I had another story from yesterday. Moppy even reminded me of it earlier today and I've forgotten it now. Bother.
From today: now sure why people from Illinois had such a hard time parking in the lot at Miller Park but they did. Wisconsin people too. People that were not cute enough to get away with that level of failure.
Grr.
12 June 2009
11 June 2009
The streak endth
My streak of observing winning games at Miller Park ended today.
Before the game started, I texted my friend, noting that I was wearing the spring training shirt she'd gotten for me. As her record for the season is less stellar than my own (0-3), I teased that a loss today would be her fault, as my karma would be tainted by her karma on my shirt. She agreed.
Immediately after the loss, she texted me back accepting responsibility for the loss. That's a good fan.
We'll try to start a new streak tomorrow.
Before the game started, I texted my friend, noting that I was wearing the spring training shirt she'd gotten for me. As her record for the season is less stellar than my own (0-3), I teased that a loss today would be her fault, as my karma would be tainted by her karma on my shirt. She agreed.
Immediately after the loss, she texted me back accepting responsibility for the loss. That's a good fan.
We'll try to start a new streak tomorrow.
10 June 2009
Some Notes/Thoughts on the Novel Fragment
- That's not meant to be the beginning of the book. I've got it mapped out into sections and that's the beginning of section two, as the quest is beginning to form in the main character's mind. At this point, he's not really sure what he's meant to do but knows it's out 'there' somewhere.
- Character names are largely up for grabs at this point. As I skimmed the text before posting, I had to fix a character name to make it match the rest. 'Jim' was also 'Matt'.
- I posted about a fifth of what I already have done for the proposed book. The bulk of the existing text currently comes from the first two sections as young 'Jim' receives the gem that provides him with powers and sets off to figure out what to do with it. The fragment I posted is the start of his 'first mission', if you will.
- While not noted in this fragment, 'Jim' is probably 19-21 and still a bit naive at this point. It's also the time period we would identify as the 1980s, but not quite the same as our history. For one, there's this guy running around with a gem that can provide him with abilities. :)
- The story is meant to fit into the overall 'Steveverse', the same universe that El Hombre de Silla and Patrick Thompson, amongst others, inhabit. I've not worked on this in awhile as I've mostly been trying to crank out El Hombre 'short' stories for a collection. As I think I'm a bit burned out on that, I might hop back into this briefly to revive my creative juices or I've got a different short story that seems bound and determined to escape me. Did some planning work on that last night.
- According to the stats, this is my 500th blog post. Woo-hoo!
- Character names are largely up for grabs at this point. As I skimmed the text before posting, I had to fix a character name to make it match the rest. 'Jim' was also 'Matt'.
- I posted about a fifth of what I already have done for the proposed book. The bulk of the existing text currently comes from the first two sections as young 'Jim' receives the gem that provides him with powers and sets off to figure out what to do with it. The fragment I posted is the start of his 'first mission', if you will.
- While not noted in this fragment, 'Jim' is probably 19-21 and still a bit naive at this point. It's also the time period we would identify as the 1980s, but not quite the same as our history. For one, there's this guy running around with a gem that can provide him with abilities. :)
- The story is meant to fit into the overall 'Steveverse', the same universe that El Hombre de Silla and Patrick Thompson, amongst others, inhabit. I've not worked on this in awhile as I've mostly been trying to crank out El Hombre 'short' stories for a collection. As I think I'm a bit burned out on that, I might hop back into this briefly to revive my creative juices or I've got a different short story that seems bound and determined to escape me. Did some planning work on that last night.
- According to the stats, this is my 500th blog post. Woo-hoo!
09 June 2009
Fiction Piece: Novel Fragment 2
As the customers and employees of the diner poured out of the building to watch, Jim coughed and struggled to find his feet. The large man gestured for him to rise. “C'mon kid, on your feet. Let's see what you got.”
Jim wasn't sure what made him less comfortable: the sauce still on his face or the marks on his neck. “What is your problem?” he croaked out.
“You,” he said simply. “Whether you defend yourself or not, I'm going to deal with my problem.” The large man stepped forward.
