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Ron Giesecke on Ken Tamplin told me I’m going… Anonymous on Ken Tamplin told me I’m going… Anonymous on Ken Tamplin told me I’m going… Anonymous on Like Father Like Daughter Ron Giesecke on Like Father Like Daughter
Author Archives: Ron Giesecke
I’ll tell you what ISN’T on “light duty.” My ability to read through workplace worthlessness
The problem with cynicism is its ability to make me seem like a clairvoyant. My nearly-superfluous understanding of my fellow man’s entropic tendency towards cowardice, selfishness, and situational greed gives me the appearance of prescience. When in reality, it’s the … Continue reading
Today
Blogging is going to be schitzo. A matter of getting the observational tripe in between breaks. So you’re spared the magnum opii of nonsense for now. And especially made-up Latin plurals.
Posted in Blogging advice, Writing
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Monday’s something-or-other
At the outset it’s become clear that I’m not going to find even the most palliative help for my literary schizophrenia. Turns out, I’ve started this book, Father Elijah, about four times. But my exposure to the blue-screen, brain-freezing iphone … Continue reading
Lewis
Sent to me today by a good friend.
Sunday’s roundup
So now comes the tug-of-war for my synaptic dedication. I’ve already managed to pull five or six books off the shelf, assuming this one to be the one I’m going to read next. And trust me; there is no rhyme … Continue reading
Posted in Book reviews, Books, CS Lewis, Novel writing
Tagged Flannery, Leif Enger, O'Connor, Sherlock, steven moffat
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This was my afternoon
Let’s just call this X-water. Because I’m not telling where.
Posted in Fly fishing, Tenkara, Uncategorized
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Overview: Peace Like a River, by Leif Enger
I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to say here. I’ve been taken on an emotional, territorial, regional, and spiritual ride all at once. I’m actually not going to to wax too profuse here, because really, this book is one … Continue reading
Posted in Blogging, Book reviews, Books, Writing
Tagged Leif Enger, peace like a river
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Man knows not his time . . . R.I.P. B.B. King
I saw B.B. King only one time. The summer of 1985 on a high school football field in El Paso, Texas. But I heard him my whole life. And now the man who admittedly lived within the realms of the open … Continue reading
Box Number Seven 