If you like to read, and enjoy quirky, welcome. There are about 30 random things here for you. After you read a short story you may even find some personal comments/insights! The main purpose of creating this blog is for writers. I see so much written about writer's block, and honestly, I don't have it. Occasionally, I write short stories, longer stories, books, plays, one act plays, monologues, and sometimes I even think one is good enough to submit somewhere. Of course, when you submit a story to a magazine that receives 200 stories a month and publishes five, you'd better enjoy the process of writing. I'm not suggesting that I'm a good writer, merely that I can sit down and just start writing.

It is important to write, to constantly be working on your art. If you are constantly plagued by writer's block, perhaps you are being too selective in what you write about. With that in mind, I wanted to share with you some examples of my writing, from someone who can write all the time. Occasionally the topics are a bit strange, but I don't let that slow me down, I love to write and get to a finished product. Hopefully, by looking at some examples, you will say to yourself that phrase that all artists who visit MOMA in NYC say: "Well, I can do this!" That would be good, because you can! One of my posts is about a talking tomato. (You have to be able to do better than that!)

In part I'm trying to get some of my stuff in one place, so keep in mind I never claimed it was going to be an incredible read. You can decide that. I will tell you that occasionally I have a story in me that seems to fit the goal of a publication, and I try to write specifically with that goal in mind. Lately I've been considering publications that publish nonfiction memoirs, so some of the entries you'll find here will have that flavor. Perhaps this is a way to get past writer's block - find a publication looking for something that you'd like to write. It seems like memoir-based publications may be a good place to start, because we're all experts in our own families. I'm using a blog here to share some of the things I've written; the blog format is not ideal, so you need to poke around a little at old posts, to see if you can find a story or something else that may interest you.

Two last items. None of these are finished products. I usually get to a point where I have something written, and then stop. If it is something I may decide to submit for some reason, I'll finish formatting, following the specific rules of the magazine or organization (the rules are alwaysdifferent). If you do see something in here that you may be interested in using, don't hesitate to contact me.

So welcome to my blog. Welcome to my writing. Write, people, write! It feels good.

Please also consider getting a copy of my first book, Saturday Night at Sarah Joy's. All Royalties go to the Hurricane Sandy New Jersey Relief Fund. Please check out the book's blog at:

Thank you!

© 2012 John Allison

Wednesday, August 15, 2012


She drove in front of me for three miles in her crappy little green car

always needing to be prompted that the lights had turned green

continuously eating a taco wrapped in green paper.

She threw the wrapper out the window

so I killed her, for you.

I went to the bookstore.

I couldn't get to the shelf I wanted because a guy was sitting on the floor

in the middle of the aisle

reading.  Oblivious.

Why they put chairs in bookstores I don't know,

but one woman was so hunkered in,

with a pile of magazines and a few empty coffee cups on the table she had dragged from another part of the store,

I labeled her as a user. 

Why does she think this is OK?  Why would I buy a magazine that someone has spent an hour reading and sneezing on?

I killed them both, for you.

I tried to buy a shirt in a department store, but the shirts I liked were on a rack near the changing rooms, and a wife was leaning against the rack waiting for her husband.  I said "excuse me" but she couldn't hear me over her own mouth.  She switched between yelling into her phone and yelling to her husband behind some door.  I only wanted to look at a shirt, not to hear about how he won't do a fucking thing and she's been dragging his fucking sorry ass around all night just to find a pair of pants that fit.  Sorry ass sucker.  She was tempted to just leave his fucking ass there and drive the fuck home, or so she said.  I wondered who was on the other end of the fucking line.  So I killed her, for you.

This is a bigger job than I thought it would be.

No, no not really.

© 2012 John Allison

No comments:

Post a Comment