David X. Sheehan
I write my memories, family, school, jobs, fatherhood, friendship, serious and silly. I read Vocal authors, and am humbled by most. I'm 74, in Thomaston, Maine, Any, tips will be donated to Camp Jabberwocky on Martha's Vineyard, MA.
My Brain, Behind the Scenes
I am just free writing, and letting go whatever things are mulling and brewing in my head. Some thoughts of possible stories, some do's and don'ts that add a pickling spice to the tossed salad of my psyche, and enough sweetness so as not to lose a very small and fragile audience.
My Brother Was an Only Child
I’m stimulated by music. The sound and the words often stimulate me to board my personal “WayBack Machine”. As I drift on a song, back to an event or place, it’s usually a person that’s the link to a memory. Upon arrival, I close my eyes and instantly, hanging there in my mind and heart, like apples from the largest tree ever known, is each memory.
The Hockomock Swamp
In Massachusetts, there are three Bridgewater’s, East, West and Bridgewater; together, along with the City of Brockton, they were once an entity known as North Bridgewater.
Days Like This
Digging through old blogs can be helpful, if you’re searching for subject matter. I found this piece from an old blog, when I had spent several years in Fort Myers Beach, Florida and had returned home to my home, West Bridgewater, Massachusetts.
My Facebook Blog - Oct. 8, 2014
“Venus, if you do, I promise I always will be true; I’ll give her all the love I have to give, as long as we both shall live. Hey Venus, Oh, Venus! Make my dreams come true.” I still know all the words to this Frankie Avalon song from 1959 and that the other side of the 45, was “Bobby Socks to Stockings”, to which I remember most of the words.
Why I Write
What I do know is that as I read the many poems and stories from so many talented writers within Vocal+ and outside, in genres so vast it boggles my mind; we have in common and we feel the need to say something, anything.
If thunder booms in empty rooms Will no one ever hear it? If you swore the night before Did you really mean it? It does seem ’twas all a dream
Thunder boomed overhead and I ran for the covered outdoor section of a small strip mall, near where I lived in Smyrna, Georgia. I had sat on the circular brick garden wall in the middle of the parking lot, because here, after 5:00 PM, all the shops were closed, everyone just went home. There was quiet here, and a place to lean back and watch the massive thunderhead cloud build and build, though all around it, above and here, way below, it was hot humid sticky close just mui caliente. This was my thinking spot and alone time, away from all people. Not an easy time, because I had recently been divorced, and she moved back to New England taking with her our four beautiful children. This time was horrible for them and for me. Adding to my angst, was the loss of my job and of a woman I had fallen in love with, who broke off our relationship, understandably not wanting to be, even for a moment, be considered as “the other woman”. The upside, if you could call it that, was I had severance pay, and two of the warehouse men, Lionel and Bubba to share an apartment with, so I had a roof over my head. I had no car, but needed to find work, so with a newspaper, I would walk to this place, sit in the sun, read the want ads, and just be, in a place where only God, could hear my urgent pleas for help and inspire my next step.