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...

Hope? . . .

—From CB— A friend posted a Facebook note asking, “What gives you hope?” A worthy question when every day’s news brings a thousand little Hiroshimas of the heart. It elicited many responses, but I found myself unable to think of a thing. I “hope” for many things. That...

Metamorphoses . . .

—From EF— Myths are public dreams, dreams are private myths. Those words of Joseph Campbell are quoted in Mary Zimmerman’s “Metamorphoses,” and they hit me square in the middle of where I live and imagine. I saw this production just now at Berkeley Rep, and I will go...

Old White Men . . .

—From CB— Forgive yet another political rant—we’ve got a lifetime supply from every side of the biosphere—but I try to keep them infrequent. I stay pretty aware of all that’s going on, have my opinions, and vote, but I see little point in saying...

Start of a Journey . . .

—From EF—        I’m working on my own solo memoir, and I encountered a really good piece of advice. “Start with the hardest part.” OK, here’s a first draft of the beginning of my hardest part, the time between going off to college to the first move to California....

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