hungry? Have some troll food.

Check out my newest Transient Visitors, Month 2 of 12, Teaser Tale, “Troll Food“. I wrote this during the winter months of Covid after quite a bit of time jogging on long country roads during dry January, trying to rid myself of a craft beer belly. Disclaimer: No aliens or trolls were hurt in the production of this story.



A Transient Visitors teaser tale on football to get you ready for football Sunday

Odd as it may appear, I’ve been working on this story for a few years now. Little brains take a long time to produce things, even if they are only a few pages. I wanted to publish it at the right time, so I asked myself, when would the world be most receptive to “The Arro”. The answer: before kickoff on Sunday morning. If anyone is interested to know, this will be one in a series of more targeted posts (a story about football posted on Sunday morning before football) to see if I generate more traffic. Maybe that’s a no brainer. But again, see above…little brain. Link to “The Arro” here: https://davidoboyles.com/the-arro/


Ode to Insipid

I wrote an ‘Ode to Insipid’ after reading it in Infused: Adventures in Tea by Henrietta Lovell. Below is is my favorite passage containing the ode word. Admittedly, I take the sentence a bit out of context. Henrietta-I call her Henrietta because her readers can’t help but feel like they know her- is not an enemy of milk or other additives. She just knows they have a place and time, and that time is not when upper-tier camellia sinensis has a seat at the table. But I digress, enter Henrietta:

“The finest Chinese and Darjeeling black teas, the truly delicious ones, get drowned by milk, becoming insubstantial, insipid ghosts.”  

Bottom line- pick up a copy of this pleasure read. Once you do, you’ll no longer hear boiling water whistle from the teapot. You’ll hear the ballad of camellia sinensis being sung out the kettle. 

Ode to the word “Frittered”- also, keep up the negative thinking train, it might make you happier.

I noticed the word “frittered” when Oliver Burkeman used it in his excellent book, The Antidote: Happiness for People who Cannot Stand Positive Thinking There, ‘frittered’ is used to explain the incremental fall of European empires (“Sure [the fondness for failure] is big in Europe, where every nation, at one time or another, has had a lock on greatness, only to FRITTER (emphasis added) it away smothering monster palaces in gold leaf and commissioning jeweled Faberge eggs by the dozen. England had her empire; Spain her Armada; France, her Napolean; Germany, its unspeakable zenith. Even Belgium had a moment of glory- though, true, things haven’t been quite the same since the death of Charles the Bold in 1477” (quoting journalist Neil Steinberg).

In writing my Ode to Frittered, I elected a less ambitious course than explaining the comings and goings of empire. Instead I wrote about how I frittered away a day with ice cream, bad movies, and pricey coffee.

Lastly, apologies if the linking is tacky. Despite being diffident, I choose to keep on keeping on with my marketing experimentations.

Had the temerity to write a poem about temerity.

Was reading through Jack London’s White Fang the other day. There is a scene where an older dog named Baseek tries to take the moose meat of a young and vibrant wolfdog, for whom the eponymous novel is named, and gets more than he was asking for. London writes: “Baseek [the older dog] was surprised by the other’s [White Fang’s] temerity and swiftness of attack.” I chose to explain the word using inverted circumstances. In other words, in a situation where the fearlessness and excessive confidence that encapsulate the word’s meaning hurts, rather than helps, the actor acting with temerity. Enter the monkey. Enter the crocodile. The rest is history. Well, at least for the monkey. https://davidoboyles.com/temerity/.

Teaser Tale Number 3, “Death by Relaxation” now available. Intended readership live life by anxiety.

A little something to indulge alongside your Friday morning coffee and (hopefully) donut. Even though it’s short and sweet, as a matter of principle, take your time reading this one. For many of you it’s the last Summer Friday of the year. By this time next week it will be a lot harder to fake what you are working on. Enjoy for the time being. Winter is coming.

Thus spoke the CRAVEN…Nevermore

Last week, I listened to the book Guerilla Marketing by Jay Conrad Levinson. In his chapter on podcasting he said something about a ‘craven podcaster.’ Don’t hold me to that Mr. Levinson, I don’t have the book to check if these were your words or I am just attributing them to you by mistake. In either case, I didn’t know what the phrase “craven podcaster” meant. Why? Because I didn’t know the definition of the word craven. Therefore, I spent the last few days getting a hold on the definition and producing this ode. I think the first time I am going to use this in conversation is during the Jets/Giants scrimmage tonight. Any arm tacklers are craven.

Ode to the words I do not know: fickle.

I wrote this poem after listening to a Bob Dylan song covered by The New Basement Tapes, a supergroup composed of Jim James, Elvis Costello, Marcus Mumford, Taylor Goldsmith, and Rhiannon Giddens.

Marcus mumford sings Dylan’s captivating lyrics. This was the stanza that inspired the poem: “Gypsy woman, you know every place I go/ Even a thousand miles away from home/And you don’t care if I’m asleep or I’m awake. This fickle heart just turn to stone/Going back to Kansas City.”

I felt like I knew the word fickle, but it grinded my gears a bit that I didn’t have complete command of the word to know what Dylan was trying to say. Here is my poem for FICKLE. Here is the video. Be sure to read the little bits of info at the beginning. Simply amazing.