Tag Archives: Eric Robert Nolan

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I am NOT James Woods.

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As much as I would like to succeed as a writer, my primary existential goal in life is to finally inform everyone that I am not, in fact, actor James Woods.

I’ve heard about the likeness since I was 16 or so, and even I can admit that the resemblance is quite strong.  It is incredibly cool watching John Carpenter’s “Vampires” and seeing … myself fight the title monsters.

But I’m not him.  Really.

Anyway, I do have Facebook friends who love to exacerbate my neuroses — here is a “separated at birth” -type comparison of me and the actor.  My MOM initially couldn’t tell the difference, and asked why I “looked so funny in the second picture.”

Thanks, Mom.

Sigh.

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“Confession,” by Eric Robert Nolan

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Celebrate National Poetry Month — here is a link to my most popular poem to date, “Confession,” which was published in Dead Beats Literary Blog in October 2013.  So many readers liked this one.  Just last night I was chatting with a friend in Las Vegas who is a voice actor — he told me that he is actually making a recording of the poem, and will share his own reading of it when he’s created a recording that he’s happy with.  

I was initially surprised at the positive reader feedback for “Confession.”  The first people I’d shown it to after writing it disliked it; the first publisher to which I’d submitted it emphatically rejected it.  Its critical message and sexual imagery are not for everyone.

I remain grateful to Dead Beats for sharing it, and to their readers for letting me know that this piece indeed has a receptive audience.  (Dead Beats is such a terrific publisher for edgier or darker poetry.)  And thanks, of course, to the generous readers who occasionally drop me a note to let me know they liked the poem.

http://www.deadbeats.eu/post/63481494199/confession-by-eric-robert-nolan

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A Bridge Too Far …

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Shown below is the pedestrian bridge over Route 1 in Fredericksburg, Virginia, linking Mary Washington College’s main campus with … a student apartment complex now?  There are those of us who remember when Giant Supermarket occupied that space, along with a huge crafts store that was popular with the girls, and a Domino’s Pizza managed by none other than my great old friend and alumnus, Sanjeev Malhotra.

You know what makes a guy feel old?  Seeing photos of his alma mater and noting the bridge and buildings that he cannot recognize because they have been erected in his absence.  Thank you, Janet Walbroehl Winston and Russell Morgan, for adding to my insecurities by sharing these pictures.

The second photo down is of Virginia Hall, which housed Freshmen women when I attended school.   I and my friend Jeff once went Christmas caroling there … in April.  “Milwaukee’s Best” beer was a contributing factor in our holiday spirit, which was lively and well intentioned, if not timely.  If that cheap beverage was truly Milwaukee’s best, I shudder to think of what the city’s worst might have tasted like.  Hell, even its average might have been poison.

The third photo down is of Trinkle Hall.  It is here where I took Philosophy 101 with Dr. Cynthia M. Grund, an immeasurably talented educator who often employed science fiction films and books as a starting point for discussing philosophical concepts.  I first read Philip K. Dick’s “Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep” under Dr. Grund’s guidance, and watched and first gained a genuine understanding of Ridley Scott’s “Blade Runner.”  The class was pure fun, enhanced by a wonderfully creative educational approach — it was one of my favorites.

Dammit … now I am hungry for Domino’s Pizza.

 

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The bridge over Route 1.

 

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Virginia Hall.

 

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Trinkle Hall.

 

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Ball Hall.

 

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Chandler Hall with Virginia Hall at right?

 

 

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“No.”

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Had a list of considered titles for the sequel to “The Dogs Don’t Bark In Brooklyn Any More;” ran them past my Girl Friday.

Her response?

“No.  No.  No.  NO.”

So, in other words, my early creative efforts have met with hearty approbation.

You can’t say she isn’t concise.

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Horror comics, a Samurai death poem, and the origin of “Mayakovsky.”

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Celebrate National Poetry Month — here’s is Ota Dokan’s famous farewell, written while he died from an assassin’s knife.

 

“Had I not now that I was dead already

I would have mourned

the loss

of my life.”

 

I came across this piece when I was 20 years old and reading Dark Horse Comics’ outstanding “Aliens: Hive” limited series, written by Jerry Prosser and illustrated by Kelley Jones.  (Yes, there are people out there who are nerdy enough to learn poetry from comic books.)  “Hive,” to this day, remains one of the most enjoyable science fiction stories I’ve ever read.  Prosser’s script and characters were amazing, and Jones’ art was beautiful; both men exemplified what two talented creators could accomplish with the under-recognized medium.

Most of my online friends know that “Mayakovsky” is a pseudonym I employ when writing movie reviews and such.  This story’s protagonist is from whom I took the name — not the famous poet.  Like I said … NERDY.

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“She drained me like a fevered moon.”

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Celebrate National Poetry Month — here is “Fletcher McGee,” from Edgar Lee Masters’ “Spoon River Anthology.”

