I have such mad respect for my creative friends.
Talking to my homes Thad yesterday, catch up time over happy hour beer at the College Inn and later on route 49 downtown, the kid is making it happen, one beat, one solo gig at a time. He's still living on the edge and the haters continue to hate, but he keeps doing what he's doing. I've talked about my poet friends, one hosting an open mic, another testing the waters, a third taking a bold creative step. It all adds up to a lot of cheap beer and awkward financial conversations, to disappointed parents and frustrated partners. On the other side of the equation though is a satisfaction gained no other way than grinding it out, putting your heart on paper or in the air, and knowing you've said something that means something.
More metro photos--you can see the whole album over on Photobucket.
There's a shadow constantly hovering at my shoulder. For all my gallivanting into the social whirl, nevermind the positive social media...
Ever wondered what it takes to get a piece of fiction published? I'm not talking New Yorker type of prose. That's a rarefied world ...
Check out my new video, a brief reading from a story published this past spring in Opossum.
Welp, after a half-year experiment in social media, BSP has returned to its blogger roots. I hated Faceborkland, tbh. Sure, it was easier t...