Okay… I can’t stand this any longer: “JUST A BOY”—my new book—is now available! The paperback can be purchased on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and through the publisher, Outskirts Press. Unfortunately, it’s currently it’s not available in the e-book version but it will be soon! Get your copy today! I think you’ll enjoy it! AMAZON […]
Legend of Love
He was covered in red clay from head to toe. The pasture that had summoned him, was turning from green to lavender in the fading daylight as the coroner’s wagon vanished over the hill. Vincent collapsed and sobbed.
That morning started like most Sundays. The 39-year-old confirmed bachelor awoke early and walked into the morning, perfectly groomed, as the dew was just starting to lift. The mile walk to his favorite breakfast nook was uneventful. His cane made a click clack on the ancient cobblestone back street as the vendors began to line the rue leading toward his destination. Suddenly, he felt weak. His waxed mustache twitched and the hair on his neck felt static as his jet black derby shifted to one side.
Bewildered, he primped himself, as best he could without a full length mirror, and stepping more lively ahead.
An alluring feminine voice made him turn on his heels. Instead of a woman, there before him stood a vendor selling antiques. A rather nasty looking overweight bald man beckoned him with a wave.
Stepping up to the wagon, Vincent was drawn directly to a powder blue box of old postcards. By this time his ordinary stoic presence had uncharacteristically turned into a desperate one. Vincent rifled through the box and there he found HER.
Legend claims he became momentarily invisible as time stood still and there was no sound until he said her name.
Beneath the chestnut tree he had suddenly stopped. A vivid vision had led him there moments after he had held the postcard. The authorities who had pursued him for a purloined postcard, left with Camille Dubois’ remains. A 25-year-old missing persons mystery ended beneath the tree in a mound of red clay.
Vincent, the confirmed bachelor, had experienced profound love and immeasurable loss before the Earth had made a single rotation.
Some say, he weeps there still.
People who write novels must have far more focus or patience than I. Perhaps, there’s an ADHD that affects writers?
For example, my Random Word Stories are delightfully fun to write. But, they end up being book jacket versions of novels that I’d enjoy reading, nothing more. You’d think if I embraced them as beginnings, I’d have a wealth of inspiration for a novel. Instead, I lose interest in the longer intricate version. Like the kid in a candy shop, off I go in search of new sweet flavors to sample.
I enjoy writing poems and short stories. They get to the point. I like that. Every word counts. Don’t get me wrong. A well-written novel is a beautiful experience. I just don’t believe that I have the self-discipline to accomplish writing one.
My favorite novel is the Illustrated Man by Ray Bradbury. It’s a bunch of short stories crocheted together. Ah… a collection of short stories is “like a box of chocolates” in my opinion. Certainly, dismissing the novel writing idea, completely, isn’t going to happen. But following my aptitude and “attention deficit” trait seems the better use of my creative energy. A collection of short stories may be the answer for me.
Have you struggled with similar thoughts? Is blogging merely enough? 😉
I use a random word generator and write a quick story with them. It’s fun! Check out my category of them. 🙂
Here’s my story:
These were NOT Cheerios!
Stella flung her styrofoam cup across the table and watched the golden rings dance across the kitchen carpet. A few made it into the dog water dish. That made her grin for the first time in days. “Bullseye.” she murmured into hand.
The lady wasn’t happy. She even said, “I’m NOT happy, Stella.” as she stooped out of sight beneath the table to scoop them up.
Stella heard at catechism that lying was a sin. She guessed lying to kids must be an exception because the grape juice was NOT grape juice either! Yuck!
This place was a nightmare already! It was everything she feared a foster home would be. There was nothing familiar… No one to trust… And, nothing good to eat!
Jean, the case worker, said she’d only be here until her mother got “fixed“.
You can’t fix stupid.
She loved her mom but good choices weren’t her specialty. Running off to Hollywood to become a STAR and leaving her 8-year-old daughter alone at the park was her latest “brain fart”. Jean asked her not to use that term but Stella knew the word “retarded” was a no-no and, besides, it really fit the situation. It stunk!
Stella had to believe her mother was just stupid or the unbearable alternative of her mom not regarding her as valuable would have to be considered. That would NOT be okay.
The lady sat down beside her. Stella hadn’t even noticed that she had vacuumed the mess and cleared the table while Stella was visiting the “place behind her eyes”. She was the queen of that secret place where time stands still and everything is true.
Stella went there often. Stella wanted to live there forever. Now, she was NOT happy.
A hoverfly that I captured several years ago.
Slow down my children.
The fertile summit is nigh.
Replenish in peace.
The dVerse Poets Pub prompt for today asked us to create a poem using 6 consecutive letters of the alphabet…an Alphabet Sestet.
Junk food tastes better
Knowing it’s forbidden.
Like trying harder when you’re told
Morons, like you, never succeed.
Not being a doormat
Only requires standing up.