T.M. Mulligan’s name is a reference to a golf phrase, most-often used by amateurs with a predisposition to tree groves, water hazards, and shanking.
T.M. Mulligan means Taking My Mulligan.
Four years ago I shanked my life into a tree grove, where it ricocheted off a tall Poplar, bee-lined toward the lagoon, skipped twice off its surface, before it dove like a nuclear submarine out-of-sight.
The other 3/4’s of my foursome turned to me, waiting for the drop.
Overnight “Wrong Place Wrong Time,” my biography which chronicled aimlessness, adaptation, milestones and compromise had been lost; no, even worse, unplugged: stop working on it; their interest is gone I was told coldly. But there’s good news! Your Life’s a blank page! The blank page had always been that one jump in my creative steeplechase which I frequently missed.
Taking that leap of faith, all extremities airborne, trust quickly turns to a desperate hope of landing without injury; the same with writing, a leap of faith, you’re suddenly airborne and words begin to trickle, then a stream empties into the pond of a paragraph; partially filled, the new indention, like that one jump, causes me to stumble, and I lean back in my chair, wondering if I’ll ever clear the obstacle of the blank page. Melancholia was that blank page for almost four years. But written words became the one avenue upon which I could travel: but not as before: that writer, that voice had vanished, along with the rest of his things.