Am I Me?

—From CB— For me, identity has always been an improv. I was named after my father, only to find years later that his name was actually Bert. I went by my middle name Joy until high school, when they enrolled me in the girls’ gym class—I didn’t realize my good fortune...

Masks . . .

—From EF— We’re getting close to the end of the fifth draft of our next novel, working title Masks. Nothing autobiographical here, just a story of a family of touring players making an annual circuit playing their own comedies from village to village. Major...

The Reality of Myth . . .

—From CB— I don’t believe in the paranormal, but we live in it. One needn’t swear to belief in astrology, ghosts, gods or psychic double-shuffles to behave as if we do. Too much is unpredictable, defying logic, incapable of proof. We’ve adapted two Greek myths to the...

Traveling . . .

—From EF—       Traveling can be harsh. Not so much when getting into our Prius to drive 600 miles a day to cross the country, it’s a comfy car and we have each other, but it does take stamina. On the other hand, grabbing a last-minute ticket and flying from San...

Into the Wind . . .

—From CB— At art fairs, I’ve often wondered how it feels for artists to sit by their work as they watch the world pass by with barely a glance. Must be what I felt at the BABF this weekend, as we sit in our outdoor booth hawking our wares: two anthologies of our...

Future . . .

—EF— Next February, I will be 80 years old. A lovely round ripe number. And sometime within the foreseeable future, I will die. This doesn’t freak me out at all; I will meet it with great curiosity and finally climb up into Hecate’s lap. It helps that I know at least...

Impressions . . .

—From CB— From time to time, I’ll post some writing here that I have no plans for publishing: easier to get a dozen readers here than to jump through hoops for a different dozen. This includes an occasional venture into haiku. I fall between the purists who,...

Memory . . .

—From EF— The new novel we’re working on, Masks, now in fifth draft, is actually a memoir. The narrator is a man in his forties, writing about his family’s final summer as touring players. He was six at the time, and his time was around the 7th Century. His...

Stories . . .

—From CB— In the past ten years, our writing has moved from playwriting—the profession for more than four decades—to fiction. We’ve written six novels (three self-published), a memoir, and about 40 short stories. Six of those have been published. This past month, I’ve...

An Ad . . .

—From EF— There’s a vintage ad (1947) quoted on Digby’s website for a Pitney-Bowes postage meter. There’s a big machine in the foreground. Standing behind it, arms crossed and face turned away in disdain, is a sexy redhead in a stylish business suit. Her eyes are...