Category Archives: writing

Twisted Ties Book Signing !!!!

This Sunday September 11th, 11 AM – 4 PM

Bekky’s Village Workshop, Peddler’s Village – Lahaska, PA

Come out and say Hi.  I’ll sign any existing copies and will have plenty of new copies if you do not have yours yet!

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Deep dive

I’m in the midst of writing my second book and it’s bringing up some old but heavy shit.

Where the first book was fiction, this one is non-fiction, a journey through care giving a loved one battling cancer.  In examining some of my beliefs and reactions through the process, I’ve gone back to examine how those beliefs and opinions were formed, which takes me back a long ways – to the age of two. I remember as if it were yesterday, a fall foto_westfield_101958_OakAve_Jimmy_front lawnOctober day in 1958.  My father was burning leaves (allowed back then) and Mom was doing whatever she was doing, one of those things being taking pictures of the 23 month old brat sitting on the steps playing with the carved pumpkin and sitting on the lawn watching dad burn leaves.  He wore a black and white plaid peacoat and brown lace up work boots that looked more like army issue that fashionable, utilitarian footwear.

At one point my Mom went back inside and Dad walked back to the garage, out of my sight, to get something.  He wasn’t gone but a minute or two, but I will never forget the feeling of loneliness and abandonment that washed over me, as if some invisible shroud of sadness drifted in and covered me.  Sitting there on the grass between two giant maples, feeling like there was not a soul left in the world. I was two what did I know?  Eventually these feelings would lead to all sorts of nonsense in later years, primarily paralyzing panic attacks that plagued my into adulthood.

I’ve done enough therapy to know where all this comes from and it’s not something I hold on to or get angry about, it’s just an old video tape I can put back on the shelf, realizing that it has no power – that was then, this is now.

This things I do for art’s sake…

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Want To Be Listed Here? – want to be a writer pt2.

Want To Be Listed Here?. – The Literary Syndicate.  Check it out.

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what i lack in personality i make up for in bourbon

I have nothing to say.  Specifically.  It’s been crazy busy work wise for the past two weeks (including weekends) and today marked the culmination of some of my efforts so I can breathe a little tonight.

I know I keep writing about this “book” I’ve written….just hang in there – big news coming very very very very soon.  I can say this – I have learned to appreciate the amount of effort that goes into a book besides actually writing it.  Posting an eBook version is one thing, actually designing the cover and interior is a whole different kettle of wax. (or ball of fish – whichever you prefer).  I have a new respect for book designers.

sunny-day-1And now for something completely different – – things that are unnecessary.  Do we REALLY need to name every single weather event from now on?  It’s a snow storm.  It’s not a hurricane or a typhoon.  Why, all of a sudden do we have to name them?  I think it is totally unfair to name only what people consider “dangerous” weather systems.  Why can’t we name sunny days.  “Sunshine Judy is heading our way on Friday followed by 24 hours of Balmy Dave.  Next week will be a beautiful Milton so head for the beach and take plenty of sunscreen.”   Seriously, what the hell?

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suckwad

I’ve always loved that word: suckwad. It has just the right combination of derision and humor without being horrifically offensive.  Toe-sucking pygmy is another one, although I guess that’s now offensive to pygmies so I might have to curb that one.  Dillweed was a popular one growing up.   And while there is certainly value in epithet foundations like shit-head and douche bag, there is much promise in some of the more recent creations like douche rocket (or it’s cousin douche nozzle), fuck stick and asshat.  Of course combinations of any or all of the above, especially when coupled with certain members of the wild – like moose or horse, lend a certain flair to one’s prose style.

Especially when describing co-workers. Or certain relatives.  Or politicians.  Or radio and TV talk show hosts.

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this is interesting

i took three different samples of my book, Twisted Ties – coming out late fall – and visited the writing analyzer…

I write like
Stephen King

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

I write like
Chuck Palahniuk

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

I write like
William Gibson

I Write Like by Mémoires, journal software. Analyze your writing!

go figure….

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rip Ray Bradbury

Ray Bradbury is responsible for my reading habits. I was always somewhat of a reader as a kid.  My first character obsession in grade school was Danny Dunn and his inventive adventures.  Surely,  the most exciting event of the school year was ordering books from the Scholastic Book service.  Recess paled in comparison to the joy of the book order arriving in the classroom and seeing two or three new books piled on my desk.

One day in the junior high school library – the place to go socialize and listen to smuggled in rock records during study hall  – I saw this book cover on a revolving rack of paperbacks, and in that instant, my life completely changed.  I devoured Ray Bradbury’s magical words and was transported to Mars on glistening rockets; travelled to other places and dimensions where strange, wonderful, and sometimes unnerving things happened.  From that pointon I read everything Mr. Bradbury had written, collecting his short story collections like a beached guppy re-entering the lake.  The Martian Chronicles, I Sing The Body Electric, Something Wicked This Way Comes, S if for Space, R is for Rocket

My desire to read everything…everything…came into full bloom.  The Bradbury spark kindled (pun intended) the joy of the written word that stays with me to this day.  I had the good fortune of seeing Mr. Bradbury speak at a writer’s conference about ten years ago and he was everything I expected.  He spoke about the ups and downs of being an author with humor and intelligence, and ended his speech with a magically seamless transition into a story as only he could tell one, using words to transform the listener to another place and time.  This was his gift.  The fact that he shared it with everyone is a treasure not to be lost in time.

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