Jim fidgeted with the jewel clipped to his jacket pocket. Quickly he muttered “Time Singer, Time Singer, hear my call, I need a power more than all, You can provide it, that I know, that to me he will appear slow.” The gem glowed briefly. The punch heading towards Jim's face suddenly slowed in momentum, down to a crawl. Jim grinned with his success.
Calmly, he stepped aside from the punch. He repositioned himself so that he could drive both fists into the man's solar plexus. With a gasp of escaping air, speed returned to normal. The big man collapsed to the asphalt.
The friend of the large man ran to his side, waving Jim off. “Sorry about my friend; he's got a bit of a temper and I couldn't stop him. I'll pay for your meal. Meals cause he already ruined one, right?” Jim nodded and wiped sauce from his face. “Apology accepted?”
“Sure. Just keep him away from us if you can.”
“Yeah, yeah no problem.” The man handed the cook a number of bills before assisting the large man to a vehicle and driving them away.
Jim walked back to the diner, working to repress a grin. He desperately wanted to look cool and calm like a movie hero but was finding it hard to repress the joy of success. The small crowd from the diner simultaneously congratulated him. “That was awesome!” “Are you a professional fighter?” “How did you do that?” “You sure straightened that guy out. Boy did he deserve it!”
“I've seen a lot of kung fu films,” he offered as an explanation.
The cook beamed at him as he warmly wrapped an arm around Jim. He chuckled in a friendly manner. “Ya understand why this sit-ya-ation had ta go outside, right?” Jim smiled and chuckled in a friendly manner to respond. “Yeah, I thought so. I'll make you a steak and potatoes. You like corn? I'll make ya some corn as well. You're alright guy.”
Jim returned to his booth, choosing the opposite bench as his original seat was still covered in spaghetti. He sipped at his water and tried to not look at anyone in particular. The diner had a gentle buzz to it and, without being egotistical about it, he felt sure the discussions were about him. He didn't want to start any more than he already had. Now that the adrenaline of the moment was beginning to fade, he was feeling a little uncomfortable with his display. Hitting that jerk didn't make him feel concerned as he didn't plan to be in town long anyway but it was the public quality of the display that bothered him. His abilities were new and he wasn't quite sure what he'd be doing with them as of yet. Would he have a secret identity at some point? Had he blown it before he'd created it?
Lost in these thoughts, he jumped in surprise when Terry slid a plate in front of him. She cleaned the dirtied seat across from him and then took it for herself. “That was great! Thank you.” Her enthusiasm shone from her, enhancing her natural attractiveness. Politely uncomfortable with this energy, he began to beg off a little. She would have none of it. “I don't normally pick my ... friends so well.” The bell rang again. “Eat now. Enjoy. We'll talk more.” She stood up and adjusted her uniform. Before departing, she verbalized a sudden thought. “And no leaving without talking to me further. Okay?”
Jim nodded. “Okay.”
“Good.” She stepped away, returning to her work.
Jim smiled as he cut into his steak. He had a friend!
Jim wasn't sure what made him less comfortable: the sauce still on his face or the marks on his neck. “What is your problem?” he croaked out.
“You,” he said simply. “Whether you defend yourself or not, I'm going to deal with my problem.” The large man stepped forward.
Jim fidgeted with the jewel clipped to his jacket pocket. Quickly he muttered “Time Singer, Time Singer, hear my call, I need a power more than all, You can provide it, that I know, that to me he will appear slow.” The gem glowed briefly. The punch heading towards Jim's face suddenly slowed in momentum, down to a crawl. Jim grinned with his success.
Calmly, he stepped aside from the punch. He repositioned himself so that he could drive both fists into the man's solar plexus. With a gasp of escaping air, speed returned to normal. The big man collapsed to the asphalt.
The friend of the large man ran to his side, waving Jim off. “Sorry about my friend; he's got a bit of a temper and I couldn't stop him. I'll pay for your meal. Meals cause he already ruined one, right?” Jim nodded and wiped sauce from his face. “Apology accepted?”
“Sure. Just keep him away from us if you can.”
“Yeah, yeah no problem.” The man handed the cook a number of bills before assisting the large man to a vehicle and driving them away.
Jim walked back to the diner, working to repress a grin. He desperately wanted to look cool and calm like a movie hero but was finding it hard to repress the joy of success. The small crowd from the diner simultaneously congratulated him. “That was awesome!” “Are you a professional fighter?” “How did you do that?” “You sure straightened that guy out. Boy did he deserve it!”
