Ready, Set, Write

In exactly 3 hours and 17 minutes, give or take a few in between typing and posting, the 3-Day novel writing will officially begin.  One Headlight is the working title so far, and I don’t see this changing unless aliens show up halfway though the bugger.
The signs are made, the table is going to be [...]

Apprehension

There is a wall ahead,
one I imagine is grey brick
and nearly four feet tall.  A wall
that might be better suited
to an English garden but instead 

it sits in the middle of the road. 

The wall is vague, the wall
is a distant yet pressing mirage of dread.
There is no bridge 

between here and there

 where I might consider another alternative
and [...]

Stardust

My wonderful Norwegian friend sent me this book by Neil Gaiman, ooo, about, let’s say more than 4 years ago because I still lived in the pothole of the universe at that time.  I’m embarassed to say that I haven’t read it, yet.  I’m also embarassed to say that I’m not sure how to pronounce [...]

Happiness Is…

…a warm puppy according to Charles Schultz.  Since puppies aren’t really my bag, I’ll go for BEING DONE MY MERKIN LITERATURE CLASS!!!  Whhee-hoo!
Besides getting the last paper finished and completed, happiness is also E-mailing someone whose work and talent I respect (Minister Faust, judge of the 3-Day series) and having him mail me back with a [...]

Samuel McChord Crothers

A prose writer gets tired of writing prose, and wants to be a poet. So he begins every line with a capital letter, and keeps on writing prose.

Dread, My Well-Worn Shawl

Ah, last week of summer holidays is officially underway and to celebrate the momentous event we nearly burned the house down.  Yes, literally!

A rainy Sunday in August, chilly and dank, calls for a fire whilst I sit near it and finish my last paper (that I’m 800 words short for, arg.).  Lo and behold the [...]

The Minister’s Black Veil – Nathaniel Hawthorne

First:  The sexton stood in the porch of Milford meeting-house, pulling lustily at the bell-rope.
Last:  The grass of many years has sprung up and withered on that grave, the burial-stone is moss-grown, and god Mr. Hooper’s face is dust;  but awful is still the thought, that it mouldered beneath the black veil!

The Tell-Tale Heart – Edgar Allan Poe

First:  True!-nervous-very,very dreadfully nervous I had been, and am;  but why will you say that I am mad?
Last:  “I admit the deed!-tear up the planks!-here, here!-it is the beating of his hideous heart!”

W.C. Fields

Start every day off with a smile and get it over with.

Ralph Fiennes

We’d all like to believe that perhaps people could stop killing each other.