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Posted by on March 2, 2017 in Uncategorized.

This is what the north end  of the island looked like in 1962. Pretty doggone desolate–pretty pristine. The favorite pastime for many of the ladies of the island (especially in the winter months) was to drive from one end of the island to  the other at around ten miles per hour and just look. This is what there was to look at. Personally I think it looks a hell of a lot better than a bunch of big houses that block the view of the ocean.
I often wonder if those ladies were lonely when they took those long drives or if they simply enjoyed being alone and looking at the peaceful quiet of Topsail.

writing tip: write every day and if you can’t do that, think about writing every day.

quote: The worst feeling isn’t being lonely but being forgotten by someone you can’t forget.



Posted by on February 24, 2017 in Uncategorized.

Went clamming today. The water was 63 degrees, not bad for February. WHAT FUN! and what a great way to spend the day. Dinner? clams, conch, sea fan and shrimp. Life is good!

Never had sea fan before-tastes like scallops.
Writing tip: write what you know-so when I’m writing about clamming, using a rake, I know how to describe it. (good excuse to go clamming-huh?).

AND– I know I love spending the day shell fishing-also I know what it’s like to get your feet stuck in the muck, fall down and get drenched. Thank God it was a warm day!



Posted by on February 21, 2017 in Uncategorized.

It’s that time of year again when my favorite flower abounds. These I found dressing up the weeds around them–symbols of new life, of hope and damn if they ain’t pretty. The jocund perennials always make me feel optimistic, Heck, they should be the national flower–we need some optimism now.
Once again, as I do every year around this time, I pay homage to the yellow flower that epitomizes the journey with words from the poet William Wordsworth.

   I wandered lonely as a cloud  
  That floats on high o’er vales and hills
  When all at once I saw a crowd
   A host of golden daffodils.

Anticipatorily expectant of what lies around the corner, some souls hedge and dread what is yet to come. On the other hand, those daggone daffodils remind me that I can choose the weeds or the flowers. I like the daffodils.

    For oft when on my couch I lie
    In vacant or in pensive mood
    They flash upon that inward eye
    Which is the bliss of solitude
    And then my heart with pleasure fills
    And dances with the daffodils     (Thank you Mr. Wordsworth)

The difference between haters and lovers–daffodil appreciation?



Posted by on February 17, 2017 in Uncategorized.

SIMPLY beautiful. Nothing beats simplicity. 
Ran across a wonderful quote about that subject-simplicity. 
All the knowledge in the world has not brought us any further than where we can go without it even in the outermost halls of grace. The greatest substance of the world is immaterial, the province of the heart, and its study cannot be forced or reasoned-Mark Helprin


Posted by on February 8, 2017 in Uncategorized.

Excerpt from THE TOWER:

     “Protection—she wants protection—I’m the one who needs protection. She’s the one killing people, not me.” Don’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as he pulled from the vacant driveway.
     A mottled gray and silver sky barely lit the morning; he switched on his dims and pressed his foot hard on the accelerator, steering the Dodge toward North Topsail. “What in the hell am I supposed to do?”
     He turned right, before the police station, and headed to the end of the island; it was a long drive of mostly vacant rental houses. He slowed and passed them, consciously endeavoring to slow his heart rate. He breathed in; exhaled—but he couldn’t rid himself of the self-loathing for having spent the entire night with Estelle.
     Pulling into the island parking lot or what was left of it from the last storm, he swung his legs out of the car and walked toward New River Inlet. Already a few fishermen were poised with their rod holders and chairs, casting lines out into the waters. “Hell, it’s not even seven o’clock.” He mumbled.
     As he walked Don could feel the damp salt air, laced with coolness, against his arms; he glanced toward the ocean and horizon, the misty morning limiting his view and hiding the colors usually so prominent and vibrant; it felt fitting to be surrounded by grays and muted colors. Even the breakers curling and releasing their spray seemed drab.
     How long he walked, he wasn’t sure, but the sun was nearly straight overhead, the mist and fog having burned off, by the time he circled back and made his way toward the Charger. 
     He couldn’t even recall all he’d thought about; but it had left an uneasiness coupled with the gnawing empty feeling in his stomach; he stopped at Sea View fishing pier, ordered a burger and fries and headed to his own house in Surf City.
     Slouched on the sofa, he flipped through  channels; old movies, news shows, reruns of 70s sitcoms, talk shows—“would the audience like to know if it’s Henry’s baby?” the emcee thrust the mike toward the crowd. A roaring ‘yeah’ filled the room; a broad smile played on the emcee’s face.
    “Garbage,” Don pressed the off tab and threw the remote against the wall.
     She was on his mind, Estelle. Images of their raw sex taunted him, leaving him with the same sick feelings he’d been wrestling with for the last few years. Their images, Sarah’s, Reggie’s, Milton’s—even his own son’s, lodged in his head and would not leave. “Fuck it.” He slammed his fist into the wall.
     His cell phone buzzed; he checked out the lighted display—Carrie. He let it buzz and watched the message icon light up. He wasn’t about to talk with her now, not after being with Estelle. His fist slammed the table.
     He showered, drove to the IGA and bought a twelve pack of Bud and a pack of Pall Mall then sat on his porch and smoked nearly half a pack before crumpling the remainder and tossing it into the trash. He felt his stomach rumble; he ignored it and watched the reddening sky turn to indigo and them starlit black.

