Category Archives: Writing

I hesitate to look at what I’ve wrought. I want to count my readers and I don’t. To understand how many viewed and caught my drift: okay. But then I worry: won’t too few depress me, and too many force … Continue reading →

My brother watches football games, records the bouts he has to miss, and basketball has fast become a fave. He angles towards his giant screen and soon I hear him call how we are winning, what we need to try. … Continue reading →

(20th Century History) I self-assigned a poem and chose a form that makes the work a contest for my brain. I need fourteen to constitute a quorum, and they must dance and sing in fit refrain. So here’s a sonnet … Continue reading →

Rereading prose composed two decades past, I’m struck with three anachronistic themes. Our ways of life are modifying fast and so I have to choose between old memes and explanations, or reworking now the plot to fit our modern wired … Continue reading →

What’s up? You must have something on your mind, some statement or opinion for today. Of course you do – you think and feel in kind and attitudes developed on your way by parents, mentors, or your own accord. I’ve … Continue reading →

I didn’t plan to ride the bike today. I thought I’d take another morning off. There’s stitches in my mouth, it hurts to say, and last week’s cold has left a noisy cough. But after I was up and scanned … Continue reading →

If I have ever written verse outside, I don’t remember when. But here I sit in sunshine, at a table, modified by garden foods and exercise to fit, protected from all vehicles and phones. I haven’t a complaint or grief … Continue reading →

Too many would-be writers I have known, who long for fame but don’t make time to write. Imagining book signings, they postpone the act of composition day and night and week to year and never do complete a narrative. They’ll … Continue reading →

If I have nothing nice to say, it’s best to shut my mouth and keep my fingers still, to give the arrogance a little rest and bide with patient attitude, until a concept comes and wisdom feels no force. But … Continue reading →

When I was 8 years old, I had too much. I owned so many dolls I couldn’t pick a favorite. Most the books I loved had such poor heroines, their toys were either stick- and-yarn creations or composed of rags … Continue reading →