Welcome

Welcome
John William Tuohy lives in Washington DC

Writers opportunities

 ** HUNTER COLLEGE MFA PLAYWRITING PROGRAM ***

The Hunter College MFA Playwriting Program is accepting applications through January 15th! The program is a highly selective, rigorous, and affordable two-year playwriting program located in the heart of NYC. We seek writers eager to develop their craft and challenge assumptions about what theater is and will become.
Students study with award-winning writers, working theatre professionals, and esteemed guest artists. The program offers workshop opportunities and fosters a collaborative, close-knit artistic community. Teaching Assistantships and tuition waivers are available. 
Current and recent faculty include: David Adjmi, Clare Barron, Mia Chung, Lisa D'Amour, Maria Striar, Lloyd Suh, and Anne Washburn. Visiting artists for 2020-2021 include: Daniel Alexander Jones, Hansol Jung, Martyna Majok, and Lauren Yee.
For more information, visit: https://www.huntertheatre.net/mfa
*** OPPORTUNITIES FOR PLAYWRIGHTS ***
Carlow Little Theater International Playwriting Competition 2022
The competition is open to all writers over 18 years old, both members and non-members, local and international. The play submitted must be in English and be an original work of the entrant that has not yet been published, nor performed on stage previously, nor received any awards previously. No entry fee is required.
***
Creative Circuit Studios is gearing up for Volume three of the “In the Moment: One Act Series”. We want to feature talented playwrights from all walks of life.
One acts are not TV shows. Works should focus on the script (writing) and the acting. Your one act should be no longer than 30 minutes. Plays with extensive technical requirements will be considered but those with fewer demands will receive stronger consideration.
***
Live & In Color is looking for playwrights, composers, and lyricists of color and/or other underrepresented communities interested in developing their new musical.
The selected musical submission will have a two-week workshop in the fall at The Bingham Camp in Salem, Connecticut culminating in a staged presentation to an invited audience. 
*** FOR MORE INFORMATION about these and other opportunities see the web site at https://www.nycplaywrights.org ***
*** SONDHEIM ***
Stephen Sondheim, one of Broadway history’s songwriting titans, whose music and lyrics raised and reset the artistic standard for the American stage musical, died early Friday at his home in Roxbury, Conn. He was 91.
His lawyer and friend, F. Richard Pappas, announced the death. He said he did not know the cause but added that Mr. Sondheim had not been known to be ill and that the death was sudden. The day before, Mr. Sondheim had celebrated Thanksgiving with a dinner with friends in Roxbury, Mr. Pappas said.
An intellectually rigorous artist who perpetually sought new creative paths, Mr. Sondheim was the theater’s most revered and influential composer-lyricist of the last half of the 20th century, if not its most popular.
His work melded words and music in a way that enhanced them both. From his earliest successes in the late 1950s, when he wrote the lyrics for “West Side Story” and “Gypsy,” through the 1990s, when he wrote the music and lyrics for two audacious musicals, “Assassins,” giving voice to the men and women who killed or tried to kill American presidents, and “Passion,” an operatic probe into the nature of true love, he was a relentlessly innovative theatrical force.
More...
***
The Steven Sondheim Society
I guess this is goodbye, old pal
You've been a perfect friend...
It’s with great sadness that we report the death of our friend and patron Stephen Sondheim. He passed away at the age of 91 early on Friday morning at his home in Roxbury, Connecticut.
His friend and lawyer Richard Pappas announced his passing, which he described as “sudden”. Indeed, only the previous day Mr Sondheim had celebrated Thanksgiving Dinner with some friends locally. 
Only an hour after this news was released the BBC News Channel included a five minute tribute which included excerpts of Millicent Martin singing ‘Send in the Clowns’ - “his only hit song”! - along with Adrian Lester in Company and Maria Friedman in the original NT production of Sunday. Also included was a live interview with Sierra Boggess in New York. Undoubtedly the lights on Broadway will be dimmed in his honour. 
More...
***
Stephen Sondheim, the legendary Broadway composer, has died at 91. In 1988, Diane Sawyer profiled Sondheim for 60 Minutes.
***
A COMPLETE ROUNDUP OF EVERY SONDHEIM MUSICAL
One of the most recognizable names in all of Broadway history, Stephen Sondheim is beloved by many for his extensive repertoire of musicals ranging from short-lived off-Broadway productions to best-selling, multi-revived Broadway hits. Throughout his career, Sondheim has written the music and lyrics for 16 full-length musicals and has written the lyrics for three more. In addition to his beloved full-length musicals, Sondheim has also contributed music and lyrics to other theatrical works, film and television projects, and several revues and anthologies. Over the course of his nearly 70-year career, Sondheim himself has been nominated for — and won many of — over ten Tony Awards, nearly 20 Grammy Awards, and an Academy Award, among dozens of other awards, with his musicals earning even dozens more. His body of work has left the theatrical community with an unforgettable legacy, and his repertoire is honored and adored by artists and audiences alike. We’ve rounded up a complete list of every full-length Sondheim musical — all 19.
More...
***
SWEENEY TODD - 1980 British documentary
***
There are few things that remain constant in life, but for me one of them is this: Stephen Sondheim’s work has touched me for more than half a century. It did so when I was first listening to records as a child, when I didn’t know his name or much else, and it does so right this minute, as songs of middle-aged regret like “Too Many Mornings” and “You Must Meet My Wife” are randomly shuffled into my headphones by iTunes. It’s unusual to remain so loyal to a single artist. We tend to outgrow our early tastes and heroes. It’s even more unlikely to have that artist materialize in person and play a crucial role in one’s life—as Sondheim first did when I was 21 and he was 40. Since then, with some lengthy intermissions along the way, he’s been a mentor, an occasional antagonist, a friend, and even an unwitting surrogate parent.
More...
***
Original Cast Album - Company [1970] Documentary

