Poetry in the Dirt

Wrigley Field

Not many years ago, my late father woke me up at 3AM. He’d been gone nearly a decade by then. But his “Hey! Billy! Write this down!” yanked me from bed, and I ran to the kitchen only to find myself alone, Dad still long dead, and my fingers typing five stanzas he’d dictated to me as I slept.

But I’m no poet.

With that in mind, my daughter – she’s my daughter and my muse – convinced me in 2019 to do this poetry challenge called EscApril. Writers use that happy spring month to crank out 30 poems in 30 days, with a daily prompt to get started. I had silly fun with it, and did it again last year in the second month of lockdown. That made it extra fun.

Then she asked if I planned to do EscApril again this year.

This time I actually challenged myself. This time I decided all 30 poems would relate to themes, characters, and scenes in Diamonds and Dirt. …while using the prompts given by The EscApril People. Whoever they are.

It’s baseball, lies, abuse, revenge… fun stuff. Enjoy responsibly.

https://www.playininthedirt.com/about/poetry-huh/

 

 

Not today, Satan

Just decided to dink around a little bit here. My man Chuck Wendig, a supreme writer and blogger and e-mentor, does a Flash Fiction Challenge every Friday. I rarely take part. This week was intriguing, though. Pick a three-word title from a list of his readers’ suggestions. My suggestion didn’t make his list, which didn’t piss me off. I chose the closest one to it. And I included my title in the text. Your challenge is to find it. Good luck.

There is such blindness that goes along with sexual abuse, and that’s one of a million enabling factors. So this thousand-word essay attacks just one of those blind spots. Trust me, it’s fiction. But it addresses a theme that’s rife in both Diamonds and Dirt and the upcoming sequel Tenth Inning.

For those books, I still need a publisher. But for now, here’s that essay…

Not today, Satan

Son of a bitch. Another mob. These people are relentless. They need pitchforks, torches, buckets of tar. I’ll be your metaphorical Frankenstein again today, day after day. Someday you’ll go away.

Hey, I’m getting paid for this. For once I know who the good guys are, and it’s not that crew of pathetic vindictive punks. Continue reading “Not today, Satan”