The storm was coming in over the bay right up through the marshes
of the river, the reed grass straight up into what was left of the sun.
The tide was incredibly high and the little rivers that were dry in the
mud twice a day were one. From the bridge, we could see the dolphins
swimming in for safety. The horizon was empty of beauty, just a dense
grey humiliation of the ocean, but there was such stunning movement,
the waves crushing, the low clouds fleeing, the white birds debating...
such swirling and chaotic movements under this giant mass that was
currently rewriting what beauty could be. Streaks of sun were breaking
through unevenly and illuminating patches of rain all around us, from
Awendaw to Kiawah, up the Ashley, across the Cooper. The Wando
was a pulse of refined swells, sopping up the shores that lines it.
We stood on the bridge and hung on as the gusts came charging
over us. Such a unique feeling being five hundred feet over the world
when chaos strikes. Fierce winds, sheets of pummeling rain, the lights
of the city and of the boats astray blinking in the madness. The ocean
seemed to be filling the bay and the bridge felt one wire snap away from
swaying itself right down into it, but somehow we made it off that bridge
with our hearts energized, ready for the next one.
Sunday, July 15, 2018
Sunday, November 24, 2013
The Hoot & Hare Review, No. 2
The Hoot & Hare Review, No. 2 is upon us!
This second issue of The Hoot & Hare Review is an eruption of new fiction, poetry, art, interviews, essays, and other creative goodness. Writers such as Richard Kostelanetz, Mary Ruefle, Susana H. Case, and Brian Armstrong are just a few of the rocking contributors in this issue. The art of David Fleck graces the cover, and Kerri Augenstein's art is spread throughout its pages. This review is starting a party, offering original conversations, and swiftly becoming recognized for its wonderful literary insight. The review is evocative, invigorating, and greatly educational !!!!!!
For details, subscriptions, contributors, and to purchase The Hoot & Hare Review, go to our website: HootandHare.com
This second issue of The Hoot & Hare Review is an eruption of new fiction, poetry, art, interviews, essays, and other creative goodness. Writers such as Richard Kostelanetz, Mary Ruefle, Susana H. Case, and Brian Armstrong are just a few of the rocking contributors in this issue. The art of David Fleck graces the cover, and Kerri Augenstein's art is spread throughout its pages. This review is starting a party, offering original conversations, and swiftly becoming recognized for its wonderful literary insight. The review is evocative, invigorating, and greatly educational !!!!!!
For details, subscriptions, contributors, and to purchase The Hoot & Hare Review, go to our website: HootandHare.com
Wednesday, May 23, 2012
Three Shots Last Night
...that my camera just couldn't get. We all have those moments. You see it, it makes an emotion, your brain swirls, perhaps even your life blood drains low and absurdly, you either have your camera or you don't, you either have a great camera or you don't, you come upon a perfect image at a perfect time or you don't, and no matter what you have, no matter what the moment gives, you will never capture the shot through your lens as well as you saw it when it appeared.
The first one was a curve down on a street we walked in the late evening. We walked through it away from the house, down to the main road, the humidity of the night salivating over us, and cars passed us, the nasty little ones with the new halogen lights that blind the mother sear out of you, and we smiled and waved anyway. At the main road, no traffic, no sounds, no gleams over the horizon, and we turned around. But somehow the road had disappeared. We looked bewilderingly, fruitful and encouraged by each other, and took a step into what was the blackest spot on earth. I had never seen a wide spot so dark as a nighttime closet, yet we entered into it as if it were an event horizon we knew not the destination to. The faint edges of light from before, worthy of a shot, had faded into pure non-recognition. Our hands felt the only knowledge of the other.
The second was coming out of the black hole and up the hill. Before the canopy of trees unveiled the world again where the streetlights grew, a swarm of woodpecker-beak sized lightning bugs wrapped around something, some frizz of a plant, and lit up in turn as if being punched on a gameshow. It was something I had seen once before in N Carolina one night while driving through a swarm that lit the windshield in gruesome fashion, but this moment was almost a frozen delight. Nothing else could be seen or felt for fifty feet. Just these hundreds of little greenish lightbulbs flickering away for three minutes. I was reminded of Robert Redford running the bases after his final home run in the explosion of crackling light that humbled the field.
The moon over the sunset was the third one, just six minutes later. The sky was nearly black at this point, except for a dash of light-to-dark blue and a twinge of violet just above the trees. Now on the hilltop we could see a passage down into the valley surrounded by trees, but empty of brush. Like looking into a pinhole really. The moon was a sliver, a word overused yes when describing the moon, but it works. But it was wasn't just the illumination that could be seen. The dark surface of the forward portion of the moon, the entire round ball of battered mantle could be seen, a faint gray against a haze of color. Was the sliver covering the bare of the moon or was the bare of the moon feeding the sliver. They were wed, romantic, succulating each other, forcing their love in union over us. A smooth grasp of inlay and bulge, built to last at least for one cool night.
The first one was a curve down on a street we walked in the late evening. We walked through it away from the house, down to the main road, the humidity of the night salivating over us, and cars passed us, the nasty little ones with the new halogen lights that blind the mother sear out of you, and we smiled and waved anyway. At the main road, no traffic, no sounds, no gleams over the horizon, and we turned around. But somehow the road had disappeared. We looked bewilderingly, fruitful and encouraged by each other, and took a step into what was the blackest spot on earth. I had never seen a wide spot so dark as a nighttime closet, yet we entered into it as if it were an event horizon we knew not the destination to. The faint edges of light from before, worthy of a shot, had faded into pure non-recognition. Our hands felt the only knowledge of the other.
