Joe Boland, pretender to a lovely throne, was born on the side of a hill in Danbury, CT, quite a long while ago. He spent a great deal of time in cow-lots and cellars, building houses of cards at his grandfather’s careless Canadian feet, and avoiding anything resembling Work, which he is allergic to (he has a doctor’s note).
Stumbling through his formative years in vertically-striped bell-bottoms, he managed high school and even a year more or less of college before succumbing to gravity and getting a Job.
Being lonely, he married. Being lucky, he fell in love with his wife. Continuing his hot streak he became a father. Occasionally on foggy mornings he hears ghosts singing in the distance.
Mr. Boland can be contacted through his website at http://www.boland-romville.com.
On Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/joebolandwriter
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A short passage from “This Story”, the first in the collection, shows Mr. Boland’s wit and style:
Her name was Mora. I misspelled it “Maura” in my first Valentine’s Day card to her resulting in a huge fight, which should have clued me in to her temperament a little bit at least. But being in love is kind of like spraying yourself in the eyes with Mace in that it hurts a lot and impairs your vision badly. And it ain’t cheap either. I met her in church (which just goes to show you there is no place free from peril) at my cousin’s wedding. She was sort of a friend of the bride’s sister-in-law’s brother or some such thing. I wound up dancing with her a bunch of times and she smiled and smiled till her face inhabited my mind the way a needletip burns itself into a junkie’s skin.
Her name was Mora. I misspelled it “Maura” in my first Valentine’s Day card to her resulting in a huge fight, which should have clued me in to her temperament a little bit at least. But being in love is kind of like spraying yourself in the eyes with Mace in that it hurts a lot and impairs your vision badly. And it ain’t cheap either. I met her in church (which just goes to show you there is no place free from peril) at my cousin’s wedding. She was sort of a friend of the bride’s sister-in-law’s brother or some such thing. I wound up dancing with her a bunch of times and she smiled and smiled till her face inhabited my mind the way a needletip burns itself into a junkie’s skin.
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I'll be posting my review of Boland's collection, You Are Here, on November 15th!
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