Category: Books

Fourteen and Me

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This is not a story about some knock-off DNA test that will help you discover your ancestral roots.

Instead, it is a story with no definite answers. A story that will unfold with memories, ideas, thoughts, feelings, words, and sentences. All to be generated by fourteen writers–eleven women and three men–who have joined me (Writer in Residence in February and March) on a three-week memoir-writing odyssey at the Scottsdale Public Library.

Our journey together began February 20 in the SHC program room, in a wing of the Civic Center Libary devoted to Scottsdale history. Who knows, maybe some literary history is about to be made there.

We spent our first thirty minutes learning about each other. The youngest of our cohort is in her early twenties. The oldest beyond ninety. They and the other twelve (mostly in their fifties and sixties) told me in a few sentences why they were drawn to the workshop.

Some have been writing for years. They are fine-tuning their craft. Others are new and perhaps a little intimidated about the idea of sharing their writing with a group of strangers. But with time they will learn the benefit of bringing voice to the words they will assemble on a page.

From my previous workshops, I have learned that leading a memoir-writing session is deeply personal. So, in our first meeting, I worked to create a trusting, respectful space and asked that they also commit to that. It is essential, because when people tell their stories it is often raw and revealing.

After we settled in, we began writing. I gave the group this prompt: “My most vivid or meaningful February memory is …….”

After fifteen quiet minutes of pens scribbling across paper, eight of the fourteen offered to share what they wrote. I will honor our verbal confidentiality agreement and not share the content here but suffice it to say that an array of diverse stories came from that one prompt.

At the end of that exercise, I told them we had just illustrated that–like each of them–their memories, stories, voices are unique. What they have experienced in their lives is worthy of writing and sharing.

In fact, we–as writers–have a responsibility to do so. Especially now in a country brimming with external pressures designed to constrain a myriad of human thoughts, feelings, and ideas.

The group has an assignment this week: to write one-to-two manuscript pages that paint a picture of a setting–a place replete with vivid memories for them personally.

To help prime the creative pump, I read this passage to them from my third book, An Unobstructed View.

***

In June 1980, I left my parents’ home in the rolling suburbs of St. Louis, Missouri, to launch my career and create my own life in the relative flatness of northern Illinois. Jimmy Carter’s stay in the White House was winding down, but my hopes were high and trending up, and so would the volume of my days and nights in the Chicago area.

Unlike the state’s long and slender physical shape, I didn’t know my Illinois roots would ever extend far and wide. I couldn’t imagine I would live and work in the Chicago area for the next thirty-seven years–that I would occupy Illinois, and it would inhabit me for the most significant portion of my life.

Yet I would marry; divorce; raise two sons; change jobs multiple times; build a lucrative career; bury both of my parents; find my way out of the closet; live openly as a gay man; discover love again; marry a second time; retire from corporate life; begin a second career as an author; and say goodbye to my Cook County neighbors, family, and friends just a few days shy of my sixtieth birthday for a new adventure and warmer climes in the desert southwest.

All of it happened while I was living in the Land of Lincoln.

***

The room was quiet as I read. Compassion danced across their faces.

I can’t wait to listen to these fourteen writers tell their stories and help shape their literary journeys.

That will happen over the next two Fridays.

The Alcove

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This week, I began my two-month writer-in-residence stint at the Scottsdale Public Library.

This magnificent moment never appeared on my personal viewfinder when I stepped away from my communication consulting career twelve years ago. (I was mired in grief after my mother’s death.) But maybe it should have.

I had spent thirty-four years writing for small, medium, and large-sized companies. Helping them tell their stories. So, I had spent a good deal of time honing my writing craft. But it was never personal.

Finally, in February 2014, I began to tell my stories. That led to my first book, From Fertile Ground.

It is a memoir, which I published in 2016. Now, five books and a decade later, I’m coaching aspiring writers, sharing what I have learned along the way.

On Monday afternoons in February and March, I’ll be meeting one-on-one here in The Alcove, a triangular-shaped office at the Scottsdale Public Library, with other storytellers.

(I also will lead a three-part, memoir-writing workshop for a group of sixteen writers in February and March in a space around the corner from The Alcove.)

It will be my pleasure–my honor really–to help guide young and old participants on their creative journeys. No doubt, I will learn a few important things from them, too.

More than anything, if I can help others by unlocking or fine-tuning their writing prowess and passion, then I will have done my job.

We must continue to record and share our personal truths, our fears, our dreams, our memories with others without fear of repercussions.