The second was coming out of the black hole and up the hill. Before the canopy of trees unveiled the world again where the streetlights grew, a swarm of woodpecker-beak sized lightning bugs wrapped around something, some frizz of a plant, and lit up in turn as if being punched on a gameshow. It was something I had seen once before in N Carolina one night while driving through a swarm that lit the windshield in gruesome fashion, but this moment was almost a frozen delight. Nothing else could be seen or felt for fifty feet. Just these hundreds of little greenish lightbulbs flickering away for three minutes. I was reminded of Robert Redford running the bases after his final home run in the explosion of crackling light that humbled the field.
The moon over the sunset was the third one, just six minutes later. The sky was nearly black at this point, except for a dash of light-to-dark blue and a twinge of violet just above the trees. Now on the hilltop we could see a passage down into the valley surrounded by trees, but empty of brush. Like looking into a pinhole really. The moon was a sliver, a word overused yes when describing the moon, but it works. But it was wasn't just the illumination that could be seen. The dark surface of the forward portion of the moon, the entire round ball of battered mantle could be seen, a faint gray against a haze of color. Was the sliver covering the bare of the moon or was the bare of the moon feeding the sliver. They were wed, romantic, succulating each other, forcing their love in union over us. A smooth grasp of inlay and bulge, built to last at least for one cool night.
Sunday, April 29, 2012
Lifting Helicopters
Azure sky bleeds
With grey coal
Steam and white
Doves milk and
This sky mariner
Has holes he
Cant plug and
Weights all day
And lifts all day
And drags all day
And a wet thrust
Into azure sky
I hope to give
But the green
Hairs of earth
Blow and share
Aches and whispers
And I remain
In silver chill.
Monday, April 9, 2012
Printing and the Mind
A very elongated book, 'Printing and the Mind of Man: The Impact of
Print on Five Centuries of Western Civilization,' edited by John Carter
and Percy H. Muir, is an interesting book to be hold, and full of history.
From its shape and the bold red on the facing title pages to the 424
books or so that it discusses regarding enormous impact on the world,
the book is a faucet of early dedication.
A very cool thought arrives in the introduction, that "the bondage of
words was broken by writing them down," and a page later comes a
sequence on the availability of the written word allowing mankind the
ability to forget since the storage of words was then made possible.
People could make lists of those who owed money, of those who
donated money, of those in a parish, of those who swam on New
Year’s Day as members of the Polar Bear Club.
That’s remarkable to me to think that the world changed that much
with the origin of the written word, and not always with the correct
consensus words. We have discussed cave marking and other forms
of communication in class less semester, but with organized wording,
with printing, with the placement of letters on paper in certain orders,
the world grew dramatically in a very short amount of time.
I don’t doubt that literature developed across the world like word of a
happy hour beer special spreads like fire on a college campus when a
new bar opens, and the world at the dawn of the printed word had
different lettering, of course, depending where you lived. Latin
originally had 21 characters, which was derived from Greek and
Etruscan, and alphabets that were born from it, such as modern
English, but none carried the weight of the Chinese character total,
which was upward of 6,000. I can picture the literary giants sitting
around the Yellow River with their satchels full of character printouts,
merely there in case someone wanted to write a thought in their journal.
The first book mentioned is Gutenberg’s bible, per se 1455, and the last
book mentioned is Winston Churchill’s 'The Lion’s Voice' from 1940. The
book was a random find in our library, improperly numbered I feel, with
a badly torn spine and plastic covering. The book has some odd
illustrations and lettering examples, and a rather massive index, and at
least one spacing issue on the front cover jacket.
The book is definitely worth viewing even if you happen to hate all 424
or so books mentioned inside it. There are more posts about books and
publishing under the Publishing tab on this site.
Print on Five Centuries of Western Civilization,' edited by John Carter
and Percy H. Muir, is an interesting book to be hold, and full of history.
From its shape and the bold red on the facing title pages to the 424
books or so that it discusses regarding enormous impact on the world,
the book is a faucet of early dedication.
A very cool thought arrives in the introduction, that "the bondage of
words was broken by writing them down," and a page later comes a
sequence on the availability of the written word allowing mankind the
ability to forget since the storage of words was then made possible.
People could make lists of those who owed money, of those who
donated money, of those in a parish, of those who swam on New
Year’s Day as members of the Polar Bear Club.
That’s remarkable to me to think that the world changed that much
with the origin of the written word, and not always with the correct
consensus words. We have discussed cave marking and other forms
of communication in class less semester, but with organized wording,
with printing, with the placement of letters on paper in certain orders,
the world grew dramatically in a very short amount of time.
I don’t doubt that literature developed across the world like word of a
happy hour beer special spreads like fire on a college campus when a
new bar opens, and the world at the dawn of the printed word had
different lettering, of course, depending where you lived. Latin
originally had 21 characters, which was derived from Greek and
Etruscan, and alphabets that were born from it, such as modern
English, but none carried the weight of the Chinese character total,
which was upward of 6,000. I can picture the literary giants sitting
around the Yellow River with their satchels full of character printouts,
merely there in case someone wanted to write a thought in their journal.
