theLeftAhead

In loving memory of William Douglas Hooker, my dad. I loved to study the way my father wrote. There was a rhythm to his writing. Sometimes I would catch him deep in thought, pen and legal pad in his lap. I imagined him auditioning words in his mind. I imagined British vernacular dancing leisurely in his head with American didactic terminology, Each word tranquilly searching for its place in his…

I used to write on paper because it was heroic. Poetry, lyrics, even passages for novels. I had three or four journals that I lugged around like trophies. Better yet, artifacts from a waning era that few still appreciated. I know that I appreciated it when I witnessed others writing on paper. It was a communal demonstration of the sacred. I couldn’t stand when aspiring novelists assended upon the coffee…