Hill Farm

A collection of pictures I found here and there online of the place in the Hocking Hills of Ohio we named the Hill Farm when I was a kid (and visited and sometime lived there). Although Fry Farm in my novel ‘These Remembered Hills’ is not exactly the Hill Farm, it is based fairly closely on it. And the ‘Seven Caves’ are pretty similar to (but, again not exactly the same) the Saltpetre Caves there. The novel, of course, is available from Arachis Press (arachispress.com) in print or as free ebooks.

Big Pine Creek flowed through the property. At Fry Farm we have Hemlock Creek. The picture here could be anywhere on the creek’s flow; it is definitely not the swimming hole in the novel but the low cliffs and the gravel spits are similar features.

Cliffs of that sort are everywhere. The ones here are on the way up to the caves. Easy enough to go over if one isn’t careful — at least I feared they were as a kid!

I remember squeezing through here on the way to the first cave. And, of course, had to include that in the story.

  

This big open rock shelter cave is very much like the spot where Jim’s sister was pushed to her death — and where he fought for his own life later on.

Condemned Men

Here's the lyric to a song I wrote forty (yes, forty) years ago, and came on in my files. Sort of overly poetic folk-punk stuff, I guess, but I would be willing to perform (or  record) it still.

CONDEMNED MEN

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,
Live as you can, die as you must.
Men grow old, steel becomes rust,
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Never sing another man's song
Nor follow him in right or wrong.
The struggles all go to the strong,
Never sing another man's song.

We are all condemned men,
Doomed to lose, doomed to win.
Some do good, some will sin,
We are all condemned men.

We are afloat upon strange tides,
Over dark seas our vessel rides.
Who can find the need to take sides?
We are afloat upon strange tides.

Life must ever pass away,
It matters not that we may pray.
None will count how much we pay,
Life must ever pass away.

Stephen Brooke ©1986 

Legible Type

Readability versus legibility: in reading, the two overlap but there is a difference. Legibility means all the letters and punctuation are readily recognized. Readability means the eye moves along quickly, with understanding of the text. Every book should be, to some degree, readable.

And if it is, it will also be somewhat legible. However, when readability is the priority, the eye quickly scans over the letter forms, the punctuation marks, sensing them more than consciously recognizing them. That is great for a good reader.

For a beginner, legible typefaces such as Century Schoolbook are preferable. Reading is slower but comprehension, ideally, is improved. When I am writing a draft, I have that same need for legibility. It helps me see mistakes, lets me make sure the punctuation is proper. With some typefaces, it is, for example, difficult to determine which direction quotation marks might slant, or to make out the difference between a comma and a period. That is not a good thing at the drafting stage, nor in early rounds of editing.

I sometimes write with that aforementioned Century Schoolbook. Other times, I prefer to work with a monospaced font at that stage; Linux Libertine Mono is the go-to at the moment, but others work. I do prefer a mono typeface that looks more like the serif fonts one would find in a book. Again, big, easily-read punctuation is particularly desirable.

Incidentally, though Century Schoolbook is great for writing or for children’s books, I would not be inclined to set an adult book in it. If one desires its look, there are ‘tighter’ takes on the Century typeface — more readable ones — or other type designs in the Scotch Roman style that should be preferable.

Night Rains Release

Today, Arachis Press releases my latest poetry collection, Night Rains. Here's a direct link to the print edition at the retail shop: 

https://www.lulu.com/shop/stephen-brooke/night-rains/paperback/product-95wp5rj.html

Or visit Arachis Press (arachispress.com) for both the print and the free ebook editions.

Fabrication, a poem

Fabrication

I imitate the intimate,
taught each thought I share;
love becomes another glove,
worn until worn through.

I misstate my each mistake;
would you wound me now?
Come again to the same sum,
naught will not make true.

I fabricate, I recreate,
the song I once heard wrong;
my voice become another noise,
ash to ashes new.

Stephen Brooke ©2026

playing around with words again 

A Theological Limerick

The devil is God’s evil twin,
both equal so neither can win!
They argue each day,
as they strive to sway
mankind to do good or to sin!

Stephen Brooke ©2026

Impostor Syndrome

Impostor Syndrome

I am a proud impostor,
an actor on a stage;
today I play the author,
pretense on every page.
And if I play it well,
then I become this role,
another character
I have created whole.
I lose who I once was,
the lines begin to blur;
then who can tell who’s who?
Not even I am sure.

Stephen Brooke ©2026