There was something in the way that his shoulders slumped. Perhaps there was too much breath in his sigh, in the barely audible groan that accompanied it. His eyes, always so alive and inquisitive seemed dimmed, focused too much on the ground. Whatever it was that tipped Joanna off, she knew without Kevin saying a word that his day was too long to forget over one drink.Continue reading “sober”
“May I never be complete.
May I never be content.
May I never be perfect.”
– Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club
“A man must have a code.”
– “Bunk” Moreland
Writing these entries has always been an interesting experience. For those who have never used WordPress, you click “New Post” and are greeted with a nearly blank screen, only the margins filled in with your admin navigation. In the space between the sudden stop and now, this software has been updated several times and with those updates, a new, more streamlined editor, one with much more white space. So I click “New Post” and I’m presented with a new canvas, upon which I’ll begin to defile with these1largely inadequate words.Continue reading “The New Rules”
What’s this? What is this place, this space, this empty screen, this blank white canvas with no words defiling the stillness? What is this writing, these words that appear directed by the sure and steady rhythm of keystrokes? This stream, these thoughts, this form where there had been none for so very long?Continue reading “A Sudden Stop”
He sits in the breakfast nook, an artfully designed corner of the otherwise empty house with bench seats that look out on the Douglas firs. A cup of tea is before him, as is a single English muffin. This has been his routine now for six months. Get up, run around the property and the hills beyond. Shower, dress, enjoy a cup of tea and a pastry of some sort. And then?
I knew it was coming. It’s possible it was simply two years late. I walked into through the sliding automatic door, past the deli and the Keno display and strode boldly — much more than I felt — down the cheese aisle and, yeah.
Crap. Here it comes.
When we moved back into our house, the chore of sorting through what seemed an endless tide of boxes of books fell to yours truly. It was only fair. A good eighty to ninety percent of the books in this house are mine anyway. And of course I didn’t mind, reconnecting with what I could consider friends, some of which have been with me since high school. As I sorted and unpacked, I realized that I wanted to reread a vast number of them. Now, some of these books I could probably rewrite from memory. But I wanted to reread them none the less. Like I just said, some of these books, they’re like friends.
There is a ski lodge high on Mount Hood that you may have seen before. It’s Timberline Lodge; and while its story as a WPA project is worth a read, and its interior a marvel in American craftsmanship, you probably know it best from its short screen time as the framing shot for the fictional Overlook Hotel in Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining. Now allow me to be upfront about this; Timberline Lodge is not the Overlook Hotel. The hotel was a set piece, and the interior of the Timberline looks nothing like the faded glory of the Overlook. However, there’s information about the movie proudly displayed in the hotel and the Lodge hosts the annual “Overlook Film Festival”; a bit of a perverse thrill in telling its guests that they are sleeping in closest thing to the Overlook. (According to the Lodge’s website, room #217 — the original room in Stephen King’s book — is the most requested room.)
It has been a while, hasn’t it? Oh sure, there was that other site, and that took time. And yes, there was a novel draft, which was finished literally as I returned to the states; somewhere above the Pacific. That felt good, let me tell you. So much so, that I immediately cashed in on the whole first class thing2thanks tiny Oregon shoe company and asked the flight attendant for two whiskeys on the rocks. She brought me two of these fall-themed apple-infused Jack Daniel’s cocktails that actually were delicious. So I asked for two more, and when auntie looked at me strange, I smiled and told her, “Hey, I just finished my book and I’m moving back to the States.” Since we were still in the future, the looming nightmare of Trump was still visible and she took pity on me and brought me three and some ramen.
So passed draft three; with a toast as I hurdled towards the day before at 500km/h.
I’ve been following with some great interest the path of Aaron Jacobs, once a friend of a friend and now a husband of a… y’know it’s not important. What is important is said path has been mirroring mine to a considerable degree — he recently expatriated to Australia and has in the interim been working on his writing, specifically fantasy fiction. I’ve yet to read his fiction, but judging from his blog and what he’s shared of his inspirations and research, it seems incredibly like my jam.