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The writer’s life: Hard days, lots of work, no money, too much silence. Nobody’s fault. You chose it.

Bill Barich

The writer’s life: Hard days, lots of work, no money, too much silence. Nobody’s fault. You chose it.
BILL BARICH

Faults Much Nobody Silence
Hatchery fish have the same colours, but they always seem muted like bad reproductions of great art.
BILL BARICH

Art Lakes Reproduction Sea
Losers walking around with money in their pockets are always dangerous, not to be trusted. Some horse always reaches out and grabs them.
BILL BARICH

Gambling Horse Pockets Trusted
A good writer refuses to be socialized. He insists on his own version of things, his own consciousness. And by doing so he draws the reader’s eye from its usual groove into a new way of seeing things.
BILL BARICH

Consciousness Eye Reeder Usual Way
H. L Mencken’s Dictionary of the American Language supplies a long list of slang terms for being drunk, but the Irish are no slouches, either.
BILL BARICH

Country Drunk Language Long Tree
They’re spannered, rat-arsed, cabbaged, and hammered; ruined, legless, scorched, and blottoed; or simply trolleyed or sloshed.
BILL BARICH

Blottoed Hammered Legless Simply Sloshed
In Kerry, you’re said to be flamin’; in Waterford, you’re in the horrors; and in Cavan, you’ve gone baloobas, a tough one to wrap your tongue around if you ARE baloobas. In Donegal, you’re steamin’, while the afflicted in Limerick are out of their tree.
BILL BARICH

Horror Waterford
I walked to the lake and sat on the shore for a few minutes, just staring at the moonlight on the water. Moonlight never gets old.
BILL BARICH

Fishing Minute Old Rivers Sea

The writer’s life: Hard days, lots of work, no money, too much silence. Nobody’s fault. You chose it.

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The writer’s life: Hard days, lots of work, no money, too much silence. Nobody’s fault. You chose it.

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