Which ‘Book’ Exactly?
Prospero’s book. From Shakespeare’s The Tempest. In Act 5 Scene 1, Prospero vows to give up magic, his powers and spells, and his records of this: ‘I’ll drown my book’. I’ve always been intrigued with contrasts, with opposites, the yin-yang, the duality of so many phenomena that propel the universe. And language. Growing up, Pop made admission to nightly television a writing exercise. He would hand out notepads and pencils to us kids assembled in front of the set. For each show we watched, we had to summarize the story in our own words. I found it rather rote, so I quickly began to improvise alternate endings, new characters, and dialogue. No, this didn’t charge me with some deep appreciation for writing, or composition, or the beauty of the language, or the majesty of metaphor or irony, as much as the value of ripping off Hollywood writers’ plotlines. Sometime around then, I was sent home early from school for the act of presenting an essay which apparently resounded sufficiently among my classmates and teacher that the principal was summoned to our homeroom, right at that moment. Again, I read aloud, from what I don’t remember, other than the subject was ‘responsibility’. The class stared at me, dumbstruck, then the applause and yelps of glee rang out. The principal wrote a note to my parents and sent me packing with my composition. My first half-day off. With pay(!)
Meanwhile, at home, I got to read the same piece again to the singular audience of my mother. At the conclusion of which she hugged me, broke a small glass piggy bank and handed me the proceeds, and followed all with a fat, fresh slice of double-chocolate layer cake from the fridge and a cold glass of milk. I should have held out for a smartphone. I watched the joy in her face as I ate my reward, counting my coins on the table-top, not at all inspired by the power of the proper arrangement of the written word on fellow human beings, and mothers, as much as the importance of North American Serial Rights, a lesson that would serve me years later as I mined the very lucrative resale market for stuff that I wrote.
My writing and photographic experience came from the earlier work I did for Popular Science, Popular Mechanics, and Better Homes & Gardens. More recently, my fiction, non-fiction, photography and graphics have appeared in these publications:
- Agave Magazine
- Apeiron Review
- Arcadia Magazine
- Cactus Heart
- Cheap Pop Lit
- Chicago Literati
- Crab Fat Magazine
- Crack the Spine
- Dark Matter Journal
- Dirty Chai Magazine
- eFiction India
- Far Enough East
- Foliate Oak
- Gambling the Aisle
- Gravel Magazine
- Jersey Devil Press
- Loco Magazine
- Marathon Lit
- Mud Season Review
- Necessary Fiction
- North American Review
- Olivetree Review
- Per Contra
- Petrichor Review
- Prairie Schooner
- Prick of the Spindle
- SmokeLong Quarterly
- Thin Air
- Thought Catalog
- Up the Staircase
- Utter Magazine
- Vine Leaves
Author’s Page – Arcadia Magazine
Three Milks – Cheap Pop Lit
First Chocolatier on Mars – Chicago Literati
Nine Steins on the Matter of Light – Crab Fat
To Play’s the Thing – Crack the Spine
Fish Phårm – Dirty Chai
Palus Job ♦ Indigo Wind – eFiction India
What Smith Knows – Far Enough East
The Cuban as Food – Gambling the Aisle
Take Me to the Pilates – matchbook
The Breathing Game – Marathon Literary
The Garden Sky – Necessary Fiction
Crash Tested – New Pop Lit
Solo Sapiens – North American Review
Secret Valley Birds – Per Contra
Dreams of Indigo Wind – Prairie Schooner
Your Lazarus Dream – Storyacious
Godzilla Movies – Crack the Spine
The Paleo Diet ♦ Cars on Mars – Dark Matter
Self Driving Cars – Gravel Literary Journal
The New Activist – Gravel Literary Journal
Bitches Be Like 5 Seconds – Jersey Devil
An Ice Cream Headache – Loco Magazine
Other Tiny Houses – McSweeney’s
The Roomba Variants – NewPopLit
Author’s Page – Thought Catalog
Bake a Bone – theNewerYork
Da Vinci’s Other Code – theNewerYork
GMO Calculator – theNewerYork
The Lotus Eaters – theNewerYork
Qualm ♦ Water ♦ Pier – Agave Magazine
Life Ring ♦ Jail – Apeiron Review
Orange-Blossom-Florida – Cactus Heart Press
Lines – Crack the Spine
Pumphouse – eFiction India
Gallery – Foliate Oak
Cast ♦ Chain – Gambling the Aisle
2014 ♦ Forms – Gravel Literary Journal
Flagirl ♦ Troutzilla ♦ Core – Mud Season
Skull, Flood, Ducks – Olivetree Review
Boots-Florida – Petrichor Review
Gallery – Prick of the Spindle
Specie – SmokeLong Quarterly
Featured Artist – Thin Air
Series – Up the Staircase
Series – Utter Magazine
Terns, Bliss – Vine Leaves
Graphics & Mixed Media
Coming Next To: Bartleby Snopes, Hayden’s Ferry Review
Writing – Fiction & Not
You can’t eat a Cuban. Not the people. Or a Cuban person. You eat the CUBAN.
Einstein is alive yet! All nine of him.
These are the tiny houses for the rest of us.
I write the stories that I want to read. I don’t know where to go to find the things I’m thinking, already written. That leaves me to do it.
Ride along with Claire Roux. Your average young woman on a mission in Nazi-occupied France.
For descendants of Pontius Pilate, it’s their cross to bear.
There’s change in the air, and there’s a New Activist on the front lines.
Neil Young got away with murder. Denny Dorito intends to see that he pays for it.
What happens when a crash-test dummy wants a change? What kind of change?
This is not a soup like Momma used to make.
Dress responsibly with our Socially Engineered clothing.
Some will live to see the sweet aroma of a fresh confection reach the corners of their world, .
He’s the man who taught us that we CAN read and chew gum at the same time.
It would be important for Juan to appear normal now. He would have no problem with that.
And then one day the communion wafers didn’t come. What’s a good priest to do?
The Godzilla movies that were never produced. At least not yet.
Just when we thought it was safe for our finny friends to go back in the water…
Meet Dearie Le Bon, the one Williams character that got away.
Are Genetically Modified Organisms safe? For breakfast? To share a basketball court with? Music by Paul Simon.
White folk were dying. Word came from Charleston to stop ringing bells at funerals lest the panic spread wider.
Hope springs eternal, though buried deep.
I’m not a graphics artist, more a graphics designer. Maybe just a stylist. Whatever. During years of web design, I developed these passable skills out of the necessity of completing projects on time and on budget, and not have to wait on the schedules of other talent. But I do like illustrating my writing with visuals that will enhance the experience for the reader, that are the narrative as much as the words and photos. Uh, huh!