I can’t just turn the spigot and the words come pouring out into rockets, bells and poetry. I have to sit in an easy chair and THEN turn the spigot. I have to pick up a pen or turn on the computer and imagine a girl whose mother was an explorer of time and spaceContinue reading “When the spigot turns”
Category Archives: Writing
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“I quit,” someone said,and maybe it was me. Buta few minutes latersomeone went back to workand produced somethingFine. The quitting hadcleared the airand made wayfor trying fresh. “I quit” is not quitting;it’s pressing “reboot.”
5 images, 5 senses
It was there. He could tell. As quiet as it was, a presence waited nearby. o o o A peanut buttery aroma wafted through the room as he unscrewed the cap and took a deep breath. o o o Fumbling in the dark, he felt a sudden slimy ooze that didn’t belong. Had he leftContinue reading “5 images, 5 senses”
For Emily, whenever I may find her
I picked up my old college edition of selected Emily Dickinson poems on an impulse and opened at random — I read 97, 99, 98, 103, 100, 102, 101, and said, “No more! My brain’s exploded, this is so much in so few words —” It was another example of the power of the bookContinue reading “For Emily, whenever I may find her”
Random scribbling before dawn, Part III
Why do I love Godzilla? And specifically, why is the first Godzilla movie (both Gojira, the magnificent Japanese cut, and Godzilla King of the Monsters, the American re-edit with Raymond Burr) one of my favorite films of all? I suppose it has something to do with fire and explosions and all those things that kidsContinue reading “Random scribbling before dawn, Part III”
Opening scene in a story to be named later
This is why I came: to see if what they were saying was actually true, that there was an alien being up a tree. And well, yes, yes it was. Perched on a branch was a vaguely human, vaguely insectoid little girl — it may have been a boy, but the long hairlike extensions fromContinue reading “Opening scene in a story to be named later”
Just write
It doesn’t have to be a poem. It doesn’t have to be a song. It doesn’t have to be anything, not yet — just write. Let loose the hounds of more! Pour the words onto the page in quantity, searching for quality, diamonds in the rough — no, not even that, just send the wordsContinue reading “Just write”
Warm Breeze From Galatia
But of course, in this troubled crazy world,The solution is to be fruit-bearing,Fruit that is ripe and not reekingOf the rot and decay of the age orThe lust for instant gratification.Spirit lifters may take some time.Is is too much to ask for a modicum ofLove that reaches past angry words and feuds,Joy in the fullnessContinue reading “Warm Breeze From Galatia”
To serve entropy or to build
Every morning there is a choice to be made between light and dark, life and death, sickness and health. Words heal and words destroy. This day, this minute, shall I heal or shall I destroy? The power is in this remarkable organ between my ears. The body cries inertia. The false death of sleep isContinue reading “To serve entropy or to build”
With thanks to my first completed journal
The first journal I filled is two-thirds disjointed mess. I started it in late 2011 as a notebook for my story/novel ideas, and for the first 200 pages that’s more or less what it is, with ideas and passages that ended up in The Imaginary Revolution or the Myke Phoenix novelettes I dashed off inContinue reading “With thanks to my first completed journal”
