Author Archives: Samuel Snoek-Brown

A Writer’s Notebook on hold today

Sorry, gang, but there won’t be a Writer’s Notebook post this week.  I was all set to work on it this evening, but I had the news on in the background, and suddenly, with no fanfare and almost faster than I could notice, Omar Suleiman went on Egyptian television and announced that Hosni Mubarak hasContinue reading “A Writer’s Notebook on hold today”

Photo blog 41

“Grit.” In the desert near Sweihan, Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates, 4 February 2011. Believe it or not, these are not tilt-shift photos. They’re both naturally focused like this–I just rested the camera on the ground and let the autofocus do the rest. But I am as fascinated with the technique as I am withContinue reading “Photo blog 41”

A Writer’s Notebook: Poetry-to-prose revision

For this exercise, I’m taking an old poem (which I don’t much like) and turning it into a piece of flash fiction (which I like only slightly better).  After that: why I did it. A Long Distant Line I am reminded of my dad’s woolen Boy Scout blanket, fuzz balling across it like mold, layingContinue reading “A Writer’s Notebook: Poetry-to-prose revision”

Small stone wrap-up

So, I’ve finished the January “River of Stones” project.  It’s been a lot of fun and, I think, good for my process–writing just this little bit every day, and paying careful attention to the words I’m putting down, has made me a more careful reader and even thinker as well as a more careful writer. Continue reading “Small stone wrap-up”

11-11: Aussie fiction review (Tim Winton)

I recently finished the first Aussie novel I’ve ever read, Tim Winton‘s Breath. Though it works within a frame of a middle-aged paramedic recalling his life, it’s mostly a Bildungsroman centered on extreme surfing in the `70s. Lots of hip, daring people chasing down hip, daring dreams as a means of self-discovery. But it’s farContinue reading “11-11: Aussie fiction review (Tim Winton)”

Small stone #31

Winds career over the rooftops, rending the rain-tarps in long shredded strips, flaying sections from the tin. The dust from construction down the street awakes and lifts from the sand and rock, filling the air like a city-sized, ponderous spirit. Out in the Gulf a storm floats past, but here in the city, we hearContinue reading “Small stone #31”

Small stone #30

Each eye feels punched in, my temples tight, my neck old rubber like an antique bicycle tire.  All this news coverage, but so hard to turn away from it when the people I’m watching on tv or on the Internet refuse to turn away themselves.  They face a wild and uncertain future, but they faceContinue reading “Small stone #30”