Here’s a short short/prose poem that I wrote about when one of my best friends, Robb Grimes and I went sailing with his dad off the coast of Mexico. It was memorable both for the awe of where we were, and the tyranny of our sailboat’s captain. Either way, when we talk about it now, all we can do is laugh. With all the curmudgeon demeanor we both aquired at sea, we wouldn’t trade that trip for anything.
What happens when passions collide, involving the pace of a criminal’s life on the job, and demons materialized from the past, all to the background music of an elevator…in a supermarket? Find out here, with An Artist and a Thief, co-starring some of the best in dramatization, Tucker Braga, Robb Grimes and Matt Fogel.
Stories are everywhere, we just usually choose to ignore them. Looking at an airplane as it drifted high above the city, framed by my office window, I started thinking of all the stories taking place right now inside of it. People looking down at San Francisco and how peaceful and lifeless it must seem. Some of them had probably never even been here. I doubt any of them suspected they were the inspiration for a writer, looking up and finding a story. And here it is…
One day a guy went crazy in my hometown. I was just out of high school and it was one of those events where everyone remembers what they were doing that day. I certainly do and I’d always wanted to write a story that took place under similar circumstances. This story bears fictional glimpses of some aspects of my younger years, though is otherwise completely made up. I hope you enjoy it.
Here’s a miniature story I wrote…shit, a while ago by now, in some respects. Although this draft only fairly resembles the original. Sometimes you gotta wander before you find your way. Even when your destination is vague. (No. I did not just copy that from a Chinese Fortune Cookie.) As always, I hope you enjoy my story.
I wrote this a long (long) time ago. Back in that really fun time between being a child and being an adult. (Sometimes I wonder when I’ll actually feel like a grown-up.) I was still figuring out whoever the fuck I was destined to be and how to get there. Lucky for you the story itself has nothing to do with any of that. It’s just a product of me catching my first real glimpse of the fact that life is really weird and fragile.
This story was inspired by that weird creepiness that accompanies every Autumn. At least for me. Is Fall creepy because of Halloween, or did they pick the Fall for Halloween because it’s a creepy-ass time of year? Food for thought…unless you’re a historian and you already know the answer.
I know it’s not really Fall-ish yet (at least not in Northern California), but I guess I look forward to it so much that I feel it early, even before the sidewalk begins to be scattered with tree appendages. Enjoy my story.
And put on a jacket for Christ’s sake.
Oh, it’s 87 degrees out?