tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59941254836034969382024-03-12T20:14:08.501-05:00A Dull ShineThe Blog of Ryan Spiresryansspireshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16388039654896831197noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994125483603496938.post-75628675709959844742016-08-24T06:17:00.000-05:002016-08-24T06:23:05.261-05:00Writing Update & A Short StorySometimes the grind wears on you and the machine breaks down. My morning writing routine felt stagnant as I lost interest in rewriting Alchemist and the new manuscript floated away from me. I watched it get farther out of my grasp, but let it go without much more than a "meh". <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I stopped writing. I didn't stop thinking about writing, though. Poignant vignettes played out in my head. I still derived inspiration from random sources. The brain was receptive. I haven't returned full form from my hiatus, but I did manage to crank out a short story. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's nothing glorious. It's rough, but I hope you can turn it over in your hands and maybe capture a glimmer or two. I had fun writing it and isn't that half the battle? I hope you enjoy. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
A Perfect Game</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The beeps and wheezing of the
machines faded into the background as Rory sunk farther into the hospital
pillow and took his last ragged breath. The first thing that emanated from
oblivion was a yeasty smell of cheap beer and a murmur that lifted with a
sudden crescendo into a cheer.<o:p></o:p><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“What?” Rory blinked against the
sunlight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Shhhh.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
He was in the bleachers of lower
right field in a ball park that looked vaguely familiar. The woman that had shushed
him wore a Twins jersey with the red number 34 emblazoned on the front. The
rest of the fans around him were covered in Brewers attire. His papery thin
hospital gown crinkled in the summer breeze.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Milwaukee County Stadium?” That
had been shut down in 2000. None of this made sense.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The middle-aged woman in the Twins
jersey put her finger distractedly on his lips. “This is it, get ready.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Rory’s mouth fumbled for words as numerous
questions blended into a cacophony of confusion. The unmistakable crack of the
bat jarred him to the present. The woman was already standing, the ball coming
right for her. She snatched it out of the air as the pockets of Twins fans went
nuts.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“What the hell is going on?” Rory
rose to his feet, forgetting a moment that he hadn’t stood in a month and that
both knees and one hip were shot. Except they weren’t and he felt fine. Well,
physically fine.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Holy Christ, Rory.” The woman
smacked the baseball into his open palm. “I’m trying to have a moment here and
I got you acting crazy and showing the world your pasty white ass.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
His gaze darted around, but no one
seemed to pay him any attention.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“You’re trying to have a moment?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Yeah. Don’t you remember this game?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
He tossed the ball from hand to
hand searching his memory. The usual fog didn’t hinder his thoughts like they
had for the last few years. “1991 Season? That was Kirby Puckett, right?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
She rolled her blue eyes that had
entirely too much eye shadow and mascara surrounding them. “August 30, 1987.
Puckett went 4 for 5 the day before. Today he went 6 for 6. Can you believe it?
He even stole a grand slam by doing one of his signature leaps at the wall.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Sounds familiar, I guess. But who
are you and what am I doing here?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Call me, Susan. Have a seat. No
one wants to see that show.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The fans filed out in record time
leaving the stadium to them. The warm August evening was a pleasant contrast to
the cold metal under his bare ass. Empty plastic cups and peanut shells
littered the concrete near his feet.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Susan, you didn’t answer my second
question.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I didn’t want to meet you again in
my office. It gets repetitious. You always ask the same questions in the exact
same order. I wanted to see this moment again. There’s something so pure about
baseball. Oh, and Kirby was one of mine.” She dabbed at the tears welling in
her right eye.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“One of yours?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
She stretched her short, chubby
arms over her head. “Yeah, like you. His first time around the guy had some
issues with infidelity, some creepy bathroom thing, and died way too young.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Rory scratched his chin. “I don’t
recall any of that.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“That’s because he fixed it. Took
him three tries, but the guy pulled it off. The others told me no way, that if
they don’t get it the second time, the third time is <i>not</i> the charm. But I knew. I knew there was greatness in him.” She wiggled
her fingers.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Wait. Are you saying I get to try
it again if I want to? What’s the other option?” Rory’s jaw tightened.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Oh, honey don’t worry. Hell
doesn’t exist. You can join the great chorus in the sky for eternity.” She
turned to him. “It’s pretty awesome, trust me. Or you can live your life over
again and try not to botch it up this time.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“What do you mean, botch it up?” Rory sat up
straight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
She looked at the sky. “I know
everything, Rory. Every lie, every cruel word, every missed opportunity.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
He cast his gaze on his bare feet.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“You know that Déjà vu feeling?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Rory raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“That’s the sign that you’re on the
same damn path. Bad thing if you’re feeling that into your 80’s my friend.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The lights snapped on in the
stadium, jolting him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Susan glanced at her black Casio
watch. “I even tried to help you, though the others feel that isn’t entirely
fair.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“What do you mean?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The middle aged woman was replaced
with a young Hispanic man with an acne problem. “You remember this guy?” She
spoke in her same voice. “He tried to offer you a ride at your first big high
school party, but nope. You weren’t <i>that </i>drunk,
right?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
She turned back to her Susan form.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Rory swallowed the lump in his
throat. “C’mon, I was sixteen.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Yup and earned that cute little
limp the rest of your life. Oh and not to mention that derailed your baseball
career.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“What?” He stood up. “You mean I
was going to go pro?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Her head fell forward as she
laughed. “Oh, sweetie, you are too funny. Pro? No. But, it would have gotten
you into Duke and set you up a little differently. You would have come back
though to Minneapolis. It calls you. She calls you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Maria.” He sat down hard.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
She sighed. “Yeah. That one hurts.
