Author, Journalist, Producer, Poet Living in Los Angeles

The Working Poet Radio Show Live at the Los Angeles Public Library

Posted on March 23, 2014

I’m thrilled to announce that #TheWorkingPoetRadioShow (WPRS) is now sponsored by the Los Angeles Public Library and the literature and fiction department. It’s truly an honor to be working with such great people and an historic LA institution. We’re going to be launching our brand new website in the next couple of days; meantime, check out the flyer for our first live show. It’s a new talk show (radio and television) that explores the working life of creative people: from the nanotechnologist to the graphic designer to a film director to an actual poet. Come check us out on Wednesday, April 9 at 7 p.m.

WPRS_First show flyer

I was on Books and Booze: Check out the interview

Posted on March 6, 2014

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Two weeks ago, I was a guest on the fantastic podcast, Books and Booze, to talk about my new horror story, “The Castle on the Hill,” in a new anthology from Sirens Call Publications. On the show, I talked about everything from mental illness to scotch to Miley Cyrus. Check out the interview here: Joseph Lapin, Episode 81.

Rockwell’s Camera Phone: A New Project

Posted on February 18, 2014

Rockwell's Grand openingI’ve created a new project that poses the question: “How would Norman Rockwell see our world today?” Check it out here: http://www.rockwellscameraphone.com. Also, big news coming regarding The Working Poet Radio Show. Stay tuned.

The Bungalow in Santa Monica during the BCS Championship

Posted on January 9, 2014

Last week, countless college football fans showed up in Los Angeles. A lot of them seemed to be at The Bungalow in Santa Monica — an excellent lounge at the Fairmont Miramar Hotel. I took some photos.

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Echoes of the Past with Joseph A. Lapin

Posted on December 6, 2013

josephalapin:

This appeared on “The Sirens Song.” I talk about the inspiration behind my latest horror story: “The Castle on the Hill.”

Originally posted on The Sirens Song:

At the end of September, Sirens Call Publications released Mental Ward: Echoes of the Past. Twelve authors wrote stories that will take seat in your mind and chill you to the bone. As with all of our anthologies, we like to learn why the authors wrote their particular stories and invite them all to write something that speaks to their inspiration. The Castle on the Hill was Joseph A. Lapin’s contribution and he has agreed to step into the past with us and tell us what made the story speak to him. But before we get to that, let’s learn a little more about Joseph…

Joe BioJoseph Lapin is a journalist, author, and poet living in Los Angeles, California. He is a contributing writer at the LA Weekly, and his work has appeared inSalon, The Rattling Wall, Pacific Standard, OC Weekly, Sliver of Stone Magazine, The Village Voice, and Literary…

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Dealing with Grief on Thanksgiving

Posted on November 28, 2013

Grielf on Thanksgiving

I don’t have a big family. We’ve been scattered across the globe: the result of war, struggling economies, and divorce. And since my grandparents died, Thanksgiving at my home in Clinton, Massachusetts, is usually just my mother, brother and me sitting quietly around a table, scooping brown mush, white mush, and microwaved vegetables onto our plates, ignoring the palpable presence of those who are gone or never there. Back when they were more than just a memory, my grandparents always broke the quiet by sharing stories about New York City during the Great Depression—or the day they brought my mother home from the adoption agency. Now I just watch the candles burn in the center of the table, believing I can hear the wick gasping. Then I begin to hear my grandparents’ voices. I know they aren’t real, but their haunting timbre is too much to bear. So, stuffed with turkey and various shades of mush, I walk into the living room where our out-of-tune piano sits like a coffin. I play a basic chord progression, pressing down on the jagged keys. Then my brother leaves the table to sit next to me on the wooden bench that creaks like pews in church, and he pushes down on the root notes of my chords in a higher register, creating something bordering on harmony. My mother stays at the table and listens, scanning through memories. Some Thanksgivings she joins in and sings with us, other times she just listens from the dining room, smoking Marlboro Reds and waiting for the phone to ring, for a voice, for a family looking for those who are missing.

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