“I've seen a lot of kung fu films,” he offered as an explanation.
The cook beamed at him as he warmly wrapped an arm around Jim. He chuckled in a friendly manner. “Ya understand why this sit-ya-ation had ta go outside, right?” Jim smiled and chuckled in a friendly manner to respond. “Yeah, I thought so. I'll make you a steak and potatoes. You like corn? I'll make ya some corn as well. You're alright guy.”
Jim returned to his booth, choosing the opposite bench as his original seat was still covered in spaghetti. He sipped at his water and tried to not look at anyone in particular. The diner had a gentle buzz to it and, without being egotistical about it, he felt sure the discussions were about him. He didn't want to start any more than he already had. Now that the adrenaline of the moment was beginning to fade, he was feeling a little uncomfortable with his display. Hitting that jerk didn't make him feel concerned as he didn't plan to be in town long anyway but it was the public quality of the display that bothered him. His abilities were new and he wasn't quite sure what he'd be doing with them as of yet. Would he have a secret identity at some point? Had he blown it before he'd created it?
Lost in these thoughts, he jumped in surprise when Terry slid a plate in front of him. She cleaned the dirtied seat across from him and then took it for herself. “That was great! Thank you.” Her enthusiasm shone from her, enhancing her natural attractiveness. Politely uncomfortable with this energy, he began to beg off a little. She would have none of it. “I don't normally pick my ... friends so well.” The bell rang again. “Eat now. Enjoy. We'll talk more.” She stood up and adjusted her uniform. Before departing, she verbalized a sudden thought. “And no leaving without talking to me further. Okay?”
Jim nodded. “Okay.”
“Good.” She stepped away, returning to her work.
Jim smiled as he cut into his steak. He had a friend!
08 June 2009
Fiction Piece: Novel Fragment 1
Dishes clinked together in an unintentional rhythmic pattern. The dishes clinked as they were deposited at the tables, while in use at the tables, while being collected from the tables, and while being washed for reuse. At a distance, the sound mingled with the conversations being held into a refreshing wash of noise. While on her break, Terry had often closed her eyes and listened, relaxing to the music they made. At the moment she was not on break; she was in the center of it all. From here, it was all just noise.
The bell in the kitchen dinged to signal the arrival of the next prepared order. As she hurried to collect it, she brushed a long lock of curly hair from her face. Truth be told, she needed a minute to redo her hair in her scrunchy for comfort and cleanliness purposes but she didn't have the minute so to do. Carol had called in sick at the last moment and they'd woken up Rachel when they'd called her to come in early. Rachel was on her way and would soon arrive to help out but, until then, she was struggling with the lunch shift alone.
She carried the plates to table six, annoyed since her hands were full and that loose lock of hair was threatening to flop back into her face. “Now then, who had the hamburger?” One man paused from his drumming on the table to raise two fingers, signaling himself. “Then you must be the roast beef sandwich,” she checked with the other man. He smiled and nodded to confirm the statement.
Having successfully delivered the food, she smiled again. “Before I go, is there anything else I can get you?”
The Roast Beef man grinned wickedly. His hand darted out to take hold of hers. “Yeah, your phone number.”
Terry flushed. This was not a situation with which she was good at dealing. Thankfully the bell dinged the arrival of another order. “I'm sorry but I have to go now.” She scurried away to collect the spaghetti for table seven. Oh no, she was going right back past that creep! The diner wasn't large enough to provide another path to table seven so she'd have to pass by. How to derail the man at table six?
As Roast Beef sandwich at table six was bent over his plate, she increased her pace to slip past him to get to table seven. The scruffy young man there was staring out the window. “You had the spaghetti, right?” This drew the young man from his thoughts. He turned to her, smiled and nodded. She slid the plate in front of him, glanced back to the empty pick-up window and then she slid into the booth across from him, receiving a raised eyebrow of surprise from him for this action. He looked like a relatively innocent young man and she didn't recognize him, which implied he wasn't local, so she hoped she could trust him more than the creepy guy at table six. She lowered her voice. “Can I ask you a favor?” He nodded. She leaned forward. “One of the men in the booth behind you is hitting on me. At least for the next few minutes, will you pretend to be my boyfriend?”