Below it are two photos of Mary Washington College’s outdoor amphitheater.  (Alum Janet Walbroehl Winston took the photos; Russell Morgan is pictured.)  Many, many moons ago, I was cast in an outdoor production of “Spoon River” as a Freshman.  “Fletcher McGee” was one of the roles I portrayed.  I was not Laurence Olivier.  After our first performance, one classmate advised me, “Stop overacting.”  You kinda don’t get much more candid than that, or concise.

Oh, well.  I still had fun.  I have wonderful memories of early Autumn evenings, eating cafeteria cheeseburgers and fish sandwiches, wearing vintage costumes and rehearsing lines with the other 19-year-old kids.  And that amphitheater was a beautiful place among those tall, overarching Fall trees, even if it was in a state of disrepair even then.

After I die, if I wind up speaking like the ghosts in Masters’ “Spoon River,” maybe that’ll be the place I will choose to haunt.

“Fletcher McGee”

She took my strength by minutes,
She took my life by hours,
She drained me like a fevered moon
That saps the spinning world.
The days went by like shadows,
The minutes wheeled like stars.
She took the pity from my heart,
And made it into smiles.
She was a hunk of sculptor's clay,
My secret thoughts were fingers:
They flew behind her pensive brow
And lined it deep with pain.
They set the lips, and sagged the cheeks,
And drooped the eye with sorrow.
My soul had entered in the clay,
Fighting like seven devils.
It was not mine, it was not hers;
She held it, but its struggles
Modeled a face she hated,
And a face I feared to see.
I beat the windows, shook the bolts.
I hid me in a corner
And then she died and haunted me,
And hunted me for life.

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Can you hear that distant howling?

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I’ve gotten a lot of queries from readers lately about progress on the next book in “The Wolf War” series.

Rest assured — I am working on it.  I promise devastated lands under harsh moonlight, disciplined soldiers moving quietly in the night, and our heroes keeping company with the dead.

I will apprise everyone of the journey as it proceeds.  

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Don’t Look Under the Bed! Actually … scratch that. Go look. Look now.

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“Under the Bed” is an outstanding horror magazine that pleasantly reminds me of the ones I grew up snatching off the newstands and begging my parents to buy me.  It’s a great source of horror reviews, interviews, news, opinion pieces, and much more.  For good old fashioned, creepy fun, check it out and peruse it just before bedtime.  Monthly subscriptions are just $1.99 an issue:

https://www.fictionmagazines.com/shop/subs/under-the-bed-monthly-subscription/

I was honored recently to have my supernatural horror story, “The Song of the Wheat,” selected for publication.  It will appear in Under the Bed’s next issue, which will be released on May 5.  Managing Editor Wednesday Lee Friday, who has a keen eye for story revision and who is a pleasure to work with, shared the issue’s cover image with contributing writers today.  (If you’re a zombiephile like me, you’ll love it.)

I’d like to thank Ms. Friday and her colleagues for allowing me to be among the fun group of readers and writers of Under the Bed!

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Dirty Dishes and Memory Lane

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My big brother and Mary Washington College Alum, Russel Morgan, visited campus recently and took some terrific photos  — MWC has changed a LOT since 1994, but there are still many places I recognize.

The first picture is of the dining hall where I worked as a student employee — horsing around with the other kids, constantly drinking coffee and that sweet red “bug juice” punch, and adopting cookies, cheeseburgers and tater tots as staple foods.  It is also where I worked countless hours on “Dishline,” the assembly-line-like workspace where I and the other kids cleaned all the dishes that were returned.  Wow.  That was a lot of wet work.  I believe that I still smell of ketchup to this day.  I indeed capitalize “Dishline,” as it is both famous and infamous, and figured largely in the formative years of many past students.  If you attended Mary Wash and you know what being “on carts” was, then you are a “Seacobeck Alum.”

Also pictured, in the second photo, are New Hall and Alvey Hall.  (I’m certain new Hall must have been dubbed with a donor’s name in the intervening years since I graduated.)  The men and women I lived among here are among the finest I’ve ever met.  To quote the Mystery Science Theater 3000 episode, “I Accuse My Parents,”  “I threw some kickass parties here.”

In the third photo are Mason and Randolph Halls.  My college girlfriend (and possibly the sweetest person I’ve ever met), Kim Haun, lived in Mason.  That low-lying structure linking the two was a literal tunnel, where dorm rooms existed at the time.  (We quite creatively nicknamed it “The Tunnel.”)  Here is where I partied as a Freshman with Steve Miller.  (No, not the musician, Steve Miller — but the irony here is that my pal Steve was a huge fan of the eponymous star and played all of his albums while we sipped rum and cokes on the weekends.)  My college experience would never have been the same if Steve and his upperclassmen friends hadn’t taken me under their wing.

[EDIT — It was actually MWC Janet Walbroehl Winston who took these photos!! Russ, you scene-stealer!!!]

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Seacobeck Dining Hall.

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New Hall and Alvey Hall.

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Mason and Randolph Halls, with”The Tunnel” in the middle.

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Ball Hall.

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FEET, DON’T FAIL ME NOW.

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“The funk, the whole funk, and nothing but the funk.”

This song was recently shared with me by my editor in Britain.

If people abroad derive their image of Americans based entirely on this song, I am more or less on board with that.