July 3rd, 2010 by Hoopleton

These pages have been quiet of late and for this I apologize. Changes come when you least expect them. Where once there was the incessant teletype of keys, today there is the rumble of a moving truck engine.

I’ve said goodbye to the prairies of Illinois, trading in the Midwest for the dusty roads of Texas. My life is in boxes. Packed and stowed into a fourteen foot Uhaul quietly roasting in the parking lot of a Super 8 in Hope, Arkansas.

We’ve been on the road three days. Out of Michigan, through Chicago, then down the Mississippi toward Texas via Memphis and Little Rock. Mainly there’s just the blacktop. Endless. Rolling by in clumps and patches. But we do stop now and then. I was at the Lorraine Motel yesterday and will probably stroll through Dealey Plaza tomorrow. Moving has somehow become an assassination tour. So it goes.

The South is still a stereotype for me. The history of the Civil War and Civil Rights. A dozen Johnny Cash ballads. Humidity, poverty and race. I suspect this will change in time, as we move further down the road. Further south. Further west. Further into an uncertain, but exciting future.

More tomorrow. For now back on the road.

July 1st, 2009 by Hoopleton

Writing, creating, isn’t easy. It requires a certain level of isolation. Of concentration. I’ve heard it described as channeling. I’ve heard it described as possession. There’s a reason why artists go mad. Why they have a hard time coping with the day-to-day mechanics of civilization.

The hazards are everywhere. It’s too easy to binge on pleasure and passion. To wrap yourself completely in the embraces of depression. Artists tend to be heavy drinkers, sometime smokers and always slaves to their creations. In the rush to let the demons out, it’s easy to forget how to interact with the world outside of the mind. It’s easy to forget how to live.

In so many ways the website that you’re now visiting has been my small corner of sanity. A place to keep busy. An archive of my imagination. My thoughts. My dreams. A thing that I can pour myself into fully and honestly as to not only preserve something of myself, but also, I would hope, in an effort to provide some daily inspiration. Some outlet for your imagination.

Hoopleton has now officially crossed over the line from out of obscurity. Although few of you, dear readers, have posted comments, the readership on this site has quadrupled in the last two months. I thank you sincerely, and whole-heartedly for your interest and continued patronage.

As we move into July, the month named after Julius Caesar, Hoopleton will be undergoing more transformations. New recurring features will clog these pages. Prints of the artwork on this site will become available for purchase. As always there will be more fiction, essay and random commentary.

For now keep sending your emails, keep leaving comments, and above all keep on reading. In a world continually more divided and isolated by technology, as the pressures of love, life, work and creativity press against us daily, it’s good to know we are not alone. That even as we suffer we have others with whom to share our burdens.

On behalf of myself, and all the chimpanzees who busily contribute to this site, I extend my deepest gratitude.

Please stand by…

May 24th, 2006 by Hoopleton

Urban Dictionary suggests a ‘Hoople’ is: -

a)A person who frequently drinks alcohol to excess; to the point where it becomes his or her defining characteristic.

b)Someone not responsible with money.

c)Comes from the book, “Mott The Hoople” in which the character is a lazy, preferring to work as little as possible, earning money on the side by running every scam going. He’s also a gambler and not a very good one at that.

All of these are correct to understand what Hoopleton is.

I will add to this that Hoopleton has a fourth definition that you might not find anywhere else. Hoopleton is the name of a town that I once created. It never existed, and does not exist, at least in name. Although the type of town that it is, you can find on any drive through Middle America. Crumbling. Dying. A place that people have left and only remember fondly.