Every two bit scribbler since the advent of movable type, every columnist, essayist, memoirist, novelist, scrivener, commentator or toilet stall philosopher ultimately, barring an early demise, grabs his tools and goes a-digging into that most…
Posts published by “Flynn Washburne”
I hate committing crimes. I really do. It's scary and nerve-racking and guilt inducing and, well — wrong. This is why I fling myself headlong and heedless into the most doomed, idiotic, high risk, low…
A while back in the Letters section of this august journal there was an ongoing impromptu forum discussing folks’ top ten literary pics. I enjoyed reading our readership’s lists and was by turns impressed, amused,…
The holidays approacheth yet again as is their inexorable wont and there's nothing you can do to stop them. Can't slow ’em down, can’t skip over ’em, can't take enough pills to sleep through ’em.…
I'm in a private prison now, after spending a couple of years at the notorious sinkhole Tehachapi. It's run by a company called Geo — not, I'm pretty sure, the GM subsidiary that made those…
I've never been one for heeding others' advice. I'll listen politely, acknowledge its validity, speculate on how to apply it to my situation with the best of intentions. But believe it: tell me the stove is hot and not only will I touch it once, but I will return and do it a few more times in case the first one was a fluke.
It was in early adolescence that I first began to feel as if I were disappearing — actually discorporating. At times I felt insubstantial, airy. I thought I could feel wind blowing through me. My…
When the money ran out, we packed up and headed back to the states. I confess I was a little sad to leave Paris and the relative safety of the situation. The gang had insulated…
In the fall of 1970, my family — version 3.0 — was winging its way to Europe. To explain the “upgrade,” which it was in no wise at all, I'll take a stab at revisiting…