I chased him across the tracks just east of Jamaica station. He was fast, and jumping over the electrified rails made me feel like I was in some sick video game. The station was quiet at 3AM, not that I could tell over my heaving breaths or pounding chest. A loud horn cut through, though. Shit, I thought as the 3:02 was fast approaching on the far track which he effortlessly just cleared. If I didn't make it, I'd lose him. Or end up on the morning news...
My legs were burning, but I had no choice. I had to make it.
Showing posts with label excerpt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label excerpt. Show all posts
02 May 2011
26 January 2011
more "love song"
another few paragraphs of my short story "love song". read the rest here.
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It was like him to sit and stare off, despite the distractions around him. Maybe it's what made him the musical genius he was. “Beauty is everywhere,” his manager would say, counting twenties in the coach van as it slid along the highway into the desert. Still the songwriter was absorbed in his musical fantasies. When the thought of having even just one drink with a lady was brought up, he'd fidget and flick his fingernails under each other, mumble something like “yeah, we'll see,” and go back to his inner sanctum.
Another show, another crowd of adoring women, another bar, another night wondering what was really going on in that head of his. Sometimes it seemed like a spirit wanted to jump out of him and grab the first gal it could, wrapping her with its spirit arms and wooing her with its spirit words, but a great force kept it back, made it abide. The great wall stood, seemingly impenetrable. Female fans flocked to him, and he nodded and signed in silence, making those girls want him so much more. He finished with a flick of his hat and stomped off with his hands wringing in front of him. I shook my head.
Across the desert in another town, I decided to give a little more of a push. During the show, I scanned the crowd for a young lady who the great singer might take a liking to. There were plenty to choose from, but after chatting some of them up, I decided on one pretty-looking girl in particular. She was brunette, leggy, and sported a great pair of glasses, the true sign of an intelligent woman. I thought maybe the great musician might be attracted to a little more than just perfection of form. We talked for a bit after the final set, and I explained my plan to her. She was thrilled, to say the least, and she offered a time and place, a nice saloon not far from where we were staying. I said we'd see her there.
-----
It was like him to sit and stare off, despite the distractions around him. Maybe it's what made him the musical genius he was. “Beauty is everywhere,” his manager would say, counting twenties in the coach van as it slid along the highway into the desert. Still the songwriter was absorbed in his musical fantasies. When the thought of having even just one drink with a lady was brought up, he'd fidget and flick his fingernails under each other, mumble something like “yeah, we'll see,” and go back to his inner sanctum.
Another show, another crowd of adoring women, another bar, another night wondering what was really going on in that head of his. Sometimes it seemed like a spirit wanted to jump out of him and grab the first gal it could, wrapping her with its spirit arms and wooing her with its spirit words, but a great force kept it back, made it abide. The great wall stood, seemingly impenetrable. Female fans flocked to him, and he nodded and signed in silence, making those girls want him so much more. He finished with a flick of his hat and stomped off with his hands wringing in front of him. I shook my head.
Across the desert in another town, I decided to give a little more of a push. During the show, I scanned the crowd for a young lady who the great singer might take a liking to. There were plenty to choose from, but after chatting some of them up, I decided on one pretty-looking girl in particular. She was brunette, leggy, and sported a great pair of glasses, the true sign of an intelligent woman. I thought maybe the great musician might be attracted to a little more than just perfection of form. We talked for a bit after the final set, and I explained my plan to her. She was thrilled, to say the least, and she offered a time and place, a nice saloon not far from where we were staying. I said we'd see her there.
12 January 2011
an excerpt from DAY CAMP
here's a chapter from my newly-completed and in-the-process-of-being-edited novel(ette). whatcha think?
XIV.
“You can't do it! You can't do it!” Anna bellowed from one of the benches.
The group sat at the red picnic tables in the center of everything: the sports field, the church, Ms. Annie's white building. They tore out lunch bags and devoured their contents with haste, as if they needed to finish before something catastrophic happened. Their counselor, at the head of the tables, read one of those teen magazines with big pictures and brightly-colored fonts.
XIV.
“You can't do it! You can't do it!” Anna bellowed from one of the benches.
The group sat at the red picnic tables in the center of everything: the sports field, the church, Ms. Annie's white building. They tore out lunch bags and devoured their contents with haste, as if they needed to finish before something catastrophic happened. Their counselor, at the head of the tables, read one of those teen magazines with big pictures and brightly-colored fonts.
26 October 2010
excerpts from "The Actor"
Jacob Goldsmith was revered in the region, humble as he was, as one of the greatest dramatists in the area. His annual presentation of A Miser's Miracle was the social event of the year for many. They were drawn by the amazing scenes, the fabulous performances, and magical effects that they felt rivaled those of Broadway, a mere fifty miles away. For this was not a professional theatre by any stretch; the seats were held together with duct tape and old gauze, and the bare wall showed through where paint had chipped away. Here was a theatre that existed solely for the love of theatre and not the love of money.
For thirty years the master studied these characters, now firmly rooted, ubiquitous in his mind, though every year he discovered something new about each, and their relations to his own character might change as did his understanding.
He told the old American story of the miser who lives by himself and shuns society, refusing to make charity or embrace change. One evening he awakens to find his bed floating above the earth, transported to some foreign land. He meets people along the way who remind him of himself, and of his former youth; it opens his heart. When he returns to his bedchamber he is a new man, and he opens his coffers to help the poor and needy and throws his arms gratefully around his fellow man.
