by ken

The Words, Like the Spice, Must Flow

When I first started writing, years ago, it was primarily as a challenge. Could I get a story published? Then, how about a few more? After a while, I wanted to see if I could get a novel published. That accomplished, I discovered I had more novels I wanted to write, that it wasn’t enough to have a published book under my belt.

At the moment I find myself dealing with multiple projects in various stages. I’ve got the word mines running, and the words must flow. It is gratifying. It is also time consuming for someone with a profession that already demands most of his nine-to-five hours.

Brought to You by the Letter “A.”

This web log post brought to by the letter “A” for annoyance. And anger. And abashment.

Yesterday I spent a couple of hours in the afternoon at McMenamins’s Hillsdale Brewpub for the annual Battle for the Belt, wherein the myriad McMenamin’s brewpubs compete for the popular vote of best beer. Each one enters a beer. Trays full of four ounce pours are provided. We drink, we fill out a top three ballot. We drop our ballots in the box. Simple enough.

Aragorn Drops Back to Pass

Cultures, whether writ large or sifted down to the level of subculture, link us together. Like it or not, my fellow misanthropes. (Is that an oxymoron, fellow misanthropes? And, I’m really not. People are — fine.) One of linkage a culture offers is a shared day of celebration. A holiday, for example, like Christmas, or a national day of remembrance. Or, the Superbowl, a purely organic artifact of American culture, utterly secular and without government origin or sanction.

The Beat Goes On

I grew up in the Northwest. Rain is the norm. Wet weather can limit activities, hinder weekend recreation. I recall one of the go-to choices for a rainy Saturday was a trip to Bonneville Dam. Tour the museum, count the fish, visit the hatchery. Not a lot of pizzazz, perhaps, but it can occupy a kid for a few hours.