harry hogg
Bio
My life began beneath a shrub on a roundabout in Gants Hill, Essex, U.K. (No, I’m not Moses!) I was found by a young couple leaving the Odeon cinema having spent their evening watching a Spencer Tracy movie.
The rest, as they say, is history
Stories (30/0)
The Shadow of Regret
Moonlight bathes the bed, washing away darkness, making the shadows gather in one corner. There is a woman under the covers, she is lying in a fetal position, beads of sweat, made silver by the moon, dampen her forehead. She is whimpering, troubled by what she sees in her sleep.
By harry hogg2 years ago in Fiction
The Telephone Call
Tom Schofield strove at his work high above the waves. Words forming lines before a swishing pencil tore and took them out, and the air filled with whispered profanities. By nightfall, four thousand words were written down; hard bitten words that came not from inspiration but persistence and the belief that he is a writer, and that this word alone implies professionalism. He cannot afford the luxury of sitting around waiting for inspiration to draft the books for him; it never had, it never would.
By harry hogg2 years ago in Fiction
We are Creating Another Breed of American
Mrs. Braebrooke, our classroom teacher, rolled down a map of the world from its anchorage on the ceiling. The width of the map stretched almost across the room. She held a long thin cane in her hand, similar to one dad might tie up tomatoes, and pointed to a large landmass. “This is the New World,” she said, "popularly thought to have been discovered by Colombus, for the Spanish Crown, looking for a new shipping route to Asia, over here.” The point of the cane slid across the vinyl and stopped with a hard tap, and then slid back again. "Today this land is known as America."
By harry hogg2 years ago in Education
Writing Dialogue
Just my own experience. I’ve heard that talking to oneself was once considered a sign that you need taking away and putting in a straitjacket. You’ve only to stand on a street corner and everybody who passes you will appear as someone talking to themselves. Of course, this is not true, they are simply talking into a cell phone. But did you ever listen in? I can’t count the number of times I’ve walked alongside a person talking on a cell phone, not to be rude, or intrude on their conversation, but listening to their speech.
By harry hogg2 years ago in Education
San Francisco Extremes
The night heat is heavy and brutal. The beer cold. I pull a twenty-dollar bill from my wallet and toss it on the bar. Market street is heaving with people. In the sky, lightning zips up clouds, but no rain is falling. The air is burning, ash covering cars. I think of the firefighters north of here. What they would give for a rest and a cold beer.
By harry hogg2 years ago in Confessions
Does a Kiss Change Anything?. Top Story - January 2022.
Sure, I was the kid with the winning smile, the young heart who talked too quickly and too loudly of the love he owned and wished to give away. Religion changed that. When I was twelve, Mrs. Braebrooke told me that Jesus found life difficult because he believed in honesty and faithfulness and that having a generous spirit led him to be abused, scoffed at for His gentleness. So, I and my winning smile thought it was time to find another way.
By harry hogg2 years ago in Confessions
With The Next Wave
Liquid sunlight fuses with the morning fog rolling up and over the hills along the coastline. Inexhaustible waves bringing forward new objects. A young tail-wagging Reckless runs after seagulls. But an aging Ragged soon gives up the chase. Their paw prints erased by the incoming tide. What about my footprints in life? The ones leading to shame, all those places left; love voiced but goodbyes never spoken.
By harry hogg3 years ago in Poets
America falling into Civil War
When Trump is talking, I can feel my I.Q. dropping rapidly, like a thermometer placed in a freezer. When it has dropped sufficiently, about a minute into the Big Lie, I fall into a coma. I’m not suggesting that Trump is boring, no, no, it’s not that simple. His sincerity is a little…what shall I say… off?
By harry hogg3 years ago in The Swamp