Yesterday, Jerry Bit Me. Here Are My Findings.

Photo by Gary Sandoz This is not the dog who bit me. Whose name is not Jerry.

One of the things I am is a dog walker. In many ways this is an ideal job for me: no people, no office, a boss who is a dog.

Yesterday, I was walking a smallish dog I’ll call Jerry. Jerry is…

A Pal Leant Me His Cottage For a Week to Work on My Novel — Here’s What Happened, By the Numbers

Photo by Tony Butler Peaceful as fuck.

Words written: Just over 11,000. 7 of them quite good. Regrettably, none of these appear anywhere near each other.

After my host showed me around and headed out, hours till I was narrating every single thing I saw, did ate, thought, and pooped: 1.7.

Hours after that that my narration…

A Father’s Day/Independence Day/RNC Gratitude List

My countrymen:

I am fallible. I am wrongheaded and weak. So, on behalf of the sons you are daily improving by your example, I thank you. These sons of mine, hobbled as they have been by the many fatuous lessons I have attempted to impart to them, are ennobled by…

One of Your Officemates Spent Lockdown Learning and Making Things; One Was Gaming Online Sixteen Hours a Day. See if You Can Spot the Diffs.

Hey. Wow. Here we are. Photo - kate.sade on Unsplash

Morning. We arrive:

Officemate 1: [Waiting in your cubicle when you arrive. Has… has he been dusting your monitor?]

Ben. Hi. Hello. Been a long time. Listen, I’ve been thinking about something a lot over these past months. Not sure you’ll even remember this, but: as we were leaving the…

List of Shit I Will Never Miss, Even If Lockdown Lasted Till the Earth Was Swallowed by the Sun


I’m like you. Sad and scared and bored.

But I ALSO am something you may not be: old, both chronologically, and temperamentally. The phrase “old soul,” one idiots like to use to sound empathic, might describe me, but only in the sense of cantankerousness/set-in-one’s-ways-ishness, not in the sense of being…

Wrote this for my show WRITE CLUB. In 2013. Seems apt, somehow, to the present moment.

We were complicit in our own decay. Photo by Joshua Hoehne

Looking back, it is clear that things had been unraveling for some time. A good while, probably.

That first year, there were signs.

They seemed minor, these signs, inconsequential, even. But taken together, over those early months, we should have seen what was happening.

We didn’t, though. That first year…

Look — just about any headline starting “Florida Man…” or “Remains Found…” has got me reading. Likewise when Dateline’s Keith Morrison steps into the Entrapment Condo where some wispy-’stached combover with a tan polo tucked way into hiked-up khakis and pock-marked skin the color of drowned bologna has a spring…

If You Are a Writer, This is Your Time

Write hard. There is much at stake.

Whatever else these strange days will bring, if you are a person wishing to un-crease and make known the origami of the human heart, you will likely not encounter any greater opportunity to do so in all your life than what is taking place in the world around you right…

Ian Belknap

Founder of WRITE CLUB. Essays, satire, criticism in The Rumpus, Chicago Tribune, Chicago Reader, American Theatre Magazine, etc.

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