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Johann Wolfgang von Goethe.....................

 

 Whatever you can do or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power and magic in it. (So get to writing)  

 





Well said............



 


*** OPPORTUNITIES FOR PLAYWRIGHTS ***

  


 

Now in our 30th season, Obie Award-winning Metropolitan Playhouse is accepting submissions for its 17th presentation of East Village Chronicles, a festival of new one-act plays inspired by the diverse population, culture, and history of Manhattan’s Lower East Side. There is an honorarium of $100 for each script accepted for production.

Plays must pertain specifically, even if not exclusively, to the character, reputation, and/or history of the East Village and/or Lower East Side neighborhoods of Manhattan. Creative responses to this broad theme are encouraged, but plays that do not address the neighborhood’s history and/or character will not be considered.

 

***

New Circle Theatre Company’s Second Annual L.B. Williams BIPOC writers new ten-minute play contest for NYC- area playwrights

New Circle Theatre Company is a NYC company devoted to the development of new plays. In furthering the company’s commitment to foster diversity, we announce our second annual playwriting contest for new, ten minute plays by playwrights of color, including Black, Indigenous, Latinx, Asian, etc. This contest is different from many out there, in that we are seeking, not so much new plays, but potential new members of our company, who wish to work with us continuously in the future to develop their new plays.

 

***

We are so incredibly excited to announce the submissions for the 2022 Intensive Mentorship officially open! It has been a long road this past year, full of uncertainty for artists, as well as complex conversations on what American Theater is and who American Theater Audiences are. We at the Latinx Playwrights Circle are enthusiastically committed to our community. We are so thrilled at the prospect of taking four experienced peers in our community, partnering them with four amazing emerging playwrights, and facilitating the development of four new plays.

 

*** FOR MORE INFORMATION about these and other opportunities see the web site at https://www.nycplaywrights.org ***

 

 

*** MOOSE/TURKEY ***

 

MOOSE MURDERS

The owners and a group of guests at a hunting lodge in the Adirondacks discover that a murderer is among them.

https://www.playbill.com/production/moose-murders-eugene-oneill-theatre-vault-0000004709

 

***

We should not still be talking about Moose Murders. That’s the first thing Ricka Kanter Fisher, the play’s associate producer, tells me when I ask about Broadway’s most infamous flop. (Well, after she demands to know how I got her number.) Thirty-seven years have passed since it opened and closed at Broadway’s Eugene O’Neill Theatre in the span of a single Tuesday night in 1983. This is not a singular badge of honor. Plenty of productions in theater history — as recently as 2008’s Glory Days and way more from the decades when mounting a Broadway show did not require Disney-size budgets and carried a much better shot at a return on investment — have also met the same 24-hour doom.

 

Yet the Moose has come to stand for them all. “It was a long time ago, and I think that there are an infinite number of stories to pursue and research and interview and reminisce about. But I don’t have any interest these many years later to talk about this show,” Fisher told me as she declined, obviously, to comment on the fate of the Moose.

