No Poem Is the Only Poem. No Story Is the Only Story. Celebrating Diversity Since 2015
They are angels. It's the nearest I can get to labeling Penny and Mike. I think they're the wrong kind of angels, working for the other side. And this rainy city is perfect for them to hide. So many shadows and indifferent people here, indifferent to rain and shadows.
I don't get jobs, I write, I don't get jobs, I write...there's a pattern here. Though, writing is a job.
Golden Globe Awards. Guess who won. Everything went down hill after that, damn it. Too bad Sue Lyon didn’t live in Europe. In Hollywood, they say “What have you done lately?” whereas in Europe they think you're as good as
the best you've ever been...
...: books are central to a well-lived life, but so is a warm childhood memory or a favorite brand of liverwurst.
“So you know?”
“Know what?” Carol asked.
“That he believes Ben is the reincarnation of your mother.”
Carol put the journal down on the coffee table.
“Would you like some tea?”
“No thank you,” said Grace. “Where is Gabe?”
Carol’s eyes filled with tears.
Discovering the economy of phrasing necessary for a screenwriter to tell a story in 110 pages or less, is akin to my discovering the poetry of Anne Sexton or Sylvia Plath...