Yup...I haven't blogged all week. I've been busy proofreading, reading, pitching, searching, critiquing, editing, finalizing, emailing, and creating a surprise for this Friday, which happens to be the 13th. Actually, I may as well just tell you. This coming Friday will see the release of "Little Ones of Wood & Hair," book II in my double feature collection. But first, here's this weekend's drivel, courtesy of life experiences and observations:
Facing a Wasteland
You knew painting your door red would show the world how mad you were; that painting your lawn with the blue petunias would show the world how sad you were. And though you’d never let us see you, the dolls in your windows and your stone garden figurines told tales of your loneliness. Keep your curtains closed and your bricks stacked tight. It’s a mad, wild world.
Facing a Wasteland
You knew painting your door red would show the world how mad you were; that painting your lawn with the blue petunias would show the world how sad you were. And though you’d never let us see you, the dolls in your windows and your stone garden figurines told tales of your loneliness. Keep your curtains closed and your bricks stacked tight. It’s a mad, wild world.
Fork in the Road
It wasn’t a busy street. But what few cars there were, made up for it in speed. They were all in a rush to get from one cornfield to the next, or to race through the scent of country manure.
Two boys rode their bikes along the road in the dirt, nearly touching the edge of the asphalt with their thin 10-speed tires. The boy in the rear looked behind to watch as an approaching car passed, while his younger friend hit the brakes in front of him. The older boy’s bike lodged impossibly into the back gears of his friend, launching the rear boy forward in a messy attempt at a forward flip. While in mid air, momentum petered out and the boy and bike tipped sideways, crashing on the road, barely missing contact with the passing car. The bike’s forks, now bent in opposite directions, rendered the bike useless.
The boy was kept safe from the cornfield chaser. Years later he’d be hit by a car. But not today. Not on this street.
It wasn’t a busy street. But what few cars there were, made up for it in speed. They were all in a rush to get from one cornfield to the next, or to race through the scent of country manure.
Two boys rode their bikes along the road in the dirt, nearly touching the edge of the asphalt with their thin 10-speed tires. The boy in the rear looked behind to watch as an approaching car passed, while his younger friend hit the brakes in front of him. The older boy’s bike lodged impossibly into the back gears of his friend, launching the rear boy forward in a messy attempt at a forward flip. While in mid air, momentum petered out and the boy and bike tipped sideways, crashing on the road, barely missing contact with the passing car. The bike’s forks, now bent in opposite directions, rendered the bike useless.
The boy was kept safe from the cornfield chaser. Years later he’d be hit by a car. But not today. Not on this street.
News Update: I have recently found myself on the Famous Monsters of Filmland writer list, and last weekend I sent a pitch that they liked and have given me the go ahead to write a lengthy article. I'll be working hard on this in the next few weeks. In a future blog, I will write about just how much this means to me, but for now I'll just boast.
Now Reading:
The Night is Long and Cold and Deep - Terry M. West
Now Reading:
The Night is Long and Cold and Deep - Terry M. West
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