The first book mentioned is Gutenberg’s bible, per se 1455, and the last
book mentioned is Winston Churchill’s 'The Lion’s Voice' from 1940. The
book was a random find in our library, improperly numbered I feel, with
a badly torn spine and plastic covering. The book has some odd
illustrations and lettering examples, and a rather massive index, and at
least one spacing issue on the front cover jacket.
The book is definitely worth viewing even if you happen to hate all 424
or so books mentioned inside it. There are more posts about books and
publishing under the Publishing tab on this site.
Monday, April 2, 2012
Sensitivities In The Cavities
Her watching me lick chocolate on a stick and feeling the wood
in her mouth. The end speech Colin Firth delivers, with those deliberate
and somewhat eloquent pauses. The dynamo of watching the final out of
a perfect game, including a final hit and the suspense of getting to first base,
these are all moments felt in my jaw as of recent.
Sometimes it doesn't matter what you're watching or hearing. A movie
can be average, a game can be boring overall, chocolate can be a little
tasteless, but something can happen in a second to make that dreariness
become overwhelming. I always feel it first in my jaw. In the back, where
you always feel the warmth and flavor of a juicy filet wrapped in bacon.
Crying afterward is not necessary. Nor is spilling forth a mess of words.
It's just fine to sit there and erupt inside knowing that someone succeeded,
right before your eyes, or that someone is enjoying something immensely,
something they will remember. There is an enticing jubilation in the body
when you are overjoyed for someone else.
Not everyone feels it. Not everyone cares. Selfish or not, not everyone
is on the lookout for the success of others. But it means so much to witness
something so little, especially when it is out of your control. It's not like
me changing the channel for an inning and then back again will change the
outcome of the game. The speech patterns of a king on a different shore
aided by someone you've never met will not change with your wish for it to.
The chocolate on the stick, yes I could have given it to her or even placed
it in her mouth slowly myself, but it's still such a small thing in the world.
And just think, this happens constantly around us. You just have to scoop
it up. You just have to let it happen.
Always feel the power of someone else's success. It's contagious. It can
illicit great changes in your world, for the world.
in her mouth. The end speech Colin Firth delivers, with those deliberate
and somewhat eloquent pauses. The dynamo of watching the final out of
a perfect game, including a final hit and the suspense of getting to first base,
these are all moments felt in my jaw as of recent.
Sometimes it doesn't matter what you're watching or hearing. A movie
can be average, a game can be boring overall, chocolate can be a little
tasteless, but something can happen in a second to make that dreariness
become overwhelming. I always feel it first in my jaw. In the back, where
you always feel the warmth and flavor of a juicy filet wrapped in bacon.
Crying afterward is not necessary. Nor is spilling forth a mess of words.
It's just fine to sit there and erupt inside knowing that someone succeeded,
right before your eyes, or that someone is enjoying something immensely,
something they will remember. There is an enticing jubilation in the body
when you are overjoyed for someone else.
Not everyone feels it. Not everyone cares. Selfish or not, not everyone
is on the lookout for the success of others. But it means so much to witness
something so little, especially when it is out of your control. It's not like
me changing the channel for an inning and then back again will change the
outcome of the game. The speech patterns of a king on a different shore
aided by someone you've never met will not change with your wish for it to.
The chocolate on the stick, yes I could have given it to her or even placed
it in her mouth slowly myself, but it's still such a small thing in the world.
And just think, this happens constantly around us. You just have to scoop
it up. You just have to let it happen.
Always feel the power of someone else's success. It's contagious. It can
illicit great changes in your world, for the world.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
Shapter's Documentary Should Be Required Viewing
I watched a documentary, directed by Andrew Shapter of Austin,
recently and recommend it to everyone. Get it on Hulu or Netflix or
the library or somewhere. Though not about the publishing industry,
the entire documentary parallels it.
Interviews include Branford Marsalis, Bonnie Raitt, Dave Matthews,
Eryka Badu, Questlove, Eric Clapton, and Doyle Bramhall, among others,
including many former major music label professionals who have now
moved to smaller labels.
Dave Matthews discusses a lot about how radio and the major music
labels are now like publishing houses, that they can only take and
produce what they feel is either from an already big name or from
someone who looks like they will be mainstream. It takes years for
someone new, with new material, with original writing and
performance skills, to be heard. Doyle Bramhall said the same, eluding
that he was becoming depressed with a big label who couldn't figure
out how to market him and wanted to change his whole concept, how
he refused and went on his own again, and how it wasn't until
Eric Clapton recognized hiw work that things changed.
Both Branford Marsalis and Bonnie Raitt discussed that it is based on
appearance and allowing yourself to be marketable to how the major
labels want you to be for you to make it these days in the industry,
or at least break in. Talent and originality won't cut it. I remember
Branford making a remark at around the 28-29 minute mark that kind
of made me raise my eyebrows, but I can't recall it now.
There is some fantastic music throughout the documentary as well,
so watch it for no other reason that that, but the comparison to big
publishing houses, how the market is changing, how new and original
work will go unnoticed, or at least take a lot of time to get noticed,
how the public is now expected to react to the changing market, say
ebooks and such, is all highly recognizable.
recently and recommend it to everyone. Get it on Hulu or Netflix or
the library or somewhere. Though not about the publishing industry,
the entire documentary parallels it.
