Actor, Hindu god, nightmare?

Sometimes the mind wanders and a guy starts to wonder about things like, say, how a search engine finds images that have a lot in common. You never know when something like that might come in handy in a plot or even just in real life.

Unable to focus on anything else for a few minutes, I grabbed my phone and tried it with my own face, the one that shows up on my new About me page.

What to expect?

I remember a woman on an airplane once asked me if I was Richard Dreyfuss. Me?

Then just the other day, I’m told, my sweet granddaughter saw a picture of Brahma, the Hindu god of gods, depicted in a children’s book sporting a white beard. Papa!

Source: id.wikipedia.org

Needless to say, I had high expectations for my little experiment. I tapped the phone.

In the blink of an eye I was scrolling through the “similar images,” which turned out to be a diverse collection of men and women – some of them bald, some clean-shaven, dark hair, white hair, curly and straight.

Then there’s this guy that I hope I never see in the mirror. (Crossing my fingers that the link isn’t broken again.)

Stay curious, my friends.

B.J.

Expert: Make it “About me”

Some blogging expert said it’s a good idea to have an “About me” page even if you call it something else, so now I have one.

Here it is.

It’s all about me.

How do I deal with writer’s block?

Update 4/28/2019: I came across a tweet that linked to a blog post about “writer’s-block shaming.” I read far enough to answer the question it asks at the end about if the post made me think. Yes, it did. The following still works for me.


This is like asking me how I deal with the Great Pumpkin, the imaginary character that Charles M. Schulz created. I don’t accept it as a real thing.

That doesn’t mean there aren’t times when it is difficult to sit down and write. Sometimes doing something else is just a choice, a matter of procrastination or distraction.

An absence of discipline.

If I somehow found myself going weeks or months or longer without writing anything, I wouldn’t consider myself a victim of some imaginary blockage. I would quit calling myself a writer.

Red Shaw is at Beaverdale Books!

My Detective Red Shaw novels are at Beaverdale Books, 2629 Beaver Avenue, Des Moines.* (There were hints.)

Tell Alice B.J. sent you.

* Since not everyone lives in Des Moines, of course, the books are on Amazon, too.

Puzzles, pencils and book excerpts

Crossword puzzles used to consume much of my time, especially on Sunday mornings when the tough ones show up in The Denver Post. I did them in pen, no erasing. They sometimes ended in inky messes, where my mistakes were easy to see, but no one ever looked. On occasion, they were perfect.

Crossword puzzle, pen and eyeglasses
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Pencils are for those who know their limits.

I beat my addiction to crosswords and got hooked on Sudoku. The easiest ones became boring, and the evil ones just too damn hard. I did those in ink, too.

Sunday mornings nowadays are given over to more worthwhile pursuits, like writing and bicycling. This morning I decided to publish excerpts from my two Detective Red Shaw novels and then write this little post. The excerpts are from Blood Solutions, which grew out of my experience as a crossword-puzzle proofreader (someone had to do it), and North of Grand, some of which I figured out while riding my bicycle.

Now, back to a short story that needs finishing.

Read on.

B.J.

Woke up this morning

Woke up this morning
to the obnoxious beeps
of a garbage truck in reverse
that turned out to be
emanating from a new
but defective coffee maker
that almost always drips
some of my favorite dark roast
outside of the coffee pot*
so it sizzles on the warming plate
before making its way
to the countertop
in a hot, brown puddle.

* Under the circumstances, I hesitate to call the pot a carafe or decanter.

Did that tree make a sound?

Raise your hand if you believe a tree that falls in the forest makes noise even if no one hears it.

Now, raise your hand if you believe that writing a poem is worth the effort even if no one reads it.