Tom Dinard lives, writes and occasionally relieves himself in the woods of the Pacific Northwest.

His piece about fathers, sons, and racetracks, The Finish Line, was named "Notable" in the Best American Sports Writing of 2011.

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Tom's Past Work

John hadn’t talked to Davy and Paul in … what was it? Forty-two years? Weird what Facebook can do. He never thought he’d see those guys again. Yet here they were, back bellied up i[...]
Bonnaroo Arts and Music Festival, 2013, Manchester, Tennessee. It’s Friday night and Paul McCartney has just finished his main stage set. You look at your iPhone, which still has 4[...]
Kathy shook me awake. I looked out the window of the still Greyhound and saw nothing – only darkness. The passengers were rustling, rising in unison and grabbing bags off racks. “W[...]
I saw him in Los Angeles one day. He was just another older guy with thinning hair and an awesome gray ZZ Top-style beard. If you didn’t know who he was, you might surmise that he [...]
 “This is a brand-new song. This is a premiere, I guess. I’d like to dedicate this to Christiano’s Restaurant. This is called, uh, ‘Scenes From an Italian Restaurant.’” These words[...]
In a new series exclusive to FlipCollective.com, noted music historian Tom Dinard uncovers, through hours of interviews with the artist, the meaning of the oft-misunderstood prose [...]
The car climbed up the road as the mist began to billow around us. There’s peace here in the Highlands, I thought, punching the gas pedal to get to the green arrow in time. This is[...]
The following is an excerpt from Tom Dinard’s piece for Cartel III (Fall, 2012), which can be purchased for $2.99 as an Amazon Kindle e-book or as a PDF. *** I don’t know wha[...]
I’m a marathoner and I’m better than you, Live my whole life for 26.2.   Gonna rationalize, mythologize, Anything to look good in your eyes.   It’s not about sanity, Only[...]
You’re seated alongside your ex-college-swimmer honey, the one with the perfect body, even if a wayward hair or two might sprout from those rosy, jutting nipples. The strains of “H[...]
I was driving alone for the first time in a while, about to head east on I-90. I thought about where I might end up if I lit out that way and kept going, leaving everything behind.[...]
I You’re at a really cool party at a friend’s house for the Opening Ceremony of the London Olympics. It’s a gorgeous summer day in the Pacific Northwest, the sun is going down, you[...]