 

But we are still talking about Moose Murders. Its story is hard to resist: A young playwright’s Broadway debut headlined by an aging Hollywood icon as she tries to return to relevance. A first-time no-name director who cast his wife with top billing. A vanity production backed by Texas oil money. Holland Taylor ex machina in a desperate attempt to save a ship both sinking and aflame. A critic who found himself seated behind a vomit-covered patron brought in off the street to paper the house. And then there’s the name itself. Moose Murders. An alliterative and very literal title that all but ensured its place on the wall of shame at Joe Allen’s. (In 2019, that theater-district restaurant introduced a cocktail, “The Murdered Moose,” on the show’s birthday. “A drink so bad you never wanted another,” it was made with sambuca and lime juice and garnished with a pearl onion and a cherry. It’s disgusting.) Moose Murders had what Springtime for Hitler wanted.

 

More...

https://www.vulture.com/article/moose-murders-biggest-broadway-disaster.html

 

***

FROM now on, there will always be two groups of theatergoers in this world: those who have seen ''Moose Murders,'' and those who have not. Those of us who have witnessed the play that opened at the Eugene O'Neill Theater last night will undoubtedly hold periodic reunions, in the noble tradition of survivors of the Titanic. Tears and booze will flow in equal measure, and there will be a prize awarded to the bearer of the most outstanding antlers. As for those theatergoers who miss ''Moose Murders'' - well, they just don't rate. A visit to ''Moose Murders'' is what will separate the connoisseurs of Broadway disaster from mere dilettantes for many moons to come.

 

More...

https://www.nytimes.com/1983/02/23/theater/stage-moose-murders-a-brand-of-whodunit.html

 

***

It is generally not a good sign for a Broadway show when people leave the opening-night party early. That is what Arthur Bicknell noticed at the celebration for the premiere of his play. As soon as the dessert forks were down, there they went, acquaintances, cast members, even family, out the door of Sardi’s restaurant. A friend finally approached with a report on the reviews.

 

Two words: “the worst.”

 

Indeed they were. The play was “Moose Murders,” and even now, 25 years later, it is considered the standard of awfulness against which all Broadway flops are judged.

 

“Was it really that bad?” asked Mr. Bicknell, who now lives in Springfield, Mass., and is the chief publicist for Merriam-Webster. “The simple answer is yes.”

 

Things weren’t so grim at the L & M bowling lanes in Rochester, N.Y., on Friday night, when a cast of nonprofessional — most barely even amateur — actors had just finished a second performance of “Moose Murders” at the Rochester Contemporary Art Center. The show, a staged reading but with original music, was put together by John Borek, 58, a self-described “part-time conceptual artist” who works by day as an aide to a Rochester city councilman. The first performance was on Feb. 22, the 25th anniversary of the play’s Broadway opening, and closing, night.

 

More...

https://www.nytimes.com/2008/04/21/theater/21moos.html

 

***

It was the night a 28-year-old writer named Arthur Bicknell opened his first (and last) Broadway play, a mystery-farce called “Moose Murders.” Previews had been . . . well, “rocky” doesn’t do them justice. Better to use Bicknell’s own description: “an amazing stew of magnificent incompetence.”

 

The leading lady quit, a man sitting alongside the critics at a matinee vomited all over himself and a woman leaving the theater one night shouted to a policeman, “Arrest this play!”

 

On opening night, Bicknell awaited the reviews at Sardi’s, where he sensed the show hadn’t gone over well, especially since the “semi-celebrities” at the party declined to meet him.

 

(“They ate the food, though,” he recalls.)

 

But nothing prepared him for the reviews, which came like bullets from a machine gun:

 

“If your name is Arthur Bicknell, change it.” — Dennis

Cunningham, WCBS.

 

“So indescribably bad that I do not intend to waste anyone’s time by describing it.” — Clive Barnes, the New York Post

 

“I will not identify the cast pending notification of next of kin.” — Associated Press.

 

“A visit to ‘Moose Murders’ will separate the connoisseurs of Broadway disaster from mere dilettantes for many moons to come.” — Frank Rich, the New York Times.

 

“Moose Murders” closed that night, and instantly became the yardstick by which all Broadway fiascos would be measured.

 

More...

https://nypost.com/2012/09/07/moose-is-loose/

 

***

“From now on, there will always be two groups of theatergoers in this world: those who have seen ‘Moose Murders,’ and those who have not.”