Interviews include Branford Marsalis, Bonnie Raitt, Dave Matthews,
Eryka Badu, Questlove, Eric Clapton, and Doyle Bramhall, among others,
including many former major music label professionals who have now
moved to smaller labels.
Dave Matthews discusses a lot about how radio and the major music
labels are now like publishing houses, that they can only take and
produce what they feel is either from an already big name or from
someone who looks like they will be mainstream. It takes years for
someone new, with new material, with original writing and
performance skills, to be heard. Doyle Bramhall said the same, eluding
that he was becoming depressed with a big label who couldn't figure
out how to market him and wanted to change his whole concept, how
he refused and went on his own again, and how it wasn't until
Eric Clapton recognized hiw work that things changed.
Both Branford Marsalis and Bonnie Raitt discussed that it is based on
appearance and allowing yourself to be marketable to how the major
labels want you to be for you to make it these days in the industry,
or at least break in. Talent and originality won't cut it. I remember
Branford making a remark at around the 28-29 minute mark that kind
of made me raise my eyebrows, but I can't recall it now.
There is some fantastic music throughout the documentary as well,
so watch it for no other reason that that, but the comparison to big
publishing houses, how the market is changing, how new and original
work will go unnoticed, or at least take a lot of time to get noticed,
how the public is now expected to react to the changing market, say
ebooks and such, is all highly recognizable.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Some Books You Just Can't Let Go
I was looking at a line of books earlier on one of our shelves and
noticed a favorite of mine.
The book is "The National Gallery Address Book." That's right, it's
an address book, one I have never written a word in. I found it
roughly fifteen years ago on a bargain stand for a buck fifty.
It's 8 inches tall and 10 inches wide, with beautiful cover art by
Canaletto, "Interior of the Rotunda at Ranelagh." But you wouldn't
know that by just opening the cover, because when you open the
cover and pass over the first completely blank page, you next
stumble onto a page that starts with an X and several letters
upside down.
Every bit of art, which begins every letter, and every address and
note page are printed upside down, or right side up if you turn the
book over and upside down. I thought what a strange find and
easily paid for it. I may never write in it. My other address book
is still working fine.
Who else has books like these in their library?
noticed a favorite of mine.
The book is "The National Gallery Address Book." That's right, it's
an address book, one I have never written a word in. I found it
roughly fifteen years ago on a bargain stand for a buck fifty.
It's 8 inches tall and 10 inches wide, with beautiful cover art by
Canaletto, "Interior of the Rotunda at Ranelagh." But you wouldn't
know that by just opening the cover, because when you open the
cover and pass over the first completely blank page, you next
stumble onto a page that starts with an X and several letters
upside down.
Every bit of art, which begins every letter, and every address and
note page are printed upside down, or right side up if you turn the
book over and upside down. I thought what a strange find and
easily paid for it. I may never write in it. My other address book
is still working fine.
Who else has books like these in their library?
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Wrath Never looked So Cool: A Review of John Walker's 'Wrath and Remembrance'
How can a character so forgetful be so memorable?
I can't give every character I read a two-page layout in the Review, but I could for John Walker's man of many thoughts, Jack Parrish. If you want that gentle punch in the gut from the get-go, only to still feel it (like the great burn you get from a strong and furious work-out) at the end, I highly recommend this story. Despite the presence and talk of amnesia, Jack is a very controlled character in a very smooth setting in a very stylish story. The amphitheater of Jack's brain is full of memories that give us all great recall. And length here is no matter. I started and was a third into it before I realized I still had my own life to live. This story escalates perfectly and rings a bell with anyone who can't remember shit! And if Jack knocks on your door and asks for your help, just say yes.
Look for John Walker on Amazon or on his website:
http://www.sanctuaryinthedarkness.com
This review is of 'Wrath and Remembrance,' but this fine
author has many a great book to be held by your hands.
I can't give every character I read a two-page layout in the Review, but I could for John Walker's man of many thoughts, Jack Parrish. If you want that gentle punch in the gut from the get-go, only to still feel it (like the great burn you get from a strong and furious work-out) at the end, I highly recommend this story. Despite the presence and talk of amnesia, Jack is a very controlled character in a very smooth setting in a very stylish story. The amphitheater of Jack's brain is full of memories that give us all great recall. And length here is no matter. I started and was a third into it before I realized I still had my own life to live. This story escalates perfectly and rings a bell with anyone who can't remember shit! And if Jack knocks on your door and asks for your help, just say yes.
Look for John Walker on Amazon or on his website:
http://www.sanctuaryinthedarkness.com
This review is of 'Wrath and Remembrance,' but this fine
author has many a great book to be held by your hands.
Monday, August 22, 2011
The Boxer Rebellion-Unconventional And Haunting
I always enjoy a sound that reminds me of a place I’d like to be. You know those great Ketel One Vodka commercials, in black and white, with square-chinned men having debonair evenings in highly fashionable suits and being kind to exotic women while they have their fun? I love those commercials and the idea they represent. The music on their new album (The Cold Still)… it’s what those men would listen to after they got home, loosened their neckties, watched it rain, and either kissed the lady or shot the spy. But I say that as a man, so if you’re a woman, hit the reversal button.
