Luceo Non Uro!
Death of a Writer
Writer Hudson Bridge Born in Kings Row, Massachusetts on September 12, 1895 died on September 12, 1989, he was 94. Though his death was expected it was sudden; at least to him. Having never been published his works are unknown to the public. He had been known to say, “I am a writer, and as such I write, let publishers worry about publication.” Having never married he leaves behind no heirs. Hudson Bridge’s favorite poems was. Do not go gentle into that good night, by Dylan Thomas.
Hudson Bridge certainly left this mortal coil raging against the dying of the light.
I met Hudson Bridge in the summer of 1988. His appearance was striking. He had gray hair down to the middle of his back that he wore in a ponytail, a mustache and a long gray beard. His eyes were a piercing blue that held the imagination of youth despite his age.
I was sitting on a park bench in what was affectionately known as “The Kiddie Park” watching my son run from one horse on a spring to another.
Hudson sat next to me and said, “I have a pew full of inspiration, a bottle full of dreams, smoke hazed mornings, left over for the garbageman to cart away.” I found this rather puzzling and I am sure he could see that from the look on my face. “How does that sound to you?” He asked inquisitively. “You look like a man who reads more than just the Sunday Comics.” Little did I know, don’t you just love that phrase, little did I know that Hudson Bridge would be dead in a year. He told me he was a writer and when I asked him if he had been published he said, “I am a writer and as such I write. Let the publishers worry about publishing.” We met every Sunday after that unexpected first meeting. Meetings I came to call Church. Upon his death he left me all of his writing with instructions to “publish or burn, it matters not to me for I have found my fire.”
Hudson Bridge’s writing was indeed a bit twisted and his philosophy on writing was often profound. His short stories include character studies of people that live and have died in the small town of Kings Row, Massachusetts, people he knew and some that were neighbors that I grew up with. The town was haunted by much more than ghosts.
It is within these pages you will find excerpts of Hudson’s work, advice for the struggling writer, the tools needed to enhance your work, and answers to question on how to solve writer’s block. Every now and then there will be artwork by the late Hudson Bridge. I know he would hate the use of the word “late”, he was never late for anything, especially his death; that came much too early.
“Writing is a skill few have yet want with such a sharp edge of the imagination it will cut the pen to the vein.” Hudson Bridge, 1987
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