 

So began Frank Rich’s legendary review of the legendary flop, a 1983 farce by Arthur Bicknell that closed on opening night and after some of the most gobsmacked notices in Broadway history.

 

With a revised version of the play opening off Broadway Wednesday night, that first group might get larger. But among those unlikely to return is Holland Taylor, who played Hedda Holloway in the original production.

 

As it happens Ms. Taylor — who went on to a lengthy TV career that included an Emmy nomination for “Two and a Half Men” and a win for “The Practice” — is back in New York, rehearsing “Ann,” her one-woman show about the late Texas Gov. Ann W. Richards, which opens on Broadway in March.

 

More...

https://webcache.googleusercontent.com/search?q=cache:RujlhV_Jl7EJ:https://artsbeat.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/01/30/remember-moose-murders-she-was-there-on-stage/+&cd=2&hl=en&ct=clnk&gl=us&client=safari

 

***

The Script Library Podcast - Episode One - Moose Murders

Discussion and review of MOOSE MURDERS

https://anchor.fm/thescriptlibrary/episodes/Episode-One---Moose-Murders-by-Arthur-Bicknell-etq0cb

 

***

Somehow I let yesterday’s anniversary slip by that marked the historic opening of Moose Murders, the one-performance comedy/mystery which overnight was enshrined for all eternity; its title synonymous with the word “flop.” As Frank Rich of the New York Times wrote in one of his most memorable reviews: “Those of us who have witnessed the play that opened at the Eugene O’Neill Theater last night will undoubtedly hold periodic reunions, in the noble tradition of survivors of the Titanic.”

 

I was not one of those survivors. I threw away my shot at seeing the show even though I had caught wind of what was transpiring (soon to be expiring) on West 49th Street as the rumors drifted their way uptown to West 85th Street where I was living at the time. In the days before email and texting, my phone was ringing with friends telling me that “If I knew what was good for me, I had better get down to see Moose Murders, because not only wasn’t it going to be there very long, but it simply had to be seen to be believed.”

 

More...

https://ronfassler.medium.com/moose-memories-6be15330d8e

 

--


Keep writing

 When your head hits the pillow tonight, remind yourself that you’ve done a good job. Be patient with yourself.  Remember that things aren’t achieved all at once - but one day at a time.



Coleman Hawkins.





 

Writers should master words

 

Draconian comes from Draco, the name of a 7th-century B.C. Athenian legislator who created a written code of law. Draco's code was intended to clarify existing laws, but its severity is what made it really memorable. According to the code, even minor offenses were punishable by death, and failure to pay one's debts could result in slavery. Draconian, as a result, became associated with especially authoritative actions that are viewed as cruel or harsh.

 

Amity comes from the Latin word for "friend," amicus, and is used especially for relationships between political leaders and nations in which goodwill is shown despite differences that might exist between the two parties. Amicus is also the root of the adjectives amiable and amicable.


Trepidation: comes from the Latin verb trepidare, which means "to tremble." Early meanings of trepidation, such as "tremulous motion" or "tremor," reflect that origin; those are followed by the word's sense of "apprehension."




Harper Lee


 

This pretty much sums up the first 8 years of my education.


 

I've been looking into the whole stoic thing


 

Art for the Blog of It: Art Deco silverplated skyscraper clock. French. Ci...

Art for the Blog of It: Art Deco silverplated skyscraper clock. French. Ci...:  

Art for the Blog of It: Breton Peasant Woman Aimé-Jules Dalou probably 188...

Art for the Blog of It: Breton Peasant Woman Aimé-Jules Dalou probably 188...:  

Art for the Blog of It: Snow, 1936, M.C. Escher

Art for the Blog of It: Snow, 1936, M.C. Escher:  

Art for the Blog of It: Coal Barges, 1888, Vincent van Gogh.

Art for the Blog of It: Coal Barges, 1888, Vincent van Gogh.:  

Why the world needs real writers.


 

If

 “If you can quit, then quit. If you can't quit, you're a writer.”― R.A. Salvatore



DC Behind the Monuments: Bolsheviks in DC

DC Behind the Monuments: Bolsheviks in DC:   In 1901 a self-proclaimed Anarchists named Leon Czolgosz shot and killed President William McKinley Radicals, Bolsheviks, and Anarchists-o...

Conquering the beast: A short story.