No Harm can come to a person who lives like that or listens to this kind of music. Were you to Step Out Of The Car and be Caught By The Light, your silhouettes would palpitate with the shadows.
If you like being Locked In The Basement and listening to high, haunting echoes, you’re in for a treat. They don’t exist on every song, but there is little Doubt they provide a certain mood and context that can’t escape you. They pull you in.
Based out of London
Their previous album, ‘Union,’ was a solid piece of work, but I have to say ‘The Cold Still’ is a little more mesmerizing. And aching. And monumental. And tantalizing. You want Organ Song from inside your spirit to cool the rest of the world around you. You want the energy of the world consolidated in your hands as you take it over.
The driver should drive to this, The Runner should run to this. The course of the album provides all the characters you’ll want to feel like while you listen to the words. You’ll understand the emotions the album portrays, the time it represents, and the soothing bookend you’ll rest against afterward.
Memo to all, to many, to you… for the great taste in all of us, pick up this album, pick your favorite spot, and pour your attention to it. Let it ride on you. Let it start something for you.
You can see their look, style, tour schedule, and other goodness at www.theboxerrebellion.com.
(as seen in Hoot & Hare 1)
(as seen in Hoot & Hare 1)
Friday, August 12, 2011
Sister2Sister Cookies: Come Taste
In Tyler , Texas
Every morning of operation, when the sun is just out and eyes are first opening, they put small batches together of chocolate chip, pecan chocolate chip, and snickerdoodle. I’ve worked in bakeries and the smell they possess can be exotic and overwhelming, but can you begin to imagine what a tiny kiosk must smell like in the early morning with those three cookies rising?
Close your eyes and let your taste buds have a hint of warm chocolate. Let your nose pant a little. Then, just as your jaw is ready to explode, place the smell of white chocolate macadamia nut in your imagination as well, because that’s coming right soon.
Sister2Sister Cookies is the tasty creation of Ashley Randall and Melissa Bennett, who have actually been making their cookies fresh baked to order for six years. They started in a commercial kitchen with too many orders to handle. They took samples to local events and businesses. Enough people spreading the word to others when they themselves didn’t have a mouthful of cookie garnered the need to expand, and from there everything fell into place.
If you want less of a wait, drive thru in the late morning and mid afternoon. Lunch can get crazy for those wanting dessert, and in the afternoon from 3-5 they offer the After School Special, milk and a cookie for $2.50, even in summer.
‘Our love of baking goes back many generations! Our personal recipe collections are filled with favorite family recipes from our mom, dad, grandmothers, great grandmothers, aunts and cousins. Growing up with roots in Georgia , Alabama and Tennessee
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Interview With Bookseller Larry Bowen of Reader's Corner in Rolla, Missouri: If You Haven't Been There, Get There
Larry, you keep winning awards with Reader’s Corner. What are you offering that keep everyone so amped up?
I know it sounds like a cliché but we offer a truly unique shopping experience. I designed my store to be a comfortable, relaxing place to shop, where the books are extremely well-organized and presented in a slightly quirky setting. You can come in and spend an hour listening to the west coast cool jazz from my personal collection, check out all the funky décor, and look through over 75,000 books. You won’t find what the Reader’s Corner offers anywhere else around here from Kansas City to Little Rock , St. Louis to Springfield
Your book exchange program seems to be favorable to all. Could you discuss how it works?
We buy, sell, and trade for used books as long as they are in like-new condition. Our books are in such good condition that a lot of people don’t even realize that they’re used, and that, again, makes us unique in the used book business.
We give customers half of what we sell a book for in store trade credit, so an $8 paperback we sell for $4 and will give $2 for in trade credit. An $80 cookbook won’t sell for half price, so if we determine it should sell for $20 we will give $10 in trade credit. We also buy new books but we’re really picky about the books we pay cash for.
From everything to your position in downtown Rolla to the bookshelves that line your corridors, Reader’s Corner has a very unique and original style. How did the store become what it is today?
I spent three years visiting new and used bookstores around the country and took the things I personally liked as well as the things I didn’t and combined them with my vision for what a reader’s bookstore would look, feel, smell, and sound like. With the generous support of the community and a lot of hard work, we’ve grown each of the six years we’ve been in business. That’s a really amazing thing for a business in the current economy.
Regarding the future of Reader’s Corner, how is it going to keep blowing minds and returning customers in the next few years?
I’m currently expanding the business into the building next to the existing bookstore. We will have great space for seating areas, music groups on the weekends, and the most important thing, the space to have about 200,000 books. Explore more at www.readerscorneronline.com.
Wednesday, July 27, 2011
Discussion with Dr. David Crawford About the Texas Dramatists Playwriting Series
Tell us how this series was started. What is the specific intention of this series?
The idea came with a discussion between Dr. Marion Castleberry, Clarence Strickland, Jonathan Perry and myself. Castleberry and I had attended a playwriting workshop in Lexington, NY sponsored by The Ensemble Studio Theatre. While there, I was able to establish a relationship with Arthur Giron (Flight, Edith Stein, Becoming Memories) who recommended that we can offer the same experience to the southwest writers that we received at the NY workshop. What the workshop did is put me, for example, into contact with a professional NY play producing organization. That is what we wanted to do down here. Help the Texas playwright have an opportunity to have their work seen by people who can make a difference in their careers. For example, my play was seen by the directors at EST who produced the play at their Octoberfest. From there it ended up Off-Broadway. So we met together to begin an organization that will help educate and produce the Texas playwright.