I believe that is especially significant at this moment in American history.

Inside The Alcove or outside in the everyday world, let’s all vow to keep writing in 2026.

Because art–and that certainly includes good writing– informs, engages, entertains, inspires, and spurs the heart, mind, and spirit. It helps us develop greater compassion for one another and reach new heights.

I believe we can do all that and more by telling our stories.

Thirteen

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It is inevitable that we will lose some of those we love along life’s journey. But all is not lost.

When seminal I’ll-Be-Seeing-You moments, birthdays, anniversaries, songs reappear, we can’t help but acknowledge them.

Over the years, I have chosen to pay tribute to those I love in my memoirs in significant ways. None more than my mother.

These three sentences appear in my first book, From Fertile Ground, which I wrote and published in 2016.

“She died in the wees hours of January 26, 2013, at age eighty-nine and a half. The air was arctic cold and the moon was full. Every time I see a full moon now or experience the change in seasons, I’m reminded of my mother’s undaunted spirit.”

On this — the thirteenth anniversary of her passing — I pause.

I give thanks for Helen Matilda Ferrell Johnson.

I remember her unconditional love, her letters, her wisdom, her level-headedness, her resiliency, her love of nature.

And I do my best to carry on.

I keep writing.

Eight Years and Four Books Ago

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Eight years and four books ago, it was January 20, 2018.

I hawked my first two books–From Fertile Ground and Tales of a Rollercoaster Operator–in the vestibule of the Civic Center location of the Scottsdale Public Library with dozens of other Arizona writers at a popular local author book fair.

It was a fun, exhilarating Saturday. I greeted book lovers, exchanged ideas with other creative writers, and even sold a half dozen books.

When Covid came along two years later, right after the February 2020 local author event, library management decided to nix the annual gathering permanently.

It was one of many personal losses in a world where we were all forced to retreat to save ourselves. We had to discover new ways (thank you, technology) of being together without really being together.

I can tell you this. I wasn’t sure Tom and I would survive the Covid ordeal. But, like you, we did … with the help of in-home creative strategies and life-saving vaccines.

I certainly didn’t imagine I would write and publish four more books between 2018 and 2026. But that happened, too.

Isn’t it remarkable, how life has a way of sending us a mix of ominous clouds and sunny skies? Often, we don’t know which will appear next on the horizon. Or in what form.

Case in point. Even now as the walls of democracy feel as if they are caving in upon us in the United States, the Scottsdale Public Library has asked me to be a Writer in Residence in February and March at the same location depicted in this photo.

Eight years ago, I didn’t have this moment on my Bingo card or expect it would become a new chapter in my life journey. But it will. My role will include two components:

I have developed and will lead a 2.0 version of my Memoir-Writing Workshop (which I facilitated four times in 2024 and 2025) on three consecutive Friday afternoons: February 20, February 27, and March 6. Up to sixteen writers will participate.

If you live in the area, you can register here https://calendar.scottsdalelibrary.org/scottsdaleaz_library/260120702?utm_source=bewith&utm_medium=calendar.

Separate from the workshop, I also will offer thirty-minute, one-on-one writing coaching sessions between 1 and 2 p.m. on Mondays in February and March (in an office near the workshop location).

This will give folks who aren’t able to make the workshop a chance to receive feedback on their writing. (The library is creating a process to register for the individual sessions in advance. I will ask writers to bring just a page or two of their writing to make the experience productive and manageable.)

At any rate, I am thrilled and honored to be a Writer in Residence at the Scottsdale Public Library. It is a creative haven I have come to love in the eight and a half years Tom and I have lived in Arizona … where my movie-loving husband has created quite a following with every one of his film series.

The next one (Movies That Matter: Hollywood Families 1970-1996) begins next Monday at 3 p.m. Tom will lead film discussions and screenings, beginning with a cultural primer on the American family on January 26. Then, for the following eight Monday afternoons, he will show these fabulous eight films: Moonstruck, I Never Sang for My Father, Breaking Away, Kramer vs. Kramer, Ordinary People, Terms of Endearment, The World According to Garp, and The Birdcage.

Hopefully, this story is giving you the impetus to rediscover the programs offered at your local library … no matter where you live.

Happy reading, writing, and viewing!

Early Reviews

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As a one-man-book-writing-and-selling band, I find myself switching hats from creative storyteller to active listener to self-promoter on a daily basis.

Today, in the waning moments of November, self-promotion is taking precedence. After all, if I don’t believe in the viability of my storytelling capability, who will?