 

I am in prison, and I will most likely die here. I am a sailor by trade, a captain of sailors, actually.  I am now in my 58th year but long-retired through no fault of my own. I am an Egyptian and lived my life in Adabiya in Egypt, near the mouth of the Suez Canal.

I am a pilot, an expert in navigating the canal's unseen treacheries which are unknown to captains not familiar with the canal. The shipping lines hire the local pilots through the government to guide their cargo through the canal. 

I am, I admit, a complicated man, a man of few words which is off-putting to some. I have an advanced education, rare for my country, but I have also worked among the cannibals, so to speak.

Also, unlike so many of my countrymen, I professed to no religion for a large part of my life. I refused to submit to any higher power, a dangerous thing to do in my country, to be a Murtad as we call it, an apostate. But that has changed. I am now a man born again unto Allah who was there at the needed hour.

On my last mission through the canal, I was piloting a Chinese boat when the forestay, a thick iron cable that runs to the bow from the stern, snapped and whipped across the deck and decapitated two sailors, both Chinese nationals.

The fault belonged to the Chinese. The ship's rigging was old and worn but the Chinese government insisted it was Egypt’s fault and Egypt, the beast, who have long bowed to any wish of the Chinese and their money, agreed and blamed me for the tragedy.

I would no longer captain. I know no other trade but to Captain.  I found myself with no money, no way to live with dignity.  

One day, the Seafarers union contacted me and placed me in a room with a man from the government. He offered me a job. I was to guard a vessel,  a 330-foot-long MV Aman container ship. I had spent many a day as a young man aboard these types of crafts and I knew them well.  The vessel was manned by a solitary sailor, a ship's mate, a Syrian. 

I was told that the vessel, The Eliza, was owned by a mogul from Bahrain who owed the beast $2,100,500 in transport fees. When the fees were not paid, the ship was refused entry into the canal. It was not allowed to refuel. With no other option, its captain tied her to port and waited.  The mogul owned several multimillion-dollar ships so why he would abandon one over such a relatively small debt, I don’t know. No one knows.

It so happened, the union man told me, that the ship’s captain was running errands on shore, and the Syrian was working on repairs when an Egyptian court courier boarded with a letter declaring the boat would be held until its owner paid the fees.  The Syrian signed the letter designating himself as the legal guardian of the vessel.

It was the biggest mistake of his life.

The other crewmen, 25 in all, perhaps sensing the pending doom, had left the ship weeks before. When the Syrian tried to leave, a port official told him that, as the ship’s legal guardian, he was required to stay on board, and refused him entry into the country.

He survived on the food aboard ship until all that was left were a few pieces of dried bread. He radioed distress alerts but they went unanswered and then took a lifeboat to shore but the police were waiting for him and escorted him back to the ship. He pleaded with the beast to put him in jail, at least then he would have food and human contact, but the beast refused because he had done nothing wrong. He developed symptoms of scurvy and had lost three teeth. His mind raced constantly and to fall asleep, he took up to 12 painkillers a night. By then the boat was covered in insects and rodents.

A Syrian news reporter took a craft out to the boat and the Ships mate told him the story which was reported across the Arab world and embarrassed the beast. That was when I was hired as a security guard to watch over him with instructions to prevent him from leaving the boat, to feed him so he didn’t die, and to keep him out of sight and out of trouble until the situation was resolved.

I took the position. What else could I do? It was money, it was food, it was a living.

I took up residence on the boat but remained alone in my cabin, at first, which made him uneasy. I never learned his name. I knew very little of him except that he was a Syrian and like many Syrians, he made his living as a sailor aboard freighters and cargo ships. He was 29 years old, that much I learned.

He was reluctant to speak to me. He assumed, and rightfully so, that I was Keta El Amn Watani, the state secret police. Over the next week, I prepared his meals, he had no kitchen skills, and we ate together in silence. At the end of the second week, he looked up from our modest repast and asked, “How long have you been with the state security?”

“I am not with the state security”

“You carry yourself with assurance. You are more than just a ships guard”

I told him about my mistreatment at the hands of the beast and when I finished he looked me in the eyes and said “So it, the beast, your government, is a mask for some great force of evil? A figure of nature that hides, perhaps, the face of Allah? Or is it just a clever machine?