Texas Dramatists recently had their first seminar this summer at Tyler Junior College in Tyler, TX. What were some of the highlights?
What we always want to offer is the opportunity for the playwright to see their work performed. Five plays were read and the playwrights received critiques from TD board members. That's always a highlight. We were also able to offer two classes, one taught by Castleberry on the 6 Elements of Drama, and I taught Playwriting Method.
Discuss upcoming events this summer. What would you like to see this conference grow into?
We'll be sponsoring our second reading on Saturday, August 13, at Navarro College in Corsicana. Playwrights from across the state have the opportunity of having their works read and discussed. In the future we would like to gain funding and contact with other theatre organizations that will allow us to offer productions. We'd love to foster relationships with the Texas playwrights where we nuture their work from the initial stages through performance.
What does it take to get a play read?
Authors need to send their scripts to Jon Perry. All established and aspiring playwrights are invited to submit new works and join in our second Summer Play Reading! We'll meet in the Albritton Administration Building in the Black Box Theatre, which is on the second floor of the Admin Bldg in Room 277, right above the college bookstore. The Admin Bldg faces 7th Ave (Texas Hwy 31) and is the central building on campus. Watch for signs to direct you to the theater. Playwrights wishing to have works considered for the reading must mail a copy of their scripts by July 27 to: Texas Dramatists c/o Jonathan Perry, 15151 Northwood Dr., Tyler, TX 75703. Please include contact information (phone, e-mail, etc.) in all correspondence, and playwrights selected will be contacted by Aug. 1. Playwrights must provide their own readers for the event. In addition to our Facebook page, we reside at:
The address and contact are the same for future readings in 2012 and beyond.
The address and contact are the same for future readings in 2012 and beyond.
Sunday, July 17, 2011
Among the Soils
In the evening, when the sun is bowing and the leaves are
beginning their evening rest, gentle lightning bugs swarm the
fevered fields behind us and allow the long shades of grass to
sparkle. You can almost hear a gentle Yared or Korzeniowski
score coming from a window on the hill, one that calls for bare
feet touching the landscape.
My wife stands in the garden, contemplating the joy of
overgrown success. She is in her tank top and linen bottoms,
her bare legs caressed by the giant leaves of the zucchini plants,
as high as her hips and navel. The artichoke and basil and mint
she studies, their grasp low. She squeezes the tomatoes with
such a tender embrace as she squats for a moment between them.
She rises at a fond thought, her hands swaying across the tops of the
cucumber vines. She walks among the garden as if it is her home,
one that can not be disassembled or matted down. Her sensual
motions drive them up into the night like fog rising above the
ancient sea. The sun fades on her back, trickles of rays still left
haunting her cheeks and calves. She sees me watching from the
door and pauses. Her smile in the twilight is an act of brilliance
played out in slow motion.
beginning their evening rest, gentle lightning bugs swarm the
fevered fields behind us and allow the long shades of grass to
sparkle. You can almost hear a gentle Yared or Korzeniowski
score coming from a window on the hill, one that calls for bare
feet touching the landscape.
My wife stands in the garden, contemplating the joy of
overgrown success. She is in her tank top and linen bottoms,
her bare legs caressed by the giant leaves of the zucchini plants,
as high as her hips and navel. The artichoke and basil and mint
she studies, their grasp low. She squeezes the tomatoes with
such a tender embrace as she squats for a moment between them.
She rises at a fond thought, her hands swaying across the tops of the
cucumber vines. She walks among the garden as if it is her home,
one that can not be disassembled or matted down. Her sensual
motions drive them up into the night like fog rising above the
ancient sea. The sun fades on her back, trickles of rays still left
haunting her cheeks and calves. She sees me watching from the
door and pauses. Her smile in the twilight is an act of brilliance
played out in slow motion.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Would You Like It If I Killed You?
Of all the things to feel a favorite over, to love the best, it was the
smelling of the dog for her. The slow motion jumping and shooting,
the naked swimming, the dance and wig, the style of clothes and
beer emblems, the sunset against the blue wall, the aesthetic
foreign accent, the lips blowing, the couch eloquence, the opera,
smelling of the dog for her. The slow motion jumping and shooting,
the naked swimming, the dance and wig, the style of clothes and
beer emblems, the sunset against the blue wall, the aesthetic
foreign accent, the lips blowing, the couch eloquence, the opera,
Serge, the attempts at life, the lecture in class, the waving people,
the lightened red faces, the human connectors, the suggestions,
the wet skin, the title quote, the way some walked, the clean
the lightened red faces, the human connectors, the suggestions,
the wet skin, the title quote, the way some walked, the clean
and reflective floors, the juicy introductions, the pillows, the fireplaces,
the fenders, the non-wigs, the silliness, the vivid aura, the less touching...
her favorite loving part was the handling and smelling of the dog
through the window. So many things make her so lovely.
In other frail and creative new, does anyone know for certain if
Fenton killed six people and Adam killed six demons, or did Adam
kill his six demons along with Fenton's six people? A blame game?
(as seen in Hoot & Hare 1)
the fenders, the non-wigs, the silliness, the vivid aura, the less touching...
her favorite loving part was the handling and smelling of the dog
through the window. So many things make her so lovely.
