Blog

Devon School In Memoriam The following obituary was originally printed in the New York Times on Septmber 25, 2001, and is reprinted here by permission. Elwin Lepellier, '49 (1926 – 2001) Elwin Lepellier, a Councilor Emeritus at Cantor-Fitzgerald, has been confirmed to be among the over two thousand victims of the attack on the World Trade Center on September 11. Although retired from the firm for five years, he was asked by the board of directors to confer on a matter concer

Full Disclosure They toured the house with the real estate agent. “We love it,” Mary said. She began to say something else before her wife cut her off. “Is there anything we should know about the house’s past?” Romona asked the agent. The agent looked down at the floor. The hardwood had been beautifully preserved, and Ted Dolan always made sure to point it out to all of the potential buyers, including this couple. “Well, there is one thing that I am lawfully bound to disclose

When I saw the name of the prompt, "Back from the Future", I wasn't that excited. Time travel stories can be fun, but they are hard to write, at least for me. So I settled on some characters and just ran with the idea... Chrissy was prepared to shut the door in the strange man’s face, but he said something that stopped her cold. “What did you say?” Chrissy asked. The man at her doorstep, a smartly dressed Asian man with dark hair and pale skin, repeated what he said just a mo

Alphabet Poem Always Becoming the thing I Care about the least. Demons curl about me, their Effervescent presence has Frightened all of my cats away. Generating energy to produce a Harbinger of things to come, I feel my age tighten the small of my back. (Just in case this doesn’t work, a box of Keepsakes is locked inside a fireproof safe, and that is entombed in a Lead-lined coffin. My name is on the coffin lid, even though No corpse will ever inhabit its interior.) Older tha

What happens when something you see every day reveals something new to you? Tags Alice was walking home from work when she passed “the wall of squiggles”. It was her pet name for a concrete retaining wall that was on her way to the MAX station. It was usually covered with a collection of short squiggly letters that seemed to form initials or abbreviations of some sort. Mostly it was just another bit of visual “white noise” that she encountered during her day. Alice was not a

Sorry there was no prompt yesterday. I was travelling and travelling really knocks the wind out of me. So, let's pick things up with a cautionary tale about what happens when you send something to the wrong printer... Incorrect Prompt The jacaranda tree outside her office window was in full bloom, and usually the sight of it was all she needed to feel better. But the tree wasn’t cutting it today, and she didn’t think it ever would again. She picked up her phone and dialed the

Mystery Cookie First Monday “Did I miss an email about this?” Jennifer asked her cube neighbor, Larry. “What are you talking about?” Larry asked in return as his head appeared over the wall that separated their workspaces. “This,” Jennifer said as she pointed at something on her desk. There, right next to a yellow pad of sticky notes, sat a chocolate chip cookie on a cocktail napkin. “That’s a cookie,” Larry remarked with only a slight note of sarcasm. “Ha ha ha, thanks for t

The One that Got Away Ah, Valentine’s Day. Or, as we in the industry refer to it: Amateur Night. “Here’s a hot tip for you,” Heidi told me as she finished garnishing table 102’s order, “never take a woman out to eat on Valentine’s Day.” “I’ll try to remember that boss,” I replied. I hefted the tray onto my left shoulder and made my way back to my section of the restaurant. After I delivered 102’s food, I went to the closest service station to put in their order for another ro

For the next two weeks, I am going to present a series of writing prompts. Maybe they'll give you a better idea of who I am and why I write. Maybe I'll learn those things for myself! Let's begin, shall we? Day One: Breaking Up With Writer's Block Dear Writer’s Block, It’s not you, it’s me. See, I don’t believe you really exist. Lots of people talk about how to beat you, how to cope with you, and even how to make you work for them. But I’ve read a bunch of that stuff over the

Or, for the love of God, Tom, please don’t do this again! I have been online in one form or another for over 30 years. I wrote and posted bad poetry (and made some lifelong friends!) at the Usenet forum “rec.arts.poetry”. I remember logging on with a 9600 baud modem and thinking that was the coolest. When I upgraded to a 14400 setup, I thought I was in heaven! From the moment I started interacting with other people online, other strangers , I quickly came up with two rules :

The word “blog” seems quaint, doesn’t it? And yet, I remember when the word came into the popular vernacular. Am I old? That’s it, isn’t it? Sigh. Anyway, I do remember a time when blogs were considered cool. If you had a blog, that meant you were an “online person”. And not many people were online people back in the late 90s and early 2000s. Not all of the blogging platforms were free ( Blogger didn’t come along until 1999 ), so blogging wasn’t something that great numbers o

I mean… this isn’t my first blog post. I don’t remember when I made my first blog post. Way back in the before times, no doubt. So, why this