Didn't go to film school, the first shoots I was on were as writer/producer. Never noticed how the sound recording device was special, designed to run exactly the same speed as the camera, so what was said in front ot…

Trevor's got a late meeting so instead of getting to bed right away, I'm writing. I told myself that Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday would be novel days — I plan to be holding that book in my hands next July,…

Last week, Gwen, a friend for 50+ years, was couch surfing in my living room. Meeting her all those years ago changed my life. I had hired her to direct and edit some dramatic short films that I wrote and…

She sat alone on the quiet, empty stage, well before curtain time, well before any audience would be seated. She fancied she could hear the decades’ echoes, famous spirits whispering throughout the space, and she felt in good company, which…

I turned 73 years old this year. It has its perks. Women smile at me on the street more than ever before. Really, I’m not imagining it. Mostly they’re my age; there’s sometimes a nice flicker of acknowledgement or familiarity…

An all- too-often - dream……though less frequent than when I first retired, took place, naturally, in some large theatre or other…..often a combination of a huge sports arena, a large Broadway theatre, or small ratty off- Broadway venue…..all the performing…

(Follows on the last two sections.) “Whoa, you going somewhere, buddy?” He grabbed hold of my arm and steered me back into the restaurant. “My dad—” I began. “I know, I know. But you’re really going to want to hear…

One weekday afternoon when I was 4 and my mother was working, I was sitting on the kitchen floor, playing. At the kitchen table, my father was staring at a letter of acceptance from an engineering school hundreds of miles…

Portrait of a worker in black and white I have a good friend who has fallen on hard times. You say he didn’t fall, he was pushed. He went to vocational high school and found he loved metal work. People…

“…….creeps in this petty pace , From day to day, To the last syllable Of recorded time; And all our yesterdays have lighted fools The way to dusty death. Out, out brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, A poor…

At the close of this week, as I am lifted gradually out of a low mood by medications and mindfulness, I find myself grateful for memory and creativity, as well as for the oxymoron of a sporadic form of consistency.…