In other frail and creative new, does anyone know for certain if
Fenton killed six people and Adam killed six demons, or did Adam
kill his six demons along with Fenton's six people? A blame game?
(as seen in Hoot & Hare 1)
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Invasion-Safe and Lovely
Last year I wrote a few short pieces about her.
One said:
I think she is starting to invade me, and I think I do not mind.
Another said:
She is a castle I am walking into. Nakedly.
Yet another:
It's just weird, having a beard.
I love being invaded successfully, and mostly by her! And now
I'm married to her. How lucky am I? And how lucky is my beard?
One said:
I think she is starting to invade me, and I think I do not mind.
Another said:
She is a castle I am walking into. Nakedly.
Yet another:
It's just weird, having a beard.
I love being invaded successfully, and mostly by her! And now
I'm married to her. How lucky am I? And how lucky is my beard?
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Steermanship
There is a building across the gazebo park from my window that does not fit
our street, but I am not concerned with that. The reason it doesn't fit is that every
other building around the square is either of Georgian or Victorian design, not
counting the church. This building is of the seventies and is faded tan with odd
windows. Below each window is a sunken ledge made of concrete that sticks
out like a seat for anyone who might fall from a balloon basket.
Up on the tenth floor yesterday someone must have dumped a cake or some
type of dish that was yellow. Early on in the morning as I wrote I saw a single
blackbird or crow or whatever circle around for some time and then steer into
the ledge, but not land. It just hovered and steered off and then back. It finally
landed, looked at whatever it was I couldn't see, looked around to see if anyone
was watching, bent its head, and snuck a piece. It flew away with a very yellow
ball of something in its beak. From ten stories up I could still see the color of the
food. Perhaps that was why someone threw it out the window.
About an hour later, word must have spread. I heard them coming first, and then
I saw them. At least fifty to sixty of the blackbirds ascended over the street, all
circling around each other to see what the special treat was. To me this is
evidence that birds and animals can speak well to each other, just not to us
(parrots aside), and also that they have the best hovering and steermanship
capabilities. That was a lot of damn birds.
Four at a time they emerged from the circling pack and landed on the ledge to
take bites out of the yellow surprise. As they left, four more would land, their
wings flapping nearly incessantly, and only sometimes did that caw or jab at
each other. They would go to a tree limb or rooftop or another ledge on
another floor to gobble their bite and then they would fly back up to the ledge
with the yellow surprise, and that person must have thrown out an entire meal
or dessert because the birds all got fat as I watched.
As I just wrote that last sentence I heard a triple caw out my window, as if one
of those birds was agreeing with me and shouting out a 'hell yeah.'
Birds apparently will eat anything.
Another bird just cawed another 'hell yeah.' Seriously. Can birds read our
minds? ........... no caw on that one. That was spooky.
our street, but I am not concerned with that. The reason it doesn't fit is that every
other building around the square is either of Georgian or Victorian design, not
counting the church. This building is of the seventies and is faded tan with odd
windows. Below each window is a sunken ledge made of concrete that sticks
out like a seat for anyone who might fall from a balloon basket.
Up on the tenth floor yesterday someone must have dumped a cake or some
type of dish that was yellow. Early on in the morning as I wrote I saw a single
blackbird or crow or whatever circle around for some time and then steer into
the ledge, but not land. It just hovered and steered off and then back. It finally
landed, looked at whatever it was I couldn't see, looked around to see if anyone
was watching, bent its head, and snuck a piece. It flew away with a very yellow
ball of something in its beak. From ten stories up I could still see the color of the
food. Perhaps that was why someone threw it out the window.
About an hour later, word must have spread. I heard them coming first, and then
I saw them. At least fifty to sixty of the blackbirds ascended over the street, all
circling around each other to see what the special treat was. To me this is
evidence that birds and animals can speak well to each other, just not to us
(parrots aside), and also that they have the best hovering and steermanship
capabilities. That was a lot of damn birds.
Four at a time they emerged from the circling pack and landed on the ledge to
take bites out of the yellow surprise. As they left, four more would land, their
wings flapping nearly incessantly, and only sometimes did that caw or jab at
each other. They would go to a tree limb or rooftop or another ledge on
another floor to gobble their bite and then they would fly back up to the ledge
with the yellow surprise, and that person must have thrown out an entire meal
or dessert because the birds all got fat as I watched.
As I just wrote that last sentence I heard a triple caw out my window, as if one
of those birds was agreeing with me and shouting out a 'hell yeah.'
Birds apparently will eat anything.
Another bird just cawed another 'hell yeah.' Seriously. Can birds read our
minds? ........... no caw on that one. That was spooky.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Beests
There has been a name stuck in my head for some time now. I figured
I should write it out. 'Melittsophex Berensis'-a bee found in amber in a
mine in northern Myanmar. In fact, the oldest bee ever found, over
100 million years old. Sounds exotic, doesn't it? Just imagine the queen
bee yelling, 'Melittsophex, get your ass over here, I've got work for you,
beetch!!'