Jacob sneered and the beggar children approached him. “This is America,” he growled, pointing a gnarled finger. “Let them work for their own money.”
...
For thirty years the master studied these characters, now firmly rooted, ubiquitous in his mind, though every year he discovered something new about each, and their relations to his own character might change as did his understanding.
He told the old American story of the miser who lives by himself and shuns society, refusing to make charity or embrace change. One evening he awakens to find his bed floating above the earth, transported to some foreign land. He meets people along the way who remind him of himself, and of his former youth; it opens his heart. When he returns to his bedchamber he is a new man, and he opens his coffers to help the poor and needy and throws his arms gratefully around his fellow man.
Jacob sneered and the beggar children approached him. “This is America,” he growled, pointing a gnarled finger. “Let them work for their own money.”
...
11 October 2010
another short installment of Love Song
Read part 2 here.
-----
At the bar, he drank his bourbon rocks and ordered my gin and tonic. In his head he was working out some new song, perhaps, or mulling over a new way to play an old tune. I squeezed my lime and stirred slowly, looking around the bar. The young bartender was nice enough; she poured fast and heavy, and winked as she walked away. She wore a tight white top tied on with shoestrings, and a large cowboy hat with upturned sides on her straight dirty blonde hair. I stared at her a bit, but the great singer kept to his liquor and thoughts.
-----
At the bar, he drank his bourbon rocks and ordered my gin and tonic. In his head he was working out some new song, perhaps, or mulling over a new way to play an old tune. I squeezed my lime and stirred slowly, looking around the bar. The young bartender was nice enough; she poured fast and heavy, and winked as she walked away. She wore a tight white top tied on with shoestrings, and a large cowboy hat with upturned sides on her straight dirty blonde hair. I stared at her a bit, but the great singer kept to his liquor and thoughts.
23 September 2010
Jolly Bard's Tavern - "Chapter 1"
it looks like i started a novel based on my jolly bard's tavern world. this is the beginning of chapter 1...
-----
A dark figure rides upon a dark horse down the dark, dirt path in the dark. It is very unusual for anyone to see this figure, being it is quite well hidden in all the darkness. But, then again, this figure belongs to a very dark person. Not an evil dark, mind you, but a hidden, sketchy dark. No one really knows this dark rider of the plains of Gujoh. No one really cares, either. He doesn’t bother anyone, and no one bothers him. That’s how it goes.
Suddenly, the brown stallion stops at the apex of a hill, as if sensing unseen danger. The traveller dismounts his steed and has a look about. A small amount of dawn light pokes up from the eastern horizon, allowing for our mysterious friend to see a rank of soldiers marching in the distance. After examining each of the twenty-five soldiers, and noting their out-of-town colours, he decides to pay them a little visit.
“Come, Lightfoot! Kya!” the dark fellow commands his horse. With an agreeing whinny, horse and rider start toward the gang of infantry. Silent as the wind on their backs, galloping onward.
-----
A dark figure rides upon a dark horse down the dark, dirt path in the dark. It is very unusual for anyone to see this figure, being it is quite well hidden in all the darkness. But, then again, this figure belongs to a very dark person. Not an evil dark, mind you, but a hidden, sketchy dark. No one really knows this dark rider of the plains of Gujoh. No one really cares, either. He doesn’t bother anyone, and no one bothers him. That’s how it goes.
Suddenly, the brown stallion stops at the apex of a hill, as if sensing unseen danger. The traveller dismounts his steed and has a look about. A small amount of dawn light pokes up from the eastern horizon, allowing for our mysterious friend to see a rank of soldiers marching in the distance. After examining each of the twenty-five soldiers, and noting their out-of-town colours, he decides to pay them a little visit.
“Come, Lightfoot! Kya!” the dark fellow commands his horse. With an agreeing whinny, horse and rider start toward the gang of infantry. Silent as the wind on their backs, galloping onward.
03 September 2010
Love Song, pt 2
He asked how the show went. I was surprised, but I answered that it went great, that the crowd loved it—especially the girls in front. He said something that sounded like “naww” and leaned back into the sofa, but not before scooping a handful of almonds. He flicked one into his mouth and chewed slowly as his mind chewed and ticked and thought and processed. After chewing for a bit he sighed staring at the ceiling and said, “Missed a few changes here and there.”
26 August 2010
something new i'm working on
these are the introductory paragraphs to a short story i'm working on. right now it's called "Love Song."
-----
He was a singer of great renown, and when he sang the women sank into their sighs and longing. Long into the night, he'd sing for them his songs of love and loss, but mostly love. Of all the singers of love songs in the world, he was most assuredly the best as I watched him there, and the girls all around, sighing and longing and waiting for him to look their way, which he never did, since his eyes were usually closed or looking at the neck of his guitar or staring far off into another world. Even when he thanked them, he closed his eyes and said it with a small bow of his head, then walked off to rest in whatever room was provided for his resting.
-----
He was a singer of great renown, and when he sang the women sank into their sighs and longing. Long into the night, he'd sing for them his songs of love and loss, but mostly love. Of all the singers of love songs in the world, he was most assuredly the best as I watched him there, and the girls all around, sighing and longing and waiting for him to look their way, which he never did, since his eyes were usually closed or looking at the neck of his guitar or staring far off into another world. Even when he thanked them, he closed his eyes and said it with a small bow of his head, then walked off to rest in whatever room was provided for his resting.
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