Book Page

May Newsletter from Magic Hill

Stories and News From Magic Hill An Ode To May Greetings, I’ve been burned enough this spring not to offer the promise of more clement weather and, like us all, just wake up and look outdoors for the odd bit of sun and new flowers. On a positive note, the sour cherry tree is full of robust robins and the wood is stacked for next year. Mother’s Day Gift Idea Mother’s Day is right around the corner. Sunday, May 13th, to be exact. Whether it’s your in-law or step mom, show her your love with brunch at her favorite restaurant, some flowers, and a copy of Lila &Theron, a Vermont love story that takes place in the early 1900s. You can …
Continue reading

Posted in Book Page, Newsletters | Tagged | Leave a comment

June Newsletter from Magic Hill

Stories and News From Magic Hill Possibilities Feel Endless In June Odd, the irony that as I get older and my time on earth diminishes, the promises of spring expand. Enjoy your June. Lamoille Stories and Lamoille Stories 2: A Great Father’s Day Gift and Summer Read In the last decade I’ve had seven books come to market, three story collections and four novels. A decade on the perennial best seller is The Lamoille Stories. It traffics in the funny, odd, mischievous, and occasionally sad goings-on in the county I grew up in and is peopled with characters I knew (or made up to protect their reputations.) If you haven’t met them, now’s a good time. The Lamoille Stories (Vols I & II) have become …
Continue reading

Posted in Book Page, Newsletters | Leave a comment

Last Communion of an Island Dog

I died today or yesterday of fleas and famine – sooner both, but consciousness and hunger haunt my rest. I fought life hard, bore countless pups, though none would know me now, And ran tantivy with my gang, now mostly gone. Today, I hop three-legged door-to-door, my fourth snapped by a motorbike when I was young, a mangled stilt I always wanted gone. Like cleats my dry dugs wither in the sun. I lean against a wall or splay on restaurant floors in hopes of table scraps, kind words and touch. New fingers rub behind my ears, massage the cartilage below, and gently rub the wetness of my nose. My tongue lolls in the sand. The words elude me, though …
Continue reading

Posted in Book Page, Fiction, Poetry | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Fawn In Headlights

You will never again be this alone or alive, Near your mother lying dead in the breakdown lane, And you in the travel lane, trying to stand on spindly legs, A fawn among the speeding headlights, mystified. How did you get here? who licked you clean? Will you, too, be hit? If not, who’ll suckle you? Will a highway crew or highway crows recycle you? I cannot sleep for thinking of you. – Bill Schubart November 2017

Posted in Fiction, Poetry | Leave a comment

From Lila and Theron (June 1, 2017)

Lila and Theron do not imagine themselves poor, nor do they covet what they don’t have. They are whole in themselves and on their land and progress impinges little on their lives. Be cold Forage and grow Haul wood and stone Be hungry Use hand tools Be bold Raise children Walk without light Keep animals Grow old Adore someone Greet wildlife Pay rapt attention Ferment your food Forgive yourself and others Bill Schubart   “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.” The third Beatitude, Matthew 5:5,   “Lila thinks often of her father, not about his death in the Big River, but about how much she wishes he was still alive. She has questions about how men …
Continue reading

Posted in Fiction, Fiction Excerpts | 1 Comment

Jeeter’s Memorial Service

Jeeter’s friend Zephyr invited him to his mother’s memorial service in the Methodist church basement. He knew Jeeter had run out of venison, winter was setting in, and Jeeter’s meager garden plot was now frozen solid. What little Jeeter hadn’t picked and eaten, shared with ravaging critters, or stored in the garbage can beside his trailer that he used for a winter freezer was now frozen in the earth. The church ladies always turned out a fine meal of casseroles ranging from the ever-popular mac and cheese with hot dog slices and hamburger goulash, to the less popular “Cheese Whiz broccoli,” a mortar-like dish made of frozen broccoli florets, Minute Rice, and a jar of Cheese Whiz. Jeeter asked Zephyr …
Continue reading

Posted in Fiction, Short Stories | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

I Am Baybie

The novel, I Am Baybie, is a first-person narrative of a blind street singer in New York City. “Her early life was marked by a succession of tragedies,” Bill has written. “Blinded at birth by a drunken doctor, she was later molested by a foster father and then sterilized as a young woman by a doctor who thought he was doing her a favor. Yet the few people in her life, those she met on the street and the six who attended her small church in an abandoned storefront in Brooklyn, brought her joy. I had never met anyone who saw life and the people she encountered with such generosity of spirit. Only by putting her story into words could …
Continue reading

Posted in Fiction, Fiction Excerpts | Leave a comment

Why I wrote “I am Baybie”

In 1976, I met a blind New York City street singer named Reverend Baybie Hoover whose early life was marked by a succession of tragedies.   She was blinded at birth by an inebriated doctor, molested by a foster father and later sterilized as a young girl by a doctor who thought he was doing her a favor.  Baybie lived in a single-room-occupancy in midtown and every day, rain or shine, she made the subway trip to Bloomingdales on the upper east side to spend the whole day singing on the sidewalk. During our time together, I came to know her and found myself drawn to her extraordinary personality.  Baybie was a woman who had few, if any, reasons to be …
Continue reading

Posted in Book Page | Leave a comment

Why I Wrote Panhead

Panhead is a glossary of this author’s innate fears … a fear of motorcycles, which I have always ridden; of chainsaws, which I have used since I was fifteen; of being immobilized, which I have been, of academic failure, which I have experienced; of bottomless bodies of water in which I have swum; of initial sexual contacts, which have turned into love in some cases; and of surviving in a life no longer worth living. Somehow, the expression of these fears allays them. Is this not the great value of writing? Only the reader can tell me.  

Posted in Book Page | Leave a comment

Why I Wrote Photographic Memory

Photographic Memory is as close as I will ever come to an autobiography. I’ve always felt the need to write about my own dichotomous childhood, though the story is masked in considerable fictitious leitmotifs and characters. The protagonist is born into an “Our Crowd” family of New York merchants, artists and bankers at the very end of World War II, which has already claimed his natural father. He is then raised from the age of two in a small French-Canadian, Catholic step-family in a farming community in Northern Vermont. His occasional travels back and forth between these two cultures will define him as a person, though the cultural contrasts prove irreconcilable for him as a child. Like so much of what comes …
Continue reading

Posted in Book Page | Leave a comment