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Archive for the tag “Hostile 17 Print”

Circus

circus

I would

run away from home

to join

your circus.

 

© 2017 William S. Friday

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The Accidental Prophet

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“A wish is not a goal, and hope is not a plan.”

I have a friend, a very close friend, who says that whenever I speak of the future, I already know what’s going to happen.  One year.  Five years.  Ten.  Every step and every stage, all mapped out, in my head and then, into words.  Thoughtful.  Methodical.  Concise.

Except I swear that, every time it happens, I have no conscious idea that what I’ve just said is, in fact, a plan.

So unbelieving am I that, after my friend who hears recites my future future back to me, I am left scrunch-faced, my head shaking, saying, “What are you talking about?  That wasn’t a plan, that was just wishful thinking.”  And yet, in the two years of our friendship, apparently, I’ve never been wrong. 

And it pisses me off every time.

It would seem that I hate being right.

If I were to put it in terms that I could understand, I would call myself, “The Accidental Prophet”. 

Over the last year alone, I called my shot about creating a job out of two other jobs so that I would have all the time in the world to sit undisturbed and, on company time, with the boss’ blessing, write another book.  That happened.  Before that, I called my shot about taking ten years of chicken-scratched poems, and publishing a first book.  That happened, too.  Somewhere in between the first book and the job, I said something about creating a publishing company and, yeah… yeah… whatever.

Now, says my friend, I’ve been saying things again.  Future kind of things.  The kind that, if you were to ask me, I wouldn’t call anything more than a few nice ideas.  A wish here, a hope there.  Just spitballing into the wind.  And if I didn’t have the big-eared friend with the over-developed sense interpreting irony in all its forms, I might dismiss these, too. 

Except now, I can’t.  Because I know better than to argue with a plan, even when I don’t know it’s a plan until comes true.

And all I can say right now is, if it’s true, 2017 is going to be a hell of a year.  And if none of it comes true, well like I said, I hate being right, so I’ll be the first to tell you I was wrong. But if by accident I was right, I’ll be writing another one of these next year. 

Complete with the “I told you so” from my friend who hears.

 

© Copyright 2017 William S. Friday

Life and Death

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The only thing

keeping me alive

is not wanting

to die.

 

© Copyright 2016 William S. Friday

#BuddhaBukowski

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“I don’t know a damned thing in this life, but what is shown to me by life, itself.”

#Buddha Bukowski

 

This blogger is writing a novel.

I’ve never done that before, unless you count that failed attempt that ended after a hundred-and-fifty pages, back around the turn of this century.  A novel about a man, his thoughts, and and his coffee.

A man who was also a serial killer, but I digress.

I wrote it while I sat, alone, in a used book store at the corner of Torrance Boulevard and Prospect Avenue.  My store, as it was going out of business, in the midst of the small retail depression of post-9/11, America.

“Get out and buy stuff, people!  If you don’t, the terrorists will win!”

The doors of my store closed for good in April of 2002.  The only things I took with me were a few now-mildewed books, and that half-finished novel.  The only evidence of which is a single, printed copy on a hundred-and-fifty, eight-and-a-half by eleven sheets of plain paper, locked away, never again to see the light of day.

I buried that story, just like I buried everything else from that life.  I buried it under the books, under the years, under a lifetime of unfulfilled dreams.  Until a funny thing happened on the way to becoming someone else.  I became who I already was.  And another book was born.

Another book, and another character.

This day, in this post, I introduce you to the man who sat behind the counter of a failing used book store, invisible behind a computer screen, barely knowing where he’d come from, and not knowing at all where he was going.  The man who would one day write more than a hundred-and-fifty pages of forgotten words.

The man who would become fiction.

Buddha Bukowski.

In the months to come… because this is what the world of indie publishing has become in the years since I started writing… I will be dropping hints about this novel-in-progress using the hashtag #BuddhaBukowski, one of the two main characters in the book.  This, because it helps let the world know that I created a character with a very distinct name, and so that everyone who reads this post, or sees the hashtag across social media, will, by using it, help me welcome this book into the public consciousness before it ever hits the shelves.

More to follow…

Stuff and Things

stuff and things xI’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again,

“I am NOT a blogger.”

I know that’s confusing, for bloggers and non-bloggers alike, because… BLOG.  THIS BLOG.  THIS BLOG you are reading.  Right NOW.

So, for those who don’t know me well…and that would be most of you… here’s how I have navigated the phrase, “I am not a blogger”.

I am a writer.  First and foremost, beyond all other labels, I am and will always be, a writer.  Not a blogger.  Not a poet.  Not an author.  A writer.  Even though I maintain a blog, and I have a whole book of published poetry.  So what, for me, started out as a blog, then became a place to post what I’ll call, for lack of a better term “content”… like a podcast which ran its course in just 13 weeks, uncategorized things I had written in the past for two websites I was no longer current with, and finally, poetry… it all seemed out of place for the form known as blogging, or at least what I had come to know as “blogging” from a few of my fellow bloggers, most of whom I barely read.

Until this year.

This year, everything I knew changed.  All the stuff and all the things.  About life.  About writing.  About blogging.

I went from writer to author, seemingly overnight.  With the unforeseen help and tireless teaching, editing, and emotional hand-holding of a friend and genuine blogger, I finished and published my first book.  Then, over the remainder of the summer, without warning, I saw what blogging really could be.  Not for expanding my contacts list.  Not for sales and marketing.  Not even for the joy of having others read my words.

But for experiencing life through others, beyond my writer’s walls.

And, with this actual BLOG post, I’m ready to call myself a BLOGGER.  Finally.  Once and for all.  Without fanfare.  Just acceptance that what I’ve been told is true, and there’s an entire world of writers and authors, bloggers and humans, out there.  Beyond my walls.  Beyond their own walls.  Ready to say hello.

So, without knowing what I’m doing, today I am Bill Friday, blogger.  With no agenda, no axe to grind, and no idea what I’m doing.  All I’ve got is a title.  These posts, mixed in with the poems and podcasts, will be known as “Stuff and Things”.  Because, as my friend and genuine blogger has told me on more than one occasion, that’s all a blog, and life, is really about…

The stuff, and things.

POETRY: On the Edge

Okay, maybe this isn’t really a press release, but…

Come to MADE in Long BeachMADE

on Saturday, July 24th between 3:30 and 7:30 pm, for an early evening of books, poetry, stories about books and poetry, and special guests…

Ra Avis is the author of the book “Sack Nasty: Prison Poetry”.

Ra is a long-time WordPress blogger, SACK NASTY racurrently spending her nights (and most days) at rarasaur.com.  Sack Nasty is her first work to be published after 438 days of incarceration.  The poems and short stories she shares in the book are just the beginning of her story.

William S. Friday is the author of the book “A Death on Skunk Street”

Bill has been published both online and in print, billfridayYOUTUBEhosted an internet talk show, and is the keeper of his very own WordPress blog.  After 10 years of writing online for two citizen journals, as well as two long-running blogs, all those years and all those words became the basis for his first book.

Meet Ra, and Bill, at MADE in Long Beach, along with other incredibly talented guest artists, J.W. Gardner and Matthew Blashill.  All four of them will be reading excerpts from their most recently published works, and Ra and Bill will be signing copies of Sack Nasty and A Death on Skunk Street.

For additional info, click the MADE in Long Beach link at the top of the page.  See everybody there.

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