It is a whirlwind in here

Rules For Writing + One Non-Rule Rule


1: Write regularly. Daily might be extreme, but try to be extreme.
2: When in doubt / take it out.
3: At the end of your writing day, do not complete the action/description/dialogue – but know what it is. Start with this known at your next writing time. 90% of the time you will slide right back into the work.

4: Eschew, Ignore and Abandon All Hope Ye Who Enter Here, the notion that there are no rules. There are rules to everything. Artistic Creation demands rules.

5: Follow your characters.
6: Follow your characters.
7: Follow your characters.


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Friday 13th And Sundry Places On The Cusp



“I wish to state before this assembled multitude;

“Before this packed house;

“Before this captive audience;

“That I have every right

“(as much as each of you)

“To be here and represent

“My interests,

“My justifications

“My associations,

“Because I am a member

“In every day,

“And, perhaps

“Even as the nights

“Which are too cold

“And then the elevators,

“As they so often do


“You look askance.

“Indeed, you look at me

“In that manner

“That indicates

“The corners of your eyes

“are full of mistakes.

“Which proves to me

“Beyond and above

“- to heaven even,

“To the very Golden Gates

“Where the various saints

“Hang to the golden bars

“And swing to and fro

“In the Celestial breezes

“That cause clouds to scud

“Across the sky,

“And there is barely time to think

“Of a reply.”


Rules For Writing Fiction


1: Write regularly. Daily might be extreme, but try to be extreme.
2: When in doubt / take it out.
3: At the end of your writing day, do not complete the action/description/dialogue – but know what it is. Start with this known at your next writing time. 90% of the time you will slide right back into the work.
4: Follow your characters.
5: Follow your characters.
6: Follow your characters.


Gimme That Old Time Religion & Eschew Born Again Christians


So it has come to this.

A mindless voice with mindless tune singing softly in the dark.

My friend, I promise you,  on such a night even the sages are locked babbling in their rooms.

You think me mad?

“Well, my boyze.” (I talk in my best W.C. Fields voice).

“Well, my boyze. I had a hen who could lay a Golden Calf. And this weird guy – Moses was his name – yass. This Mo-zaz threw these stone tablets – threw, I say – these stone tablets on my hen, and killed her.

Feathers everywhere.

And I asked him – I said to him – hey, Mo-zaz, why did you flatten my hen and make the feathers fly?

And he said to me – can you believe this – he said to me:

‘W. C., I was damn hungry.’

And I knew –  my little chickadee, my little bottom-soft dumpling –   I knew from that moment, that the man was not sincere.”


The Moon On High Has Visited Us


The moon, with a lightness even footprints can not tarnish, is once again full of power.

It is racing against the clouds, tearing through them and leaving gaping holes.

It is causing plants to tremble and animals to howl.

It turns some men into gibbering idiots, and others into spokesmen for the universe.

It crosses the sky with grand indifference, dazzling lovers and fools with the same intensity, and perhaps the same results.

In turn, by century and continent, it has been revered and feared, called goddess and bitch.

The moon makes each dancer a wave of liquid motion, and traces each poet’s line with gold.

You and I, Einstein and Shakespeare, Buddha and Jesus, have all looked up and left the reflection of our eyes on its brilliant surface.

Moonbeams dancing on the sea – remember me, remember me.



Kafka Travels In His Dreams


Franz Kafka recorded many dreams in his diaries. Thus, I gave him many dreams in my novel, Kafka In The Castle. The novel ‘fills in’ all the days where there are no entries in his actual diaries.


04 April 1917

Dreamed I was to take a train journey.

I tried to find my travel papers, but all the drawers were jammed shut. The cupboard doors refused to open. My wallet was stuffed with money – colourful bills worth thousands of marks – yet no passport, no police clearance.

I could find no proof of who I was, and no permission to cross borders. I feared I was going to be late, so I put on an overcoat, grabbed a small bag off the bed, and hurried from the room.

The door led directly to the station platform, and I was quickly caught in lines of people. A man in uniform  harshly requested to see our tickets, but when I explained I had been unable to find any of my documents, he pointed to my case.

Inside were passports and papers from every country in Europe. I handed him one, but over my name was a photo of hog. Another had a picture of a donkey. A third showed sheep. Rodents, insects, and finally an ape, all appearing over my name and signature.

“You are Doktor Kafka?” he demanded.

“Yes,” I answered. I was terrified – what face did I have now?

“You are the veterinarian,” he said, finally satisfied. “Down to the end of the train.” He pointed the way, and I hurried along.

I walked and walked, but the train just became longer. Box cars and cattle cars were filled with the most terrible animal clamour, and reeking of filth. And I wondered, as I searched in vain for the end of this endless train, where would my destination finally be?


November Starts “Kafka In The Castle” – How Bad Can It Get?


[Franz & Felice]

In Kafka In The Castle, I fill in the ‘missing’ diary entries from Kafka’s real diary. He either did not fill in these days himself, or he destroyed them. There are some estimates that Kafka destroyed 70% – 80% of everything he wrote.

My first entry was for 26 November 1916. Close enough for me.



26 November 1916

What I desire, and what I expect, are horrible opposites. But my desires still exist, which makes me a fool.

The reading in Munich two weeks ago was a disaster. But we learn from disaster. My work was called “repulsive” – which, of course, it is. Am I to learn from that?

And then the meeting with  Felice. The fight in the pastry shop. Am I also to learn from that?

I’ll continue to write letters. I’ll continue to hunt for our apartment. I’ll continue to have my hopes. For a while longer – hope.

But still, my eyes wince at every mirror.

The Dead


“Oh, the dead don’t talk,

“And the dead don’t play.

“And if you sing to them,

“They won’t look away.

“I’ve been with the dead,

“And they’ve been with me.

“Oh, I’ve cried for the dead,

“But they just grin at me.”


[image] 2017 Resized/Solid High Gloss Italian Mahogany .JPG

International Day of Words To Be Celebrated Today 23 November 2019

via International Day of Words To Be Celebrated 23 November 2019

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