Terry Hertzler
Terry Hertzler
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Music keeps me sane, but my radio is broken.
Male
60 years old
SAN DIEGO, California
United States
Last Login: 12/16/2009
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Terry Hertzler's Interests
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| General | Life | | Music | Jazz, rock, blues, etc. I grew up with the Beatles, Rolling Stones, et al. (and still listen to 60s and 70s rock), discovered jazz in my 20s (Miles, Monk, Bill Evans, etc.), but will listen to anything that is done well. Contemporary musicians I enjoy include Fountains of Wayne, The Shins, Flogging Molly, Green Day, Arctic Monkeys, Goo Goo Dolls, Allison Krauss, Kaki King, and Tori Amos. | | Movies | I love movies, but generally prefer small, independent films over Hollywood blockbusters. Three of my favorites are Bill Forsyth's "Local Hero," Robert Altman's "Cookie's Fortune" and John Sayles' "Matewan." But I'll watch almost anything (my ex-wife accused me of being too easy, which is probably true). | | Television | I cancelled my cable several years ago, but watch TV shows that I've heard good things about when they come out on DVD (Lost, Boston Legal, Weeds, Farscape, Grey's Anatomy, Deadwood, Firefly, etc.). I do watch local broadcast channels occasionally. | | Books | In addition to being a writer, I'm an addicted reader, so books occupy a major place in my life. I read three or four books a week, and my interests are eclectic:
everything from mainstream fiction to history, mystery, science fiction, fantasy, biography, books on science, and more. As with music, my only real criterion is that a book be well written. In the hands of a good writer, any topic can be interesting. | | Heroes | Bertrand Russell: "Three passions, simple but overwhelmingly strong, have governed my life: The longings for love, the search for knowledge, and unbearable pity for the suffering of mankind." Also, many other writers including (in no particular order): Douglas Adams, Steve Kowit, Mark Twain, John Nichols, Joan Didion, Raymond Carver, Ray Bradbury, Gabriel García Márquez, Philip Pullman, Roger Zelazny, Al Zolynas, John Steinbeck, Louise Erdrich, China Miéville, Billy Collins, Milan Kundera, Michael Herr, Dava Sobel, William Kotzwinkle, William Gibson, William Shakespeare, Richard Morgan, Donald Hall, Russell Hoban, Garth Nix, Nicholson Baker, Neal Stephenson, Dorianne Laux, Edward Abbey, Tim O'Brien, Hunter S. Thompson, George R.R. Martin, ad infinitum. |
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Terry Hertzler's Details
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| Status: | Divorced | | Orientation: | Straight | | Hometown: | Mansfield, Ohio | | Religion: | Agnostic | | Zodiac Sign: | Sagittarius | | Smoke / Drink: | No / No | | Children: | I don't want kids | | Education: | Post grad | | Occupation: | Writer |
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Terry Hertzler's Schools
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San Diego State University
San Diego, CA
Graduated: 1992
Student status: Alumni
Major: English/Creative Writing
Clubs: Poetry Editor, "Pacific Review"
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1984 to 1992 |
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Terry Hertzler's Networking
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Terry Hertzler's Companies
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Caernarvon Press
San Diego, California US
Owner & Publisher
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1985-present
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Terry Hertzler is in your extended network
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Terry Hertzler's Latest Blog Entry
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If I Were a Dog: A Sonnet
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Middle-Aged, White Boy Blues: A Rap
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Walking Pneumonia
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Signs and Wonders
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An Apology (and Thank You) to Zooey Deschanel for Appearing Unannounced in My Dream
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Terry Hertzler's Blurbs |
About me:
As a writer, I'm passionate about words and books. I used to own a couple of bookstores and still sell rare and collectible books on the Internet. I've also been publishing—mostly chapbooks, mostly poetry, mostly local writers—through my small press in San Diego for 20 years.
I believe friends and family—and our relationships with people in general—are more important than what someone's job title is, how much money they make or what kind of car they drive. I'm politically progressive but dislike mindless political correctness, censorship and our nation's trend toward trading individual freedom for illusory safety.
Here's the title poem from my latest book:
Second Skin
Terry Hertzler
Our water heater died last night, this morning a cold shower,
gritting my teeth, making it quick—face, armpits, crotch—in
and out. First cold shower since Vietnam.
In the officers’ showers, water always ran hot. Wearing
flip-flops, fatigue pants and a tee-shirt, anyone might be
a lieutenant. That day, I’d sneaked into officers’ country,
the shower an eight-foot square of concrete enclosed
by waist-high plywood, wire screens, a tin roof—the
licorice-black roaches two inches long and sullen.
I’d just gotten soaped up good, water hot and better
than sex, when the first mortar shell blew out the kitchen
of the officer’s mess, killing two cooks and a cat. The cat
was probably an accident, a stand-in for the officers
who would have been there had it been mealtime.
The siren, unnecessary as usual, screamed as soldiers
grabbed steel pots and rifles, jammed arms into flack jackets,
scurried toward bunkers. And somewhere on the base
some jerk following standard operating procedure
shut off the main water supply.
I stood in the shower, naked, covered with soap,
water from the shower head slowing to a dribble.
Another mortar shell took out a latrine 40 yards away,
shrapnel pinging the roof, a small hole opening in the wall
next to me. Men ran in circles, yelling—small-arms fire
from the perimeter, an M-60 machine gun opening up.
Fuck it, I thought, sitting down. I’m not moving
till they turn the water back on.
The soap made interesting patterns as it dried,
tightening like a second skin or the exoskeleton
of a freshly hatched insect. My skin began to itch.
The roaches, which had disappeared when I turned
the shower on, returned in twos and threes, antennae
twitching, wondering if I were lunch.
Six months later, flying home, my time as a soldier
almost over, I stared at the ocean from the window
of our 727, waves like wrinkled skin, water sparking
as sunlight danced the crests, clouds laying down
bands of shadow, appearing and disappearing.
Men are more watery than women. That’s what scientists
claim—10 to 15 percent—some parts more liquid
than others: bones 22 percent water, muscle 75 percent,
and blood, the wateriest of all. I read that once.
The article never mentioned water content of the brain
or the tides that move between its hemispheres, waves
that surge through our lives, at times icy storms,
at times soothing as sunlight or the words of a lover . . .
. . . years later my wife trying to teach me French
while we showered, our bodies close and slick,
the water rinsing us clean as she whispered in my ear
je t’adore—my repeated attempts to replicate her words
growing more inept until I settled on shut the door, shut
the door, and we stood there, laughing at our silliness,
water streaming down our faces, our warm bodies,
ourselves without fear.
Copyright © 2003 - All rights reserved
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Who I'd like to meet:
People who are curious, intelligent, and engaged in life, who question the world around them, and trust laughter more than tears.
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