We hear it all the time, "the book is better than the movie". Minds and imaginations are so much more powerful than
eyes, few big budget films can compete with what a book can help you see. Some actually enjoy reading the same
book over and over again, with each session making things clearer for the mind's eye. They are only words, but when told by a writer they come to life, to relive the past,
to see into the future, to teach you, to make you an active participant, to make you cry but most important, to make you think. If READING IS FUNDAMENTAL, than the writers and authors of our generation and all past generations
should be state treasures. You know some of them: Steele, Anthony, Clancy, King, Sheldon etc. We are pleased to introduce Grover Gall, writer of poetry and author of short stories.
"I began writing at the age of 19. My first poem rhymed and was about people
"who loved to hate"... Hitler, for one. I went on to write about 120 more
poems, which included several free verse style poems. Although everyone
liked my early works, I burned them all when I was about 25 while in a
terrible depressive state. This, it would seem, was a blessing in that I
began writing free verse exclusively, thereby allowing a broader [and more
positive] expression of my art.
I never wrote my first short fiction until I was 46. I'm a very lazy author.
A procrastinator. I don't mind revising and editing... it's just getting
started. Maybe that's why I'll often stop writing a story in the works
to start and complete a new poem. Fiction is a well-organized,
labor-intensive automobile factory. Poetry, on the other hand, is a homemade
little red wagon. Instant gratification. When I write a poem in this manner
I relieve myself of the guilt of not being true to myself... not doing what
I know I should be doing."
Age: 51
Home: London ON Canada
Married to: Jeannie
CREDITS:
Portland Oregon Journal: poetry
Ridgetown Independent: Tristar, Christmas Story.
Ridgetown Independent: Poetry
Kent County Library: Featured Poetry
Author, Author: Poetry
Poetry and Stories by Grover Gall: Website
FROM "Two of a Kind": Like a feuding street gang, the wind knifed its way through back-alley tunnels in downtown Lexington, slashing into shallow snow drifts now crusted charcoal-gray and urine-yellow in spots. Pale ashes from a few burn barrels were scattered in a hundred different directions.
The chilling winter's artillery quickly dismantled most of the sparse street camps of the homeless, blowing them into retreat-- into those filthy unclaimed corners normally reserved for fearless prowling rats. Only the elite of the wretched could survive such a surprise attack. The squatter citizens were too cold to cry. They had been boiled out of a vacant past and frozen into this obscure present. A few would likely surrender life this day.
Grover Gall
