Gaining Traction

Beyond Words picked up my essay, Shimmer for their March 2026, literary magazine. I am gaining traction just when I needed it. I have been struggling with the rewrites to the memoir.

Lately, I’ve been deep in the weeds with rewrites on the memoir, trying to apply all the feedback I’ve received. Every note has been positive, which makes it both better and harder. It’s not about whether I can write — it’s about shaping the story in the best way.

My friend Ariel, the wife of a coworker and a fellow memoirist, has been a big help. Still, I’m wrestling with the same questions every writer faces: What stays? What goes? What’s missing? And where does it all belong?

Gia seems to have left Detroit. She hasn’t shown up anywhere lately. My guess? She went back to Rhode Island to see her family before heading down to Tampa for the winter.

A couple of weeks ago, Max asked me to help him change his oil. Said his car was blowing a cloud of white smoke every time he started it. I told him an oil change wasn’t going to fix that. White smoke means a head gasket problem. He decided to trade it in for a new Ford Maverick instead.k.

Max's mom helped him get the new truck. Honestly, I would not have. It is not teaching him any responsibility; it probably strapped him with a five or six-year car payment. 

For those wondering, I will be making an appearance as Willy Wonka for Tinkerbell's Halloween display. My custom is a cross between Gene Wilder and Johnny Depp.

More Wonka

 Sunday, I drove across town to help Tinkerbell set out her Halloween display. She doesn't do a scary theme. She feels they get too many kids and doesn't want to scare them. She is really enthusiastic about Halloween.  She has been working on her creations for ten months. 

This year's theme is Willy Wonka. When I arrived, Tink was trimming back plants around the front of her condo. There is something very nostalgic about hanging out with Tink. Listening to her exaggerated groans as she pulls plants from the ground is uniquely her--like walking past a bakery and smelling cinnamon. 

"Help me get the cookie," Tinkerbell says.

She leads me to a narrow hall closet where a giant, round object wrapped in plastic is wedged. I struggle to remove it, wondering how she managed to put it in there in the first place. She reveals the cookie. It is a glossy recreation of a chocolate chunk cookie with M &M's, three feet in diameter.

We place the cookie next to the air conditioner. Then I am assigned to cover the bushes in lights and purple gauze. 

Next come giant lollipops and candy confections — a Pop-Tart, cupcake, and ice cream cone. Each with intricate details. 

Tinks boyfriend comes out to help, but he mostly stays out of the way. He knows better then to incure her sharp tongue when she is working. I don't hold back. Tinkerbell bicker good-naturedly over details.

They want me to dress up as Willy Wonka for Halloween and join them. I haven't decided yet. It is a long drive.

Dog Days of Summer

 Wild Sound turned one of my short pieces into an audio read.  You can hear it from any of the links below.

https://youtu.be/4L5kP-35FcA

https://www.wildsound.ca/videos/dog-days-of-summer

https://festivalforfamily.com/2025/09/29/family-short-story-dog-days-of-summer-by-david-pizzurro/

And That's Okay

I wished Billy a happy birthday today. She told me she’s thriving and sent a couple of pictures of her daughter—she’s adorable. I told Billie that motherhood was always where she belonged. She agreed, saying it’s given her a whole new perspective.

She also said she thinks of me often. I can say the same. We bonded through trauma, but these days our connection feels less about what we endured and more about acknowledging that we survived.

Since my divorce, I haven’t had many meaningful relationships. That’s why it matters when someone like Billy remembers me as a positive part of her story. Even with Tinkerbell, for all the chaos, there’s still a mutual respect and acknowledgment.

Gia was different. With her, I did everything right—or as right as I knew how—and still didn’t get the ending I wanted. She walked away and erased the relationship completely.

The irony is that Gia probably would have stayed longer in a messy, chaotic relationship. But I’m not built that way anymore.

And that's okay.

Running On

Gia and I sit in the Buick, waiting in line for gas at BJ’s. A cool summer morning filters sunlight through the windshield, warming us in the stillness.

I turn up the radio. A lull between songs, the murmur of a concert crowd—and then it begins. A pulsing rhythm. Jackson Browne’s Running On Empty, an iconic moment recorded live in Columbia, Maryland, 1977.

Lookin' out at the road rushin' under my wheels
Lookin' back at the years gone by like so many summer fields

Gia has lived in eight or ten cities in twenty years. No roots, nothing sustained. Always running to the next city.

Gotta do what you can just to keep your love alive
Tryin' not to confuse it with what you do to survive

She runs from connecting, from herself. Surviving behind walls so thick they’ve become her identity. Pushing away anyone who might slip inside.

I look around for the friends that I used to turn to to pull me through
Lookin' into their eyes, I see them runnin' too

It seems like a sad existence, but it’s all she’s ever known. Performance as armor. Survival as self.

When she stopped trying, so did I. It’s hard to see value in someone who doesn’t see it in themselves. But she still lingers—in song, in unanswered questions I still try to understand.

I turn to her and say, “This is your theme song.”

Honey, you really tempt me, you know, the way you look so kind
I'd love to stick around, but I'm runnin' behind…Running On Empty, by Jackson Browne

Gia listens for a moment, then shakes her head. She disagrees.

But I don’t.

Fragments

I worked on a piece over the weekend. It was a condensed version of Chapter 2 from my revised Memoir.  The new piece was for an upcoming anthology for Beyond Words. It was a one-word call: Father, which is the theme of the anthology.  I received this today:

I am happy to inform you that your piece Fragments has been selected and will feature in our father-themed anthology!

We will be in touch later in 2025 with further information.

Until then, congratulations and take care,

Gal Slonim

Editor

on behalf of the Editorial Board

Beyond Words

Memoirs

Friday, I went out to eat with a coworker, Wennie, and her wife, Ariel. It was Wennie’s idea for us to meet—Ariel is working on a memoir, too. They recently moved to Michigan after many years in California. Ariel is my age; Wennie is about a decade younger, one of those people who could easily pass for much younger.

Ariel’s health seemed fragile. She walked with difficulty, horn-rimmed glasses perched too small on her face. Her quiet appearance didn’t give away the colorful past she lived on the West Coast.

Once we swapped a few stories, I felt at ease talking about my own book. We exchanged emails and agreed to share writing. I’ll admit—I’m always a little intimidated by people like Ariel who have taken real writing classes. I’ve had no formal training; everything I’ve learned came from mistakes.

But Ariel had been part of a group of writers in California, and it reminded me how important it is to connect with others who share the same interests.