Category: Writing

Avatar: Me, in front of my bookshelves, wearing a black t-shirt that says, "runner" on it.

BABE IN THE WOODS: Three

Friday, October 30, 2015: Bronx, NY, USA Diane Rodriguez ran her fingers through her long dark hair, pulling it back from her neck and wrapped it around itself in an inelegant version of a ponytail. The bags under her eyes were full from lack of sleep and she blinked constantly in an attempt to moisten

Avatar: Me, in front of my bookshelves, wearing a black t-shirt that says, "runner" on it.

BABE IN THE WOODS: Two

Tuesday, October 15, 2013: Mt. Pleasant, NY, USA “Maybe we could domesticate one?” “Dude! No fucking way can you domesticate a zombie!” Anthony DiBlanco passed the cup of warm Budweiser to Jason Reed, his vision slightly blurred, nodding his head in mock annoyance. “You’ve taken one sack too many, I think!” They both laughed like

Avatar: Me, in front of my bookshelves, wearing a black t-shirt that says, "runner" on it.

BABE IN THE WOODS: One

Wednesday, October 30, 2013: Mt. Pleasant, NY, USA According to its web site, the Mt. Pleasant Police Department was officially organized in 1941 after decades of operating as the Bureau of Water Supply Police, an extension of the NYPD created to police the Kensico Dam, its workers and area residents, and later as the vaguely-titled

Avatar: Me, in front of my bookshelves, wearing a black t-shirt that says, "runner" on it.

BABE IN THE WOODS: Prologue

Friday, October 30, 2015: Bronx, NY, USA My father never thought that the Boston Red Sox finally winning the World Series back in 2004, breaking the legendary “curse of the Bambino,” would ultimately be seen as the turning point of American civilization. It’s downfall, some might say. Yankee fans, mostly. He certainly never thought it

Avatar: Me, in front of my bookshelves, wearing a black t-shirt that says, "runner" on it.

“Those who can, do. Those who can’t, edit.” While that’s not always true, in light of my inability to write something in time for the newly-launched e-zine of “cutting-edge non-fiction,” loupe, I’ve decided to do the next best thing…launch a web site of my own to highlight all of the great writing I come across

Avatar: Me, in front of my bookshelves, wearing a black t-shirt that says, "runner" on it.

Reviewing on Amazon

Thanks to my reviews on Amazon.com – where I’m currently ranked 8345, and climbing – I’ve been offered a free copy of Ernesto Quiñonez’ new book, Chango’s Fire by his publisher’s marketing department. As Amazon has firmly established itself as THE online bookstore, it’s reviews have become more and more influential, with some places even

Avatar: Me, in front of my bookshelves, wearing a black t-shirt that says, "runner" on it.

Late-Friday Randomness… Assuming this cold we’re all fighting doesn’t ruin things, tomorrow’s birthday party for the kids should be fun. We’re expecting 12 kids altogether, the most by far to be in our place at one time. Never mind the 20 or so adults accompanying them! Isaac was sick as a dog for his first

Avatar: Me, in front of my bookshelves, wearing a black t-shirt that says, "runner" on it.

Life is cyclical

Life is cyclical, a simple if debatable truism. Live long enough, you will begin to see the patterns. Stand still long enough and you might get trampled by your past. I have no idea why but I felt the need to put that into words. In other news, since I have nothing particularly interesting to

Avatar: Me, in front of my bookshelves, wearing a black t-shirt that says, "runner" on it.

Throughout most of my twenties, I went through a few self-created “mid-life crises,” unsure of what the hell I was doing and what I wanted to do next. The common thread running through that decade was avoidance. Avoid responsibility, avoid maturity, and avoid anything that might inadvertantly lead to either of those outcomes. “Act first,

Avatar: Me, in front of my bookshelves, wearing a black t-shirt that says, "runner" on it.

It’s been four days since my last confession, Blogger, but in a rare switcheroo, I was busy talking smack over on my little-used LiveJournal account, commenting on the debacle that was the 2004 National Poetry Slam. I won’t get into it here other than to say, while I feel bad for those who attended and

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