When a guy opens his eyes, he generally expects to see something. Maybe not blinding sunlight or Myrna Loy or anything, maybe just a dim glow, but something. I didn't think he'd hit me that hard.
It was a bit of a shock to realize I was blind.
When a guy opens his eyes, he generally expects to see something. Maybe not blinding sunlight or Myrna Loy or anything, maybe just a dim glow, but something. I didn't think he'd hit me that hard.
It was a bit of a shock to realize I was blind.
Spoke to 24 writers in a coffee shop Thursday night. Near the end of the evening I mentioned The War of Art and didn't get the nods and smiles I expected. I stopped, and asked who'd read it.
Crickets chirped outside. The sun drifted closer to the horizon. Otherwise, not much happened. Continue reading
Snow day. Light fluffy flakes, piling on the grass and houses and cars but not sidewalk or pavement.
Canceled plans to go out. It'll be 50 degrees by midweek. No sense fighting the snow and ice on the van today.
Maybe I'll spend the day in bed. Writing.
Men have an innate sexual response to the sight of a woman's breast. It's not a choice, it's biology.
Breast-feeding is not a sexual activity. Men know this. We are Neanderthals, not idiots. Continue reading
Though we still think of ourselves as nomads, it's time for a home, at least for a while. We've been renting rooms from a couple here in New Jersey. We'd like to stay in this area.
Read my Sunday Doughnut, courtesy of Bob Poole.
This is the first step in aggregating all my books here instead of maintaining more and more websites, just so each book can have their own. You Don't Want a Job will make the point that self-employment carries less risk and delivers more reward than having a job.
Here's my first draft of the opening paragraphs: