Tag Archives: the writing life

Tender is the Night

Posted on September 18, 2022 by John Biscello
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Monkeys and Barrels

Posted on June 3, 2022 by John Biscello

None of it was going anywhere. It had been a while. Both things were true. Both could be beginnings. So let’s go with both: None of it was going anywhere. It had been a while. I felt like a dehydrated … Continue reading →

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Fleur de Lis

Posted on May 31, 2022 by John Biscello

This world,beyond this world,splitting into festive atoms,called upon this woman,beyond this woman,to air with no discretionthe favored breathof blue rosesfalling.

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On the Nature of Writing

Posted on May 31, 2022 by John Biscello

Begin at the beginning. Who am I? Who is the voice asking who am I? Who is the who observing the voice asking who am I? Who is the who eternally taking notes on the who observing the voice who … Continue reading →

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Claim for the Meek

Posted on January 19, 2022 by John Biscello

I do not want to see the face of God. I want to see her mask, where and for whom it cracked, the causal history of lines and fissures; want to trace, with blind mute innocence, the light quartered and … Continue reading →

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No One Dreams In Color

Posted on November 17, 2021 by John Biscello

Completed draft of my sixth novel: No One Dreams in Color.

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In the Realm of Imagination

Posted on March 3, 2021 by John Biscello

K., at home, in his sanctuary of a work-space. From The Jackdaw and the Doll (written by John Biscello, illustrated by Izumi Yokoyama).

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New York to New Mexico

Posted on February 9, 2021 by John Biscello

My interview on the podcast, What’s Up ABQ, is now streaming (2/10). I had a blast talking with Chris and Ryan, not only about my new poetry book, Moonglow on Mercy Street, but also the world of comics, Choose Your … Continue reading →

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Blue Boy

Posted on January 14, 2021 by John Biscello

   There’s something wrong with him, my father said. Look at him. Something’s not right. Something happened to him. He’s sick. All he thinks about is writing. That’s all he thinks about. He is blue.    Even though I wasn’t … Continue reading →

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Before the Big Bang Makes A Sound

Posted on November 24, 2020 by John Biscello

Listen closely. You will hear the rhythmical jazz of a leaky faucet. The creaking floorboards in the attic of memory. The sound of a heart crunching beneath the weight of a life, and then again, that heart’s resilient rising announced … Continue reading →

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