Editor’s Note:
I followed John Swinburn’s daily blog for several years. Though we kept up with each other on Facebook, we never met in person. Still, his posts reliably offered a chuckle, a thoughtful musing, and always a welcome pause in my workday to enjoy his observations.
Several years ago, he let us reprint “Word Prison,” a blog that particularly intrigued me. In celebration of his thoughtful voice, we’re sharing it again with the hope you will discover a bit of John to carry with you. John, my friend, you are missed.
Word Prison
For the empathetic wordsmith…From our Guest Blogger
By John Swinburn, Posted on January 8, 2022
I sit at my desk, hands on the keyboard. Once I begin to type, I cautiously expect words to flow from my fingers like water from an artesian well. Sometimes, my expectations are met. Too often, though, words struggle to escape, as if the alphabet were holding them in a subterranean linguistic prison, waiting to release them until I pay an unspecified ransom.
The ransom, though unnamed, is obvious to me. The alphabet refuses to release the flow of words until I commit to removing my disguise, using tools crafted from words those letters will make. Frequently, I am too afraid to express those words. Writing those words would require courage beyond my capacity to be brave. On those frequent days, I dance around the truth beneath my disguise with self-directed insinuations and innuendoes; occasional glimpses of reality show through the shower of syllables. In the face of possible revelations, I divert my own attention by creating words of my own. “Insinuendo” throws a gauze blanket over the intellectual secrets I hide in plain sight, staring out from the litter of several thousand paragraphs.
My emotional armor is made of aluminum foil, strong enough to block out the sun yet delicate enough to rip in a soft breeze. Even a nearly invisible crack in that protective layer causes it to tear off in sheets, revealing that it took the place of my skin. Beneath that metallic membrane, a gossamer web of nerves reacts to the slightest affective tremor; recoiling in pain and embarrassment at the overly-sensitive creature who resides under the disguise.
When the words refuse to flow from that artesian cavern well of letters, I think of myself as a counterfeit wordsmith. A pretender whose embrace of the emotional capacity of language is limited and artificial.
I think of myself as an imposter. But over time, even imposters can get so good at pretending that they make the transition between imposter and actor. So, too, with counterfeit wordsmiths. With sufficient practice, the stories they tell to hide their secrets can become indistinguishable from reality. With their words, they can fool even themselves.
Fiction becomes reality. Pain becomes pleasure. Discomfiture becomes self-confidence. Secrets become revelations. Truths become lies.
Metaphors and similes are axes and firearms. They are like locks that keep secrets hidden away in transparent—or should that be translucent? —vaults.
John Swinburn thinks with his fingers. His stream-of-consciousness thoughts, usually documented on his keyboard daily, may be found on his blog at www.johnswinburn.com/.
Obituary from Hot Springs Village Voice – John S. Swinburn
Posted Tuesday, July 14, 2026
John Springer Swinburn died peacefully at home on June 18, 2026, after valiantly enduring two bouts of lung cancer. John, the youngest of six children, was born on October 21, 1953, in Brownsville, Texas, to J.C. and Eleanor Christian Swinburn. When John was young, the family moved to Corpus Christi, where John lived until high school graduation.
John then attended and graduated from University of Texas, Austin. He had a long career in trade association management. His work took him to conferences around the world. One of his trips included dinner at the Kremlin.
John and Janine K. Bethscheider were married in 1980. They lived in several places, but ultimately moved to Hot Springs Village, Arkansas for retirement. John’s passion was writing, and in retirement he was able to spend his time writing a daily blog, poetry, and short stories. The blog was enjoyed by people in many states and Canada.
After Janine’s untimely death in 2020, John and Colleen Boardman connected playing trivia at the local pub. They had five years together and were able to take several road trips around the country and a trip to Mexico.
John is survived by his partner Colleen Boardman, his siblings Clay Swinburn Joan Ray) of Mexico, Woods Swinburn of Ohio, and Libba Swinburn of California, and his nephews and niece Austin Swinburn, Ben Swinburn, Anne Swinburn (Ignacio Encina), and Keith Swinburn (Monika Daubnerova).