Happily, I’ve begun to receive early reviews of my latest book, Sixty-Something Days … posted online, sent via text, and offered enthusiastically in person.

Feedback in any form is better than silence. But it is especially meaningful when it is specific … when it is unsolicited … when it is affirming.

As this Thanksgiving weekend winds down, I give thanks for these three readers who–in recent days–took time out of their busy lives to tell me what they think of Sixty-Something Days.

***

J wrote the following review on Amazon … “I thoroughly enjoyed this book. The author, Mark Johnson, shares with us his intimate life story of personal growth, overcoming challenges, and being true to those around him, and most importantly, to himself, even under difficult circumstances. Told in the style of a memoir, with essays, poems, and fiction, Sixty-Something Days, shows us all what it takes to be better friends and spouses, members of our communities, and citizens. This world would be a better place if we were all more like Mark Johnson. Highly recommended.”

N sent me this message via text … Good morning! I am just sitting down to read your Sixty-Something Days, and the first pages have me feeling happy! Sixty-five Thoughts (the name of one of the early essays) are right on and I will share some of them as I move thru life. Thanks for writing this book and I look forward to reading the rest!

D greeted me in person with a smile at a recent event … “I have to tell you I’m just loving your book. The stories are brief but meaningful. Strung together, they produce something much greater. I’m about to begin 2025 (the book is organized by years) and I don’t want your book to end!”

***

Perhaps I have sufficiently enticed you to read my latest book. If so, click the link below.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FZM2724S?ref_=ast_author_dp&th=1&psc=1

The Trails of Life

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The trails of life have always intrigued me. This one rises and falls along the eastern edge of the Desert Botanical Garden near my home.

In the eight-plus years I’ve lived in Arizona, I imagine I have frequented this trail of mesquite trees and Palo Verdes hundreds of times on hot, warm and coolish days with my husband and friends–and on my own.

Today, while Tom headed to the gym, I walked it alone. Slowly. It gave me much-needed time to heal from fever and congestion that knocked me for a loop for thirty-six hours.

But today my temperature is normal. I’m feeling much better. It’s a sunny seventy-three-degree morning in Scottsdale, Arizona.

Walking this trail of life, I had a few minutes to reflect on the joy of completing another book … the afterglow of releasing Sixty-Something Days into the world.

Already a few readers have sent me notes telling me how much they are enjoying the book and how much it is resonating with them.

Receiving these messages of encouragement never gets old. Along the trails of life, we all need encouragement, support, and validation.

Thank you for sticking with me on this journey.

It Just Went Live

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This is a momentous day for me. My sixth book just went live on Amazon.

Sixty-Something Days is the story of my post-65 quest to stay relevant creatively. It is a collection of my best essays, poems, and short fiction from 2022 to 2025.

The book is an artistic tapestry of my writing, singing, teaching, learning, growing, and surviving journey … with family and chosen family … connecting one leg of my life (my midwestern past) with another (my western present) during this period of tremendous upheaval in our country.

In my heart, I know this book will resonate with many of you–my loyal followers–who like me continue to strive to nurture and protect the artists, educators, animals and nature, and diverse disenfranchised people in our communities.

I hope you’ll take a few minutes to click the link below and be among the first to buy a copy. Thank you for your support of my creative pursuits!

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FZM2724S?ref_=ast_author_dp&th=1&psc=1

Gone Girl

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In the late 1970s, I interviewed my father’s older sister, Aunt Thelma, for a college folklore project. Sitting across the table from me in her suburban north St. Louis kitchen, she waxed on about her philosophy of life.

“Honey, we’re all just ships passing in the night,” Thelma offered with a faraway look in her eyes. “We have to make the most of the time we have together.”

My beloved, charismatic, animal-loving aunt has been gone for twenty-six years. I miss her, but I don’t think about her often. However, she is on my mind this week.

Not because she died in October 1999. Instead, it is the wisdom of her words that apply to a recent development in my life.

Poly–the gray-and-white stray cat I’ve written about frequently–has disappeared. She’s been gone for about a month. None of our neighbors have seen her recently either.

It’s possible that she has become someone’s indoor cat, but I doubt she would stand for that. She is/was a free spirit.

Instead, I fear she may be a casualty of a series of monsoon storms that swept through the Phoenix area in late September and early October. Or, perhaps, a random coyote nabbed her.

I miss our morning moments together … seeing her curled on the blue cushion of one of our wicker chairs beneath our kitchen window.

