where the writers are

February | February

steven-belanger's picture
This is the first of a couple of blog entries of my thoughts about the nominees and the nominated works.   I'm in the fortunate position of being able to vote for the upcoming Bram Stoker Awards, a prestigious award given by the Horror Writers Association of America (of which I am a member...
phil-naessens's picture
On this edition of the Phil Naessens Show Kevin Lipe joins Phil to update us on the health of Marc Gasol, Mike Conley and Nick Calathes possibly playing in the same backcourt and look ahead to the rest of the month. Kyle McKeown joins Phil to discuss Fantasy Basketball...
catherine-nagle's picture
  One quite serene day in February, my mother reflected a void of disappointment to me. That none of her 17 children were born in this short and quiet month. And, she reasoned it with passing by this month as somewhat barren, with no real occasion to celebrate a single birthday in our family...
steven-belanger's picture
Evelyn Belanger   Grandma   August 21, 1907   to   February 10, 2012     The things she must have seen; all that she must have known...     "All those moments lost in time like tears in the rain..."
j-e-taylor's picture
I don't have a lot to say tonight.  I'm a bit under the weather, still fighting the last remnants of a migraine and thus am having a hard time with thought streams at the moment.   I can't believe February is almost over.  We haven't had much of a winter up here in northeastern Connecticut, unlike...
cynthia-brian's picture
"What I need most of all are flowers, always, always."
 -- Claude Monet, 1840-1926, Impressionist painter and life-long gardener Every February I long to see flowers blooming in my garden. Alas-that is not to be as February in Northern California is always the bleakest month as nature...
kim-michele-richardson's picture
                                                                        Excerpt The Unbreakable Child   © The groundhog saw his shadow today and I look out and see; winter's bleak, the warted barks of brown, naked trees, sleeping grasses and I hear cold winds whistle, snake between ill-fitted...