Stephen Metcalfe

The annual Christmas play It is 1981. A cold, grey kitchen.  A stove.  A fridge.  A stove with the oven door partly open to provide heat.  A table.  A single unlit Christmas candle on it. Bing Crosby’s How Lovely is Christmas is playing on the old radio. WAYNE and HORACE enter.  WAYNE is white and…

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Our is a casual age though it’s impossible to take casually.  Sportswear has happened.    It’s beyond the ruins.  I am, if you don’t know, paraphrasing the English writer, D.H. Lawrence, author of Lady Chatterley’s lover, who I doubt ever went out in anything but a coat and tie.  He might these days.  Casual has become…

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I had a zoom meeting with the WA Book club in Austin Texas this last week. The club’s president, RoseBetty Williams was generous enough to share her post meeting thoughts. I thought I’d share as well. My first impression? Who wrote this book? At our WA Book Club meeting this past Wednesday, we had an…

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Time it was.  And what a time it was.  It was a time of innocence. The words are from the song, Bookends, written by Paul Simon in 1968.  And they lead me to wonder of late, have we, as human beings, ever truly had a time of innocence?  A time when we felt free of…

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It’s been about four months now since my novel, Attachment Patterns, was released by the publishers.  Okay, four months and thirteen days, 23 – no, wait, 24 minutes and who knows how many seconds. But hey, who’s counting?  How’s the book doing, how many copies have been sold in the last four months, you ask? …

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Newsflash.  Amazon has now limited the number of books an author can self-publish on its Kindle website to three a day.  Their concern is that some authors are using Ai services to generate manuscripts and then they’re posting them on Amazon to sell.  Well, thank goodness these “authors” and their Ai buddies are limited to three a…

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