He glanced behind her at the men in that booth. Then he took a moment to observe Terry properly. “I don't think that will be a problem.” He shook this off. “I take that back; I'd be pleased to do so.”
“Thank you.” She smiled warmly at him. “I'm Terry.”
“Just like the nametag,” he noted. “I'm Jim.”
The bell dinged again. She grinned at Jim and returned her voice to a normal level. “Sorry hun, I am at work. See you at home if nothing else?”
“If not sooner.”
She rose from the table, paused to kiss him on the forehead as she passed, and hurried back to work. Grinning, he tried to wipe the lipstick mark off while collecting his fork. Before he could raise the first forkfull of spaghetti to his mouth, a thick finger started jabbing him in the shoulder. Said finger belonged to the large man behind him. “Hey, you know her?”
“Yes I do,” Jim answered politely. He was curious to see where this would go next.
“How well do you know her?”
“Well enough.”
He gave Jim a 'yeah right' sort of look. “What's her name?”
“Terry.”
This answer received a wicked grin in response. “What about her last name?”
“I don't believe that's any of your business.”
“You dunno what it is, do ya?”
“Its Chesterfield. Are you happy now?” Jim turned back to his meal.
He was jabbed with the finger again. The large man smiled at him. “I don't believe you.”
Jim grunted in exasperation. He was hungry and these interruptions annoyed him. “Well, what is it then?” he snapped.
“I say her name is Kanfield.”
“Good for you. Say whatever you want.” Grumbling, Jim returned to his rapidly cooling dinner. Truthfully he had no idea what was Terry's last name. For all he knew, the large man had known Terry all her life and he'd just blown the whole story. Hopefully the man was a long haul trucker and was guessing in an attempt to see if he'd crack. Jim's bluster should cover the situation.
Before he could take a bite, Jim found his face in the spaghetti, a pressure holding him there. Once he was released, he returned to his upright position. Flinging sauce from his eyes, he was unable to prevent the man from grabbing him by the throat. “I wasn't done talking ta you yet!” he bellowed.
Jim struggled to free himself. He had never really thought of himself as scrawny but the man's hand was doing a really good job of surrounding his neck. A certain amount of panic also gripped him and he began pummeling the man's brawny arm, seeking freedom and an unrestricted airway. This pummeling apparently did nothing to free himself. He began to gasp for breath.
The chef burst from the kitchen, knife in hand, and rapidly approached the conflict. With all eyes in the diner upon the situation, the chef tapped the big man on the shoulder. “Hey! If you gotta beat him up, at least do it outside. If you bust up my diner any, you're paying for it!”
The man grunted. “Yeah, okay.” Grabbing Jim by the scruff of this neck, he dragged Jim from the diner to the blacktop parking lot. Once there, Jim was casually discarded.
The bell in the kitchen dinged to signal the arrival of the next prepared order. As she hurried to collect it, she brushed a long lock of curly hair from her face. Truth be told, she needed a minute to redo her hair in her scrunchy for comfort and cleanliness purposes but she didn't have the minute so to do. Carol had called in sick at the last moment and they'd woken up Rachel when they'd called her to come in early. Rachel was on her way and would soon arrive to help out but, until then, she was struggling with the lunch shift alone.
She carried the plates to table six, annoyed since her hands were full and that loose lock of hair was threatening to flop back into her face. “Now then, who had the hamburger?” One man paused from his drumming on the table to raise two fingers, signaling himself. “Then you must be the roast beef sandwich,” she checked with the other man. He smiled and nodded to confirm the statement.
Having successfully delivered the food, she smiled again. “Before I go, is there anything else I can get you?”
The Roast Beef man grinned wickedly. His hand darted out to take hold of hers. “Yeah, your phone number.”
Terry flushed. This was not a situation with which she was good at dealing. Thankfully the bell dinged the arrival of another order. “I'm sorry but I have to go now.” She scurried away to collect the spaghetti for table seven. Oh no, she was going right back past that creep! The diner wasn't large enough to provide another path to table seven so she'd have to pass by. How to derail the man at table six?
