Author Archives: John Swinburn

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes

One Hundred Sixty-Seven

The phone rang. I glanced at the LED panel. “Club for Growth.” No, thanks, I’ll skip that call. I know who they are. I know they want my money so they can spend it doing things that are contrary to … Continue reading

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The End of Writing Season

Tonight is the final meeting of our local writers’ club for the “season.” We end the club year with dinner at an Italian restaurant.  The evening will begin with the food and then progress to a presentation by the managing … Continue reading

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One Hundred Sixty-Six

Consider this: attempt to write a friendly conversational letter, carry on a relaxing conversation with a friend, take a walk on the beach, and enjoy a cup of coffee; all within the space of one minute. It can’t be done. We … Continue reading

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Memories of Home, of New Mexico

This morning, as I thumbed through an old blog I downloaded before I killed it off several years ago (if one can thumb through an electronic document), I came upon a lengthy post about a trip my wife and I made to New … Continue reading

Posted in Food, Sense of place, Travel | 1 Comment

One Hundred Sixty-Five

Some decisions are indefensible. They are so blatantly self-serving and so laced with avarice that no apologist can successfully endorse them as reasonable. But we turn a blind eye toward them and stay quiet because it just wouldn’t look right … Continue reading

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Psyched, Somehow

It’s just after 4:30 as I begin writing this. I’ve been up for more than an hour, yet I’m still on my first cup of coffee. Sometimes, I measure my acceptance of the day by the coffee I consume, but … Continue reading

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One Hundred Sixty-Four

I am pleased that I’m able to complain about the pain in my knees and my wrists, but I’m not happy that I have pain in my knees and my wrists.  Appreciating the little things requires tolerance of the little … Continue reading

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Set-Up Vignette

Epistolary love affairs didn’t have the same ferocity as those conducted in the flesh. At least that’s how Jeremiah Scotland saw it. He’d been involved in both and preferred the latter, as they were more satisfying, in the physical sense. Yet he … Continue reading

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One Hundred Sixty-Three

Electric power is back on, the sun is rising in the east, birds are flying, so all is right with the world.

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Dream Story

Another damn dream.  But this one might have opened up a channel to a plot for a novel.  I intended to write it down yesterday, when I awoke from the dream. But I did not. So I’ve lost some detail … Continue reading

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One Hundred Sixty-Two

Fear is both a motivator and a demotivator. If that is true, that must mean fear has no effect on motivation, yes?

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Cars, Lies, and Things that Honk in the Night

This morning, I’ll arrive at the Toyota dealer in Hot Springs just about the time they open the bays to allow broken cars seeking salvation to enter.  Mine will be one of them. As far as I know, it doesn’t … Continue reading

Posted in Cars | 6 Comments

One Hundred Sixty-One

Disappointment has the capacity to take a person into a dark little world of his own making. Confronted with the appropriate frame of mind, though, it can simply amplify one’s creativity in finding ways toward attainment.

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Caramel Floods

Soft and thick like flash-cooled caramel, my thoughts creep along in slow motion, their hard edges dragged around obstacles that get in their way by the more pliable core within. Thinking is, at times, an exercise in  patience. When the mind … Continue reading

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One Hundred Sixty

Writing is lonely, but only if the writer craves company. More often, the writer’s friends and acquaintances reside in his mind, living deep in the recesses of an imagination that can be frightful. My imaginary friends and inaccessible villains hide … Continue reading

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Allowing In All Recollections

The conversation stirred recollections. Maybe. But were they real? I spoke of old memories, memories I don’t trust. Did I really visit several strip clubs while I was in high school and in the first years of college, or were … Continue reading

Posted in Memories, Philosophy, Wisdom | 1 Comment

One Hundred Fifty-Nine

Skepticism about the words a person utters tends to recede when those words are coupled with comments that can be confirmed. People like me, though, who are deeply skeptical of others from time to time continue to hold onto seeds of … Continue reading

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Curvature

What if I were to write an autobiography? A memoir? A semi-fictional recollection of things I’ve yet to do, something like a friend has already begun? What if?  Nothing if. It won’t change the curvature of the earth.  But it … Continue reading

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One Hundred Fifty-Eight

‘Honor among thieves’ is a concept built on lies and cobbled together with broken promises and naked self-interest.

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And The Winner Is…

Well, I read The Story of Steve during the read-around today. It got a few laughs.  That’s really all it’s good for, which is not a bad thing. Sometimes silly whimsy is just what the doctor ordered. After the banquet this … Continue reading

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Contestables

A poem I wrote a few months ago, A Night on the Town, received 1st Honorable Mention in the Marie Barton Memorial Poetry Award contest at the Arkansas Writers’ Conference yesterday. At the moment, I don’t remember what the contest … Continue reading

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Writerly Things

I read a short story during yesterday afternoon’s read-around at the writers’ conference. I’d read it before, recently, at the local club’s program, L’Audible Art. I think I did a better job this time around; I think it was generally … Continue reading

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One Hundred Fifty-Seven

Solving complex problems takes a willingness to explore impossibilities as if they were possible.

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Being Early as It Is…

It’s one thing to be awake in the wee hours of the morning, inside the house. It’s quite another to venture into the darkness outside the door, where all manner of wild beasts may be prowling about; raccoons, skunks, foxes, … Continue reading

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One Hundred Fifty-Six

Breakfast in the wee-est of the wee hours is a delight few experience with sufficient frequency.

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