Did you know that 3300 bees were sent to outer space on one of the
space shuttle missions to see how they reacted to zero gravity? They
adjusted immediately and built a pure and clean honeycomb hive, and
I do say pure and clean because there is one thing in space the bees
apparently would not do. Poop. Bees don't poop in their hives because
bees haven't come up with technology yet like indoor plumbing, so they
keep their hives clean of poop. They poop outside. And since they
were encased in space, they were observed to have held it in for seven
to nine days before being released into the wild to have, literally,
a poopy party.
Bees are also able to recognize patterns. Tests of human facial pictures
were shown to bees and the one picture dabbed with sugar and honey
is the one picture they always came back to. Granted, that is just
memory recall, but the pictures were even disheveled and still produced
the same results, however, when the pictures were placed upside down,
the bees became flustered, just like most humans do. The truth is that
they do not recognize Johnny Rimbauld's face, just the pattern. Bees also
see ultraviolet light, which humans unfortunately do not, so imagine the
ultraviolet patterns these bees must see everyday as they flit around.
Rumors have been swirling that when the honeybee goes, so shortly
thereafter does the human race. There are scientists who believe this
true and some think it just a beestly hoax. Honeybees actually do
a lot more for the environment than most people in the world are
aware, but no one knows for sure if it is their actions that have kept
us going through this hard economic phase of life.
Did you also know that most queen bees lay roughly between 600
and 1400 eggs... a day!!??!!??!!?? A day?? That means she is also
laying around, if you know what I mean, wink wink. Come here little
Melittsophex and show me what you got in your hummer!!!! Can you
dream the human female birthing 1000 times a day. A nightmare
actually. Talk about overpopulation, and talk about pain!
Bees are a helluva commodity in our world.
I should write it out. 'Melittsophex Berensis'-a bee found in amber in a
mine in northern Myanmar. In fact, the oldest bee ever found, over
100 million years old. Sounds exotic, doesn't it? Just imagine the queen
bee yelling, 'Melittsophex, get your ass over here, I've got work for you,
beetch!!'
Did you know that 3300 bees were sent to outer space on one of the
space shuttle missions to see how they reacted to zero gravity? They
adjusted immediately and built a pure and clean honeycomb hive, and
I do say pure and clean because there is one thing in space the bees
apparently would not do. Poop. Bees don't poop in their hives because
bees haven't come up with technology yet like indoor plumbing, so they
keep their hives clean of poop. They poop outside. And since they
were encased in space, they were observed to have held it in for seven
to nine days before being released into the wild to have, literally,
a poopy party.
Bees are also able to recognize patterns. Tests of human facial pictures
were shown to bees and the one picture dabbed with sugar and honey
is the one picture they always came back to. Granted, that is just
memory recall, but the pictures were even disheveled and still produced
the same results, however, when the pictures were placed upside down,
the bees became flustered, just like most humans do. The truth is that
they do not recognize Johnny Rimbauld's face, just the pattern. Bees also
see ultraviolet light, which humans unfortunately do not, so imagine the
ultraviolet patterns these bees must see everyday as they flit around.
Rumors have been swirling that when the honeybee goes, so shortly
thereafter does the human race. There are scientists who believe this
true and some think it just a beestly hoax. Honeybees actually do
a lot more for the environment than most people in the world are
aware, but no one knows for sure if it is their actions that have kept
us going through this hard economic phase of life.
Did you also know that most queen bees lay roughly between 600
and 1400 eggs... a day!!??!!??!!?? A day?? That means she is also
laying around, if you know what I mean, wink wink. Come here little
Melittsophex and show me what you got in your hummer!!!! Can you
dream the human female birthing 1000 times a day. A nightmare
actually. Talk about overpopulation, and talk about pain!
Bees are a helluva commodity in our world.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Droopy Dog Says...
That Savannah is droopy and delirious and wet and marshy and constant.
Also southern, cool, rough, gentle.
Elegant, dabble-some, made from an unknown concoction.
Playful, low-hanging, adventurous, deciduous.
Hopeful, unmarred, thirst-quenching, momentous.
Spirited, essential, delicious, lethargic in demeanor.
Echo-ish, square-ful, and non-stinky.
Friday, February 18, 2011
The Sky Has A View Of Us All
The sky in truth does, and sometimes I wish I could
see what it sees of me. It might show me an expression
of myself I only wish I knew about, one I could have
learned about when I was ten or twenty.
-A Sky Remembers How-
(as seen in Cacoethes)
Fly high, up further,
Amid a milky sky, a dream of
Blue wings invisible.
Sky carry me on,
Wings bring near silky sly sweet
Space so divisible.
Clouds appear upon me,
Weight on my chest, I could use some rest,
Let me swirl on you cloud.
Skin cools so high,
Rain streams wash, a wind, my name,
A microburst is criminal.
Oh heavenly moments,
Did you come and go, we may never know,
It's the sky that knows how.
Amid a milky sky, a dream of
Blue wings invisible.
Sky carry me on,
Wings bring near silky sly sweet
Space so divisible.
Clouds appear upon me,
Weight on my chest, I could use some rest,
Let me swirl on you cloud.
Skin cools so high,
Rain streams wash, a wind, my name,
A microburst is criminal.
Oh heavenly moments,
Did you come and go, we may never know,
It's the sky that knows how.
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Goodreads Book Giveaway for Viviscent
Goodreads Book Giveaway
Viviscent
by Scott Michael Craig
Giveaway ends April 26, 2014.
See the giveaway details at Goodreads.