clouds threatening to meet. I can’t tell you how to get there, but I know each turn. Jim explains the meaning of objects in his garage: the cheap, red bow hung on the wall is the… Read More ›
Writers, spiders, and why silence wins
It’s hard to argue with silence. It’s what takes over in elevators and locker rooms when we have nothing to say. It’s where I go if I can’t find what I’m looking for, if nothing comes out when I turn… Read More ›
Prism
The prism is a piece of cut crystal hung in my window. We bought it at the Jersey shore in the late 70s when I was a little boy. I asked my dad for it when I was going off… Read More ›
Bill Pearse 