Larry Benjamin. Wordsmith. Writer. Author.

I am enamored of pianos—if not simply obsessed with them. It’s one of the few things we don’t own that I’ve always wanted. Even though I’m not at all musical. I suppose that is one reason pianos always seem to appear in my books. It is at a piano that Thomas Edward and Dondi’s brother, Matthew first connect in my first novel, What Binds Us : I was wandering the corridors of that huge house when I passed by an open door. Light and music splashed onto the hall carpet. Someone was playing the piano. I stopped to listen. “Don’t just stand out there,” the person said. “Come on in.” So I did. A rosewood concert grand piano held court in the middle of the room. Its elaborately scrolled legs knelt on a Tabriz carpet the color of dreams. Matthew sat in a lyre-back chair in front of the piano. His legs were stretched out and his bare, pale feet curled around one of the piano’s massively carved legs. His hands rested on the pale ivory keys. He stared at me with his grey ...

"The Moody House" We had just gotten home on Saturday, when two black women walked up to the kitchen door. Attractive, smiling, there was an openness about them that made me rethink my original dismissive appraisal: Jehovah’s Witnesses . As I corralled the dogs, the older of the two said to Stanley, “Hi. We used to live here. We were hoping we could come in and see the house—” “Oh,” Stanley cried, “You’re Moodys!” They seemed surprised we knew who they were. I guess they don’t know they are practically legendary. In fact, nine years after we bought it, our house is still referred to as “The Moody House.” We’d, of course, heard about the Moodys before. A local realtor, who spoke highly of the family, once told us that when her own daughters had held a party which her mother chaperoned, her mother had called her in a panic and whispered there’s a black kid dancing in the garage with the girls!” Her response? “That’s not a black kid, that’s Moody!” We took t...

A few months ago, I met my friend Brenda for lunch—we’ve been friends since my sophomore year of college—we don’t see each other often but when we do, we simply pick up our friendship, our conversation, where we last left off. After that lunch, I walked her back to her car and hugged her as is my habit. Later, she emailed me, “You know,” she wrote, “After I left, I realized I could smell you and I realized you smell exactly the same.” It was then that I remembered I’ve been wearing the same scent, Cartier’s Santos for decades. It seemed to me she took comfort in that familiarity, that sameness . Years ago when Toby, our silky terrier, had to be in the hospital over a few days, the attending vet suggested we bring in one of my worn t-shirts to comfort and calm him. Now, years later, on the rare occasions I must be away overnight for work, I leave the t-shirt I slept in the night before for Toby. Otherwise he sits by the kitchen door all night waiting for me to come home. If ...

The death last week of Maurice White, who founded Earth,Wind and Fire , made me, like a lot of people sad. The music of Earth, Wind and Fire marked the beginning of my journey to adulthood. Their music is also inextricably tied to my relationship with my freshman roommate Yone, the first friend I ever had. For me, listening as radio stations played their songs back-to-back was more than a tribute to Maurice White, or a celebration of their musical canon. I was listening to part of the soundtrack of my life. This realization got me thinking about the role of music in my life and writing. In my books, I use music—to locate the story firmly in time, or to express something about the characters, or their emotion or mood. In What Binds Us , the signature song for Matthew and Thomas-Edward is Randy Crawford’s “Where There was Darkness,” which describes the gratitude they feel for having, unexpectedly found each other; the song’s lyrics express what they cannot yet articulate to each o...

Nearly three years after first being published, and having published three books, I think the biggest lesson I learned—and perhaps the hardest to learn—was the fact that as a writer you don’t own the reader’s experience. Each reader experiences the book differently; they are free to interpret it how they want relative to their own experiences. Some will love it, so will hate it, others will have a reaction of “meh.” I read most reviews, and I admit I take them to heart. I won’t say they influence my future writing, but I do read them, mostly because I’m interested in what readers think of my work. Once in awhile, I’ll read a review and realize the reader really got my story. That happened the other day. I got a Goggle Alert for What Binds Us , my first book. It was a review by someone named Richard Green on a site I was unfamiliar with. (I should point out it appears to be a pirate site of some kind, offering PDFs of books, immorally if not illegally; but that is a whole other...

Years ago, we moved to the ‘transitional” neighborhood of Germantown (in Philadelphia), then said to be on the verge of a comeback. There was much talk about The Germantown Renaissance which was talked about breathlessly and in the tone of reverence usually reserved for people who “know” computers and pop stars who appear in bikinis two weeks after giving birth. Sixteen years later there is still talk of The Germantown Renaissance . This reminds me of all the news that short stories were poised for a comeback, its return to popularity fueled, in part, by shrinking attention spans and the proliferation of electronic devices.   I am as dubious about the Short Story Renaissance as I am about The Germantown Renaissance. Short stories seem to be the stepchild of literature.   Publishers don’t seem to want to publish them. When I started shopping around my first collection of short stories, I was told that no one would publish a collection of short stories, unless I’d first writ...

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails…-- Corinthians 13:4-13   Photo courtesy of Steven Tutein, Total Focus Studios My older brother, Michael , married Susie Q Wong this weekend and in a surprising turn of events I ended up being his best man. As a romance writer, I love weddings and this one was no exception. What is posted here is essentially a transcript of my best man’s speech and toast. The accompanying photos are courtesy of our cousin, Steve Tutein, a gifted photographer with Total Focus Studios .   Love does not boast, love is not proud.   In the last year or so, Michael and I started talking regularly—well that is to say, I talked; he mostly made snar...