Meek weekend

Stupid name!

What a wild and wooly weekend (sarcasm)! Except for two hours Saturday afternoon, I sat on my ass at the house. The two hours of reprieve came when we went to the market along the river and then to downtown JC where I got the mill pic and the one above. It felt good just to shoot! We planned to go to Jonesborough yesterday evening but the missus was in a bad mood because trees were blocking the satellite signal; no TV Criminal Minds dramas induces doom and gloom and I duck for cover. Ashley is back to normal, the bleeding she incurred Friday tapered off over the weekend and we are not yet g.grandparents. The little feller isn’t due until around July 25, but most wise heads and sages are saying it will come early. His name is to be Samuel Seaton Bishop. Seaton???
I missed an opportunity to meet Mark and Tammy and Mike; I feared that if they traveled over the hill, we would be called to hospital with Ash. I am truly sorry my friends; next opportunity–come hell or high water–we shall meet if you still want to; I surely do. I was just thinking; I’ve never been to Florida. Mark can come over at anytime. A trip for us to his house would go through North Wilkesboro, NC; it is the area my Phillips ancestors left around 1796 to come to The Promised Land.
I took time away from my hectic schedule to do some more writing last evening; I created about 450 almost fully edited words. The Paradise Club story is partly biographical set in a typical time when I was younger and a little more foolish and will probably have 4,000+ words when finished; it now stands at 2,900 and many of them are two or more syllables!
Have a Tuesday!

Published in: on May 31, 2011 at 11:23 am  Comments (8)  
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We’re All Gonna Die …

on September 6, 1994
on May 21, 2011
… on October 21, 2011
Happy Memorial Day, USA
Happy Worshday, world
Published in: on May 30, 2011 at 9:40 am  Comments (4)  
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Memorial Friday

No plans for this holiday weekend but hope to get away on Sunday or Monday for a picnic somewhere around Watauga Lake; the moderately high elevation keeps the air temperature from being overly hot and it can be very comfortable amongst the big trees. All I need to do is find a shady spot that is crutch accessible.
I am trying to make the transition from being a story teller to a story writer; it isn’t as easy as it may sound. Yesterday I put more than two thousand words to virtual paper as I wrote my little tale of boys night out. That is probably an hour’s worth of work for a half-ass typist, but it was just over four hours work for me, a one-fingered pecker. I also try to edit as I go. I trashed my outline and basically began all over except for what I posted on this blog Wednesday. I was typing the story as I thought of it; not too easy for a one-track mind but I was never good with outlines. Past what I wrote on the 25th, most of the remainder is dialogue. All I need now is a decent finish which I already have on my mind, and a rousing beginning to get the reader interested. I still have to set up the bar fight, but that should be fairly easy. I will sit on it for a few days and go over it again, trying to iron out the worst wrinkles. Sooner or later I will say enough and post what I consider as a finished story, although I will never be completely happy with it. Even if no one else cares for it; I will be as proud of it as if I had laid a golden egg called the Pulitzer.

Nohow, here is a bit of the dialogue; it begins with Slim speaking:

“How do you know it was the old woman instead of one of the girls?”
“Hells bells! I know because I found her ass when I went looking for my wallet! Jeez!”
“You found her ass?” I used my most incredulous tone of voice.
“Aw shit, Slim.” His tone was pleading. “The old girl was wearing one of those fake rubber asses; I felt it when I was dancing with her back in the bar.”
Zeke was becoming a bit calmer and asked for another smoke. My head was throbbing in every direction and the body aches were becoming almost unbearable, but I couldn’t quit on the man; inquisition is good for the soul and I wanted his soul laying bare on the seat between us.
He gave me a sideways look as I handed him the cigarette.
“Okay; when I went back after my billfold, I lit my lighter and saw her ass laying on the floor beside the bed.”
Before I could mull that over and ask another question he blurted “She had rubber tits, too.”
If not for the pain wracking my poor body, I would surely have burst out with laughter; his admission was just too freaking sweet.
I am not trying to be sexist nor am I putting down little old ladies in the story. If there was not some truth to the tale, I probably would not tell it; many things are what they are. I once owned a black truck with chrome wheels. During my electrician and tramping years my nickname was “Slim”. I used to work on powerhouse construction. I once saw a bar similar to the one I described. In a bar, I indeed saw and old woman much like the one I invented and she indeed took a friend of mine to her room for a romp; he was 33 years old and she was in her late 60’s … at least. I lived in many boarding houses. I once did have the dry heaves so bad that I passed out.

Mark, Tammy, and Mike … Peace and Happiness to bless your reunion.
Jola … I hope you make it back to Warsaw and the family safe and sound.
Have a memorable Holiday weekend, everyone.

Published in: on May 27, 2011 at 12:58 pm  Comments (8)  
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I’m writing, Steven Tyler looks to have had a face lift, and the world turns …

May your causes be just and the results rewarding … Happy Thursday, my friends

Published in: on May 26, 2011 at 11:30 am  Comments (7)  

Excerpt from Paradise

Below is a not quite finished excerpt from my new story which I have yet to settle on a title. Please be honest and tell if this has any real humor to it. I’m looking to possibly try and get this one published and your critiques will be much appreciated. Even if it is unpublishable in a literary magazine, I want to include it in any collection I may produce for self publishing. Thanky.


Just before I caught a well meaning roundhouse punch from one of the local bubbas, I saw Zeke on his back with two guys grasping his wrists, dragging him toward the door; most of the good beatings took place outside leaving less blood to clean off the floor. He was pleading “please let me go, boys.”

The heavy punch came from a jerk who was a bit drunker than me, landing it on my chest but it still felt like a mule kick. As my knees buckled and my body sank toward the floor between barstools, I saw the old woman make a leaping dive from from her seat at the bar yelling “This’uns mine!”

She hit the floor on her belly with her varicose hands grabbing Zeke’s ankles at the same time her blond wig went sailing over his knee and her complete set of upper false teeth oofed out and landed on his jeans zipper. As she clung to him like a tom cat in heat, Zeke must have seen her toothless grimace and her pink-scalped and nearly bald head of very thin and short white hair. The last thing I remember as my head thumped the concrete floor was Zeke screaming, “please kill me boys!”

Published in: on May 25, 2011 at 1:21 pm  Comments (5)