     
THE TOWER should be available by spring. 


Posted by on February 8, 2017 in Uncategorized.

What a beautiful morning.
writing tip–pay attention to how you react to things and use those things in your own writing.
quote: It is not often that someone comes along who is a true friend and a good writer-E.B. White



Posted by on February 2, 2017 in Uncategorized.

Finally got both sails up, jib and main. There is nothing like sailing solely by the wind–no engine–the complete silence–only the sound of the water against the hull and the luff of a sail. Dolphins rode our wake. Makes me wish I was younger, less fat, more agile–but oh so glad that I get to experience all this stuff.
My other “passion” is writing and so I must liken sailing to that art–it is a sole-ful thing. As in sailing, there is a silence as loud as the thoughts between the writer and the page.
Both  demand the full attention of the purest form of grace I possess.



Posted by on January 30, 2017 in Uncategorized.

Out about twenty-five miles and viewing Topsail. Working on a scene in THE TOWER where the characters are far out in the ocean fishing. Nothing like the real thing for inspiration.

Writing demands examining yourself, so in writing I find humility–.



Posted by on January 24, 2017 in Uncategorized.

Got on the beach early this morning–the moon was still high in the sky–cool and crisp. It reminded me of how, when I was a kid, I used to spend the night fishing on Barnacle Bill’s Fishing Pier. That was pretty cool that my daddy let me do that when I was nine or ten, but he did. You know, when you’re a kid staying up all night long is a big deal–watching the sun peak from behind the clouds, watching the colors change and expand, then diminish, that’s a big deal too–it still is.

quote: The most important things are the hardest things to say.They are the things you get ashamed of because the words diminish your feelings-words shrink things that seem timeless when they are in your head to no more than living size when they are brought out–Stephen King.



Posted by on January 22, 2017 in Uncategorized.

Aw, ain’t he perdy? Ain’t he beautiful–this lovely lionfish, a native of the Indo Pacific region. Poop on perdy! The last few decades this invader has been terrorizing the southeastern seaboard, causing the extinction of many native plants and animals. He feeds on small crustaceans, you know, SHRIMP, and other small critters like baby snapper and grouper. In short, the lionfish is causing real harm to our area–the fishing industry–as if we didn’t have enough threat from other sources. (You know who I’m talking about)
He came to us courtesy of the home aquarium-owners dumped them in the sea. (Thank you lazy aquarium owner.)

Now here is a solution or at least an earnest effort at getting rid of the lionfish–eat them! Ask fish markets to carry them. From what I hear, they are delicious. Go fishing!  But be careful when you take them off the hook, those beautiful spines will zap the crap out of you. 
     Quote of the day: The only good lionfish is the one on my plate-me.
Writing tip: Make sure the information you gather on a subject is correct. And this is!