As Roast Beef sandwich at table six was bent over his plate, she increased her pace to slip past him to get to table seven. The scruffy young man there was staring out the window. “You had the spaghetti, right?” This drew the young man from his thoughts. He turned to her, smiled and nodded. She slid the plate in front of him, glanced back to the empty pick-up window and then she slid into the booth across from him, receiving a raised eyebrow of surprise from him for this action. He looked like a relatively innocent young man and she didn't recognize him, which implied he wasn't local, so she hoped she could trust him more than the creepy guy at table six. She lowered her voice. “Can I ask you a favor?” He nodded. She leaned forward. “One of the men in the booth behind you is hitting on me. At least for the next few minutes, will you pretend to be my boyfriend?”
He glanced behind her at the men in that booth. Then he took a moment to observe Terry properly. “I don't think that will be a problem.” He shook this off. “I take that back; I'd be pleased to do so.”
“Thank you.” She smiled warmly at him. “I'm Terry.”
“Just like the nametag,” he noted. “I'm Jim.”
The bell dinged again. She grinned at Jim and returned her voice to a normal level. “Sorry hun, I am at work. See you at home if nothing else?”
“If not sooner.”
She rose from the table, paused to kiss him on the forehead as she passed, and hurried back to work. Grinning, he tried to wipe the lipstick mark off while collecting his fork. Before he could raise the first forkfull of spaghetti to his mouth, a thick finger started jabbing him in the shoulder. Said finger belonged to the large man behind him. “Hey, you know her?”
“Yes I do,” Jim answered politely. He was curious to see where this would go next.
“How well do you know her?”
“Well enough.”
He gave Jim a 'yeah right' sort of look. “What's her name?”
“Terry.”
This answer received a wicked grin in response. “What about her last name?”
“I don't believe that's any of your business.”
“You dunno what it is, do ya?”
“Its Chesterfield. Are you happy now?” Jim turned back to his meal.
He was jabbed with the finger again. The large man smiled at him. “I don't believe you.”
Jim grunted in exasperation. He was hungry and these interruptions annoyed him. “Well, what is it then?” he snapped.
“I say her name is Kanfield.”
“Good for you. Say whatever you want.” Grumbling, Jim returned to his rapidly cooling dinner. Truthfully he had no idea what was Terry's last name. For all he knew, the large man had known Terry all her life and he'd just blown the whole story. Hopefully the man was a long haul trucker and was guessing in an attempt to see if he'd crack. Jim's bluster should cover the situation.
Before he could take a bite, Jim found his face in the spaghetti, a pressure holding him there. Once he was released, he returned to his upright position. Flinging sauce from his eyes, he was unable to prevent the man from grabbing him by the throat. “I wasn't done talking ta you yet!” he bellowed.
Jim struggled to free himself. He had never really thought of himself as scrawny but the man's hand was doing a really good job of surrounding his neck. A certain amount of panic also gripped him and he began pummeling the man's brawny arm, seeking freedom and an unrestricted airway. This pummeling apparently did nothing to free himself. He began to gasp for breath.
The chef burst from the kitchen, knife in hand, and rapidly approached the conflict. With all eyes in the diner upon the situation, the chef tapped the big man on the shoulder. “Hey! If you gotta beat him up, at least do it outside. If you bust up my diner any, you're paying for it!”
The man grunted. “Yeah, okay.” Grabbing Jim by the scruff of this neck, he dragged Jim from the diner to the blacktop parking lot. Once there, Jim was casually discarded.
07 June 2009
Fiction Piece: Prelude
Most young people aren't comfortable in their own skin. They imagine themselves as aliens, elves, or even just adults. They may dream of greatness, fame, fortune. They may focus their efforts on achieving those goals through sports, perhaps acting, or just simple academics to support a super career. Perhaps they will succeed. Perhaps not. Many don't and they soon realize that they may be unique, but they are not all that unique. As the daily grind wears them down, their dreams of greatness fade to a distant memory.
What if you were special? What if your dreams of greatness weren't idle speculation on another place and time, but memories of an earlier point in your existence? What if the ability to return to greatness was not far off?
What might happen then?
What if you were special? What if your dreams of greatness weren't idle speculation on another place and time, but memories of an earlier point in your existence? What if the ability to return to greatness was not far off?
What might happen then?
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