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The Writer


The Writer

An hour’s drive towards the mountains there is a lake. A quiet, beautiful place, almost like a Norwegian fjord. I use to go there to write, ever since I started writing in earnest. They now print my picture on back covers, so I reckon I am an earnest writer at last. The hefty advance I’d been paid for my second novel seems to support that theory.

Three months after my debut has been published I go back to school, and if only for one night. Just to see who got fat, who got married, and who else got famous during the last ten years.

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March 11, 2018 at 8:03 pm Leave a comment


Just wanted to tell you folks that the descriptions of the storm the east coast is now living though are more than accurate.

I have had a self-standing basket ball net at the end of my driveway for perhaps 25 years hoping one of my girls might enjoy the game. Neither one did, and although my youngest is 5’11”, she is a farmer.

I’m telling this because, for the first time, this hoop has blown down. The wind and snow could produce a wealth of poems, but for the common man, is it a hassle to be handled.

I hope to produce more for this blog, but a lesson for the young. If you want a career in writing; START NOW. Age had a tendency to slow you down.


March 2, 2018 at 11:15 pm 1 comment

Scarecrow Remembers

A very fine poet. Check out his poetry. You will not be disappointed.

O at the Edges


Scarecrow Remembers

I recall nothing before my eyes captured
the horizon and the looped whorl of night’s
afterglow, the first crow-plumes
crossing from left to right, awakened to
everything but my history and what
preceded the morning. By midday
I had mastered the secret language of
corvids and learned to interpret the wind’s
folly. When the sun eased below the hills,
I divined the angle of declination and tilted
my head to true north, thinking this is my
calling, to point the way.
But how few
of us bottle our life’s cause to sip as
needed. Later my dark friends whispered
the truth, and we laughed among the
rustling stalks as I pointed the way
not to the Alhambra or even Wichita,
but to the choicest kernels. Placed here
for one purpose, another claimed me.
I am the future without past, the present
decaying, tomorrow’s joke, impermanent
and shadowed…

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December 15, 2017 at 11:20 pm 1 comment

This Chicks Sunday Commentary: Christmas Book Tree’s

My good friend found a readers’ heaven for the Christmas holiday.

The Reading Chick

I was in Columbia, TN this week wandering around their downtown and wandered my way into a bookstore. Funny how that happens!  What drew me in was this beautiful Christmas book tree in the window of the store. (I’ll be honest, the books did too!)

Book TreeI took a picture and turned to the guy at the counter and asked him how many books it took to make this tree. He said “I dunno.” Very disappointing answer! I can’t imagine I’m the first person to walk into the store and ask that question. Anyway, I took a picture and marveled at how high it stood, wondering if I had enough books at home to make one.  I probably do, but it would leave my bookshelves absolutely empty! As well as the thought of putting all of those books back on the shelves persuaded me to not build a tree quite that…

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December 12, 2017 at 8:53 pm 1 comment

Vanishing Tracks

This poem may respond to many people. Thanks for your strength for your loved ones, gone but still here to love.

Translations from the English


Doris Marie Lawson Schwaner, 7/3/1939 – 11/8/2017

I wrote this for my mother a little over six years ago. She’d been battling Alzheimer’s disease for several years. I heard her voice yesterday afternoon and she heard mine, thanks to my sister. 

Vanishing Tracks (II)

What is resilient in us is resistant to memory
When the memory goes she will be some other self
Still resilient to the sailing light and shadow
And hungers and exhaustions of love
Made maybe even more immediate

When the resilience goes what is that then

When the resistance goes what is that

Just outside her heart she hears a sound in the night
I am out there knocking on the dusty porch
I have brought a friend with me
When she opens the door will she see herself
Holding my hand?

Do you remember when the car door opened up
As you drove and I…

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November 10, 2017 at 8:14 pm Leave a comment

Science and Magic are Two Sides of the Same Coin

I thought some of my fellow writers would enjoy this post.

A Writer's Path

by Ryan Decaria

After much contemplation about writing magic systems, I’ve decided on a new writing philosophy. These guides work for me, but should in no way be considered “writing rules”.

  1. In fantasy, I’m going to treat my magic systems like a science
  2. In science fiction, I’m going to treat my “pushed” science like magic

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November 3, 2017 at 9:12 pm Leave a comment

when we forget….

I have been following this poet for years. I feel we are friends although separated by 3000 miles and never met.
I wanted to share his recent poem, which I feel, hits close to the heart of what is wrong with this country today.

Read Between the Minds

a child
in the streets
of san juan
a father
an only son
flag draped
corporate profits
a woman’s
to death
by policies
of blind fear
are assassinated
to protect
seeking only
a better life
are torn
from freedom’s womb
broken promises
we forget
cannot become
when we abandon
made us
in the beginning

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September 27, 2017 at 3:16 am 1 comment

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