The Arctic Tern, American Goldfinch, and Me

There are, I kid you not, men and women with baccalaureate degrees that honestly (and dutifully, I suppose) believe that the annual breeding migration of approximately 1,900 bird species flying thousands of miles is, in a very broad sense, similar to the annual exodus tackled by proud alumni who drive 347 miles to celebrate homecoming. … Continue reading The Arctic Tern, American Goldfinch, and Me

Hidden In My Blind Spot

I'm in the hospital: been since Thursday, the day my body packed on seven pounds in two days.  Med. Staff scurry like Lillyputians upon sleeping Gulliver; all rubber-gloved hands on deck!  Your charge: bee-line to Admitting forthwith.  Cardiac Floor has custody; such largess traded for freedom; headboard resembles cockpit; heart monitor spies on any movement: … Continue reading Hidden In My Blind Spot

Age Calls It “Creative” Writing For a Reason

Upon graduating from Carnegie Mellon University with a Master of Fine Arts degree in Playwriting, my mentor, Mr. Arthur Giron cozied up to me and asked the question heard around the world: "Well, what are you going to do for the next twenty years?"  Cocksure and filled to the brim with inflamed enthusiasm and a bulwark of … Continue reading Age Calls It “Creative” Writing For a Reason

A Recent Visit With An Old Journal (July-September, 2008)

I do know how it happened, this convergence of the perfect storm, but the why I set it in motion is still a mystery to me. My feelings of absolute worthlessness have been building for years; starting much like the birth of a tsunami deep in some crevice in the ocean, a shifting of my … Continue reading A Recent Visit With An Old Journal (July-September, 2008)

When “Whom” Lost Majority To “What”

Bertolt Brecht (1898-1956) called it Estrangement; Luigi Pirandello, Nobel Laureate ( 1867-1936) is often quoted as saying, ". . . it is only a mask that man unconsciously assumes in order to adapt himself to the social context in which he finds himself . . ." What was it that playwright and director Bertolt Brecht … Continue reading When “Whom” Lost Majority To “What”

Mr. Buchanan’s Peach Orchard

Today I feel like that carefully selected peach.  The one picked for its promise, for its intention, for its springtime when its dense pulp prediction comes of age.  Hands coddle, gently squeeze, study its color palette, infer its density.  This is the One; I can hardly wait for its cotillion; the fuzzy skin taught like … Continue reading Mr. Buchanan’s Peach Orchard