Tag Archives: the writing life

Springing Forth

Posted on May 10, 2023 by John Biscello

As I sit here at my retreat enclave, feeling gratefully reflective and enjoying buttery afterglow effects, today in looking back through my records I realized: the three novels I have completed over the past three years–The Last Furies, No One … Continue reading →

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Soul Food

Posted on May 9, 2023 by John Biscello
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Novel Origins

Posted on May 9, 2023 by John Biscello

New novel completed.Bardo jazz, psychic vaudeville, bop odyssey of internal consciousness…. For me it’s always been the novel living within is the possession, the spirits dancing their jig of the dead and living, and the novel written is the prolonged, … Continue reading →

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Rock and a Hard Place

Posted on December 30, 2022 by John Biscello

“In a world like this one, it’s difficult to devote oneself to art body and soul. To get published, to get exhibited, to get produced often requires ten or twenty years of patient, intense labor. I spent half my life … Continue reading →

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The Writing Life

Posted on December 2, 2022 by John Biscello

I have always depended on the company of words.

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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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