I miss watching her twirling acrobatics on our sidewalk, hearing her frantic meows as Tom or I opened another can of Sheba sustainable tuna and spooned it into a chipped ramakin for her to devour on our kitchen floor.

If Poly is gone permanently, she certainly added a playful, natural dimension of love to our Polynesian Paradise community, since early May 2021 when I first spotted her peering down at me from a neighbor’s roof.

If you follow my blog, you know Poly inspired a litany of cat tales that appeared here. They are warm and silly Arizona chapters I never would have imagined writing a decade ago.

It is ironic that Poly vanished about the time I completed the manuscript for my latest book, Sixty-Something Days, which is now in the final stages of production. I will publish it sometime in November.

The good news is several stories of my feral friend appear prominently in the book. The time we spent together, like two ships passing in the night, will have a literary life, because she has added an unexpected dimension to my Arizona sunset years.

Now–on this bewitching Friday as my book follows Poly’s example and prepares to set sail–that unlikely bond between two men and a lovable, mysterious feline character will exist on the pages for anyone who cares to read about it.

Early Halloween Treat

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Treats come in all sizes and shapes. Chocolate is always welcome, but typically not as intimate or lasting as positive human interaction.

***

Yesterday I completed another memoir writing workshop at the Scottsdale Public Library. It was the fourth such workshop I’ve led over the past twelve months.

I love facilitating these sessions, because it’s a personal way for me to encourage other writers to nurture their creative ideas and momentum.

This one at Mustang Library included twelve writers–nine women and three men–who wrote and shared their extraordinary, humorous, heartful slice-of-life adventures across the table from one another.

During week one of the three-week workshop, I learned a little about each participant. We spent time building trust. As we began to get comfortable as a group, I assured them that the room we occupy is a safe space for sharing their personal experiences through their writing.

By weeks two and three, we developed an esprit de corps. They sent their stories to me in advance. I offered my encouragement and constructive feedback in person in the following session.

Inevitably, there were contemplative moments and a few tears were shed by one writer on Friday.

As she read her story aloud (a touching, nostalgic reminiscence of watching the joy on her mother’s face as she skated across the ice in the 1960s free of her typical parental responsibilities) the flood gates opened suddenly.

I and everyone in the room verbalized their support for this writer. I also offered her a tissue and a pat on the shoulder.

That was just one of a dozen or more seminal moments shared over a three-week period on Friday afternoons.

In a world otherwise ruled by chaos, we were a community of writers banding together, gliding freely above the fray across the ice of our literary pursuits.

***

This morning, I opened my email to discover this early Halloween treat from a creative husband-and-wife team, who participated in the workshop.

“We enjoyed your memoir class so much; due in large part to your enthusiasm, experience and energy! The content was high quality, and the tone you set of trust was palpable… there is no substitute for that among budding creatives. Thank you so much for your time and care; we’ll hope to cross paths in the new year!”

I don’t expect a ringing endorsement for volunteering my time. But I always appreciate feedback whenever it involves helping other writers find their voices inside the secure walls of a library.

It encourages me to keep giving and confirms my suspicion that I have found a meaningful way to make a true difference in the lives of others.

Book Six

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The middle of October is upon us, and I am addicted to the pumpkin spice lattes at Grounds on 2nd, our favorite haunt in Old Town Scottsdale.

More important, I am delighted to report I have completed the manuscript for another book. It’s called Sixty-Something Days.

Book six is a memoir tapestry that first entered my consciousness around my sixty-fifth birthday in July 2022. I began to closely consider what it means to stay creative and relevant in our later years … especially in our divisive culture enamored with youth but often dismissive of wisdom.

This book explores that idea in episodic ways. It features sixty-five essays, poems, and flashes of fiction, which I first published here over the past three years. Now, I am stitching them together.

With time–and the encouragement of friends and readers–I began to see a thread of truth running through them: that as human beings (lovers of music and nature) we must remember the poignant arc-of-life moments (past and present) while striving to stay involved, influence others through our compassion, and share our hard-earned wisdom.

Those themes appear in my other books, but this one feels more urgent. More emphatic. I feel an obligation to share what I have learned, find beauty and hope wherever we can in our lives, and raise a banner that is a call to action to survive this period of tremendous upheaval in our country.

Currently, I am working closely with Sam, graphic designer extraordinaire, to create a cover and develop the interior format. Sam has partnered with me on all of my books.

Yesterday, he sent me the first galleys for review. I can see book six taking shape. I feel my enthusiasm swelling. If all goes well, I will publish Sixty-Something Days sometime in November.

Stay tuned!