He smiled, slightly, as he spoke. But the smile mocked me, gently. I had wanted him to make my quenchless feud his own. We could bind our vengeance against the beast as one. But he was far from that. For him, I was a crazy old man. His only dream was to return home, perhaps to a wife and children. I had no such dream. I am alone in this world, and I was home, and I was at war with my home.

Realizing he had wounded me,  he reached across the table, grabbed my arm and said, “You have a grand quest then.”

The next morning I prepared his breakfast, and we took our coffee, and I smoked my cigarettes, a Fatwa for him, at the bow just as the sun rose. He left me to say his Fajr, the sunrise prayer.

“Join me, my brother,” he said before leaving.

I waved him off “My coffee will become cold” and stayed at the bow to drink more coffee and smoke more cigarettes.  

When his prayer was complete, and the morning sun showed itself brilliantly on the horizon. The air smelled clean. It would rain today, the sunset proved it, as any captain of sailors knows.  

“I believe we will have a heavenly intervention,” I said watching the horizon.

“Did Allah take mercy on you?” he asked half-jokingly.

I pointed to the approaching storm and said “If there was an Allah, he could send down a storm from the heavens that would cause the ship to run aground”

It took him a moment to comprehend what I meant and when he understood he stared up at the brooding skies and whispered “Praised be to Allah”  

“Go below,” I told him “start the engines. Then cast us off”  

I waited on the bow for the storm to arrive. It would come gently at first and soon afterward develop into a cyclone of dust and then a heavy, non-stop rain pushed by the winds.

The storm came in the way I said it would. The battering we were taking by the heavy winds pushed the 20,000 metal containers filled with machinery parts below deck to and fore.  When the full storm hit us with full force, the containers pushed themselves to our bow creating a sail of sorts.

I turned and faced the Syrian, smiled broadly, and said “Abandon ship, my friend. I wish you a long and peaceful life”

“Come with me,” he said.

I clasped his hand in mine and pointed for the shore. “Go now before its too late”

The high tide late that evening and the rising waters and a mighty turn at the helm by me helped to lift the boat and turn her sideways. The ship hit both edges of the canal when it turned,  and since the base of the canal is soft sand, the ship wedged herself there.

It would take dredgers eight weeks to remove tons of sand and silt from around the ship’s hull. It would take four more weeks for the tugboats and dredgers to dislodge her and four more weeks for the military and its special helicopters to remove the tens of thousands of containers on board to help lighten the load. But they removed the ship's load to quickly, which only served to unbalance the boat and further wedging her back into the sand. Meanwhile, a backlog of ships waited for the canal to reopen.  Oil prices around the world went up dramatically. Some ships gave up the wait and took a longer route to Europe, sailing around the entire African continent which, I am told by my captors, has led to reconsideration of the canal route by shipping companies.

In the excitement and confusion and anger over the ship blocking the canal for miles and miles, no one noticed the Syrian had disappeared. He had slowly climbed down a ladder, quietly slipped into the water, and swam ashore. Before he disappeared into the darkness, he stood on a sandbank and waved goodbye to me. And then he was gone.

The beast lost billions of dollars in trade, and someone had to be blamed. That’s always the way it is. Everywhere.  The beast launched a press conference that it would be investigating the incident. I was identified as the captain of the ship. I was blamed, tried, and jailed. I am not a young man, and I may be here for the rest of my life or perhaps until this embarrassment against the beast is forgotten. I don’t care. I’ve won. I have defeated the beast. Vengeance is mine.

DC Behind the Monuments: The Peacemaker accident

DC Behind the Monuments: The Peacemaker accident:   On 28, 184, the USS Princeton left Alexandria, Virginia, on a demonstration cruise down the Potomac with President John Tyler, members o...

This I gotta see........


 

How many times have I wanted to say this........


 

DC Behind the Monuments: The Saltville Massacre.

DC Behind the Monuments: The Saltville Massacre.:                                                                     The Saltville Massacre. The town of Saltville Virginia is about six-ho...

The writer's curse

 “The writer's curse is that even in solitude, no matter its duration, he never grows lonely or bored.”― Criss Jami, Killosophy

 


My co-writers






 

November Moonlight, John Atkinson Grimshaw


 

“My own heroes are the dreamers

  

“My own heroes are the dreamers, those men and women who tried to make the world a better place than when they found it, whether in small ways or great ones. Some succeeded, some failed, most had mixed results... but it is the effort that's heroic, as I see it. Win or lose, I admire those who fight the good fight.”― George R.R. Martin



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