She was pregnant when you told her to leave.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“What? Not possible. She would have
told me.” His heart galloped and he put his hand to his chest.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Afraid so. Baby girl. She turned
into a great kid. You met her twice.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“No.” He clenched the ball in his
hand.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“She came to your office pretending
to be interested in swapping insurance companies. Once after high school and
the second time after college. I think she almost told you the second time. I
don’t know for certain. She isn’t one of mine. The girl gave up on you though
and lived her own life.” She patted his knee.<b><span style="color: red;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
He stood and paced the cold cement,
shells crushing under his feet. A chill ran through him. “I tried before,
haven’t I? I remember plenty of Déjà vu.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Yes.” She frowned but held his
gaze.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“How many?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I’m not supposed to tell.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
He dropped the ball, took a knee
next to her and grabbed her warm hand. “How many times have I tried?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Fourteen.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
Rory closed his eyes. “My god.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“I don’t know what to tell ya.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
He opened his eyes and got to his
feet, a part of his mind relishing how easy it was to go from a kneeling to
standing position. At some point his age has reversed. No longer did age spots
cover his papery thin skin. It was tan, flush with life and covered with dark
hair. He touched his head and almost gasped at the feel of a full head of hair.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“This part always gets you.” Susan
sounded a little disinterested. A bucket of popcorn appeared in her grasp and
she threw a few kernels into her mouth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
He glanced at the veined muscles in
his forearm and the capable, strong hands. “What does this mean?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“That you made up your mind. Again.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Have I?” He seemed shorter and his
voice cracked in pubescent frailty.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Yup.” She dusted off her hands.
“Prove us all wrong, honey.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Will I remember any of this?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
“Nope.” She walked away.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
His tiny body drowned in the
hospital gown and that’s when the pain started. He screamed in his child-like
voice that transformed into a wailing sound. Everything collapsed into
oblivion, then a bright light expanded from the warm darkness. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
The doctor held up crying baby.
“Congrats, it’s a boy.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
ryansspireshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16388039654896831197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994125483603496938.post-8771286487245466392016-07-13T06:55:00.001-05:002016-07-13T21:16:30.721-05:00The Perfect Ensemble The fantasy writing community has evolved into a more socially aware creature, promoting diversity both in authors and the substance of the story. No longer will the two-dimensional fainting heroine be rescued by the hero without the author being called out for it. It's a positive thing to recognize these embedded falsehoods that nefariously leak into our writing from our subconscious. But, this spotlight does scare me a little. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Well, more like intimidate. If you don't include every group (gender, race, age, sexual orientation, religion, disability, etc), then it's a clear strike. How could you ignore X group? But, if you only have one example of that group, then you run the risk of a representation problem. Now that character is the sole representation of that group and everything they do unfairly reflects upon that group. This, of course happens in real life too. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
What's the solution then? This is obviously an exaggeration, but it sounds like in order to construct the perfect ensemble, it's going to have to be an immense cast of multiple representations of each group. That is, our diverse cast, needs to also be, well intrinsically diverse.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
That's where I get a little hung up. Good news is that I don't think that's the ultimate message here, that every book needs the perfect ensemble. At the very least we need to be conscious of the various forces at play in our in books and minds and what the overt and subvert messages are. Else we fall victim to our books being just another example of our own fallible culture. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's another layer of thought and review when writing and editing. How does this book depict people? What messages am I sending? We can't please everyone, but at least we can avoid the pitfalls of ignoring the rich diversity of people our own world has. And if we're more inclusive in the author community, that's going to naturally produce more ideas and enrich the culture as well. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I think this continued evolution will reap a stronger and healthier field of books and that every reader, no matter where they are coming from, can find a book that they identify with and recognizes their existence, celebrates their uniqueness and ultimately embraces their humanity.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
ryansspireshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16388039654896831197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994125483603496938.post-10195159909672497872016-06-23T06:49:00.003-05:002016-06-23T06:49:43.540-05:00First Draft GemsWhittling a first draft into something resembling a coherent story is tedious but ultimately an enjoyable process. It's easier to work with the words, transforming them into something better, than staring at the perfect vacuum of a blank page. <br />
<br />
One of my favorite little games is to find the silly, obvious, or unintended errors. Self depreciating one's work is a time honored tradition and the first draft offers up the most opportunity. Here are some of my recent gems I have come across. <br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: blue;">Hegge grabbed a rock in her hand.</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> </span><br />
<br />
-Just in the case the reader would assume she grabbed it with the crook of her arm, I helped them out. Tell don't show! Or wait, was it show don't tell?<br />
<br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue;">“The university
doesn’t teach that level of mathematics, my dear pip.” Trude stifled a song. </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="background: white; color: #222222;"><o:p>-</o:p></span>Yawn. Song. Whatever! You know what I meant. Probably. <br />
<br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">"No." She shook
her heard. </span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">-Senses can be shaken right? </span><span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 13.5533px;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 13.5533px;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 13.5533px;">The Altum pursed her lisps </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">-She was, uh, very self conscious of her lisp and would purse it and stuff. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; color: blue;">"</span><span style="color: blue;">A thought memory occurred to her" </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 107%;">-Regular memories are so pedestrian. I have thought memories! </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white; color: blue;">The phrase ‘unlimited budge’ made it
hard to concentrate </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;">-Sometimes it just takes one letter. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: blue;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;">How about you? Have any first draft gems?</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
ryansspireshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16388039654896831197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994125483603496938.post-5600730946859833822016-06-07T06:20:00.001-05:002016-06-07T06:20:15.506-05:00Writing UpdateHello there! It's been awhile. I haven't had a burst of inspiration for a blog topic for some time, and I didn't want to dial it in. Hence the silence. I might pick up the pace a bit in a month or so. Until then here is a brief update on the writing. <br />
<br />
I had the opportunity to alpha/beta read a couple of novel length manuscripts for friends and provide feedback. That's a glorious experience, being among the first set of eyes on the finished draft, and to help shape, in a small way, the course it may take. Not to mention that it's also a beautiful way to encourage more art in the world and to sharpen my own skills. <br />
<br />
That provided me a brief and needed respite from editing Alchemist. As a recap I got that back from the editor with rewrite scribbled all over it early in 2016. I got about halfway through the rewrite and I was burned out on the book. It's standing near the back of the room, clearing its throat at me, but I'm going to keep ignoring it for now. A little separation may do wonders. <br />
<br />
In the interim, I began a new fantasy adventure story that I'm enjoying. I don't know if this is just a distraction or a full blown project. That's the beauty and heartache of not having a contractual writing obligation; it can be whatever I wish it to be. <br />
<br />
I also have this dream of writing an epic series focused on a fictional baseball player. That idea is in it's infancy, but keeps floating around and kicking spasmodically. That would require a solid year or so of research, which is territory I haven't embarked upon in my writing career yet. <br />
<br />
That's the news. Unfortunately this translates into me not likely sending anything out into the world in the near future, but I'm still working away in the shadows, well, technically with my lamp on but you get the idea.<br />
<br />ryansspireshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16388039654896831197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994125483603496938.post-9688465466010104222016-04-11T06:30:00.000-05:002016-04-11T06:37:13.753-05:00Maddie Part 3 of 3<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
Chapter
4<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Roger.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her voice penetrated his light sleep and bolted him out of
bed. He snapped on the light, his chest heaved up and down.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maddie looked up at him, her blue eyes clear and focused.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Roger.” Her voice sharp and urgent.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He couldn’t move or speak.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her eyes darted around the room in a panic before dulling over, and the old Maddie faded
like a ghost in the night.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Maddie,” Roger croaked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He leaned over and grabbed her shoulders. She looked up with
a sleepy expression. She smacked her lips a couple of times and continued to stare at
him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Had she not spoken his name a second time he might have
convinced himself it had just been a dream. The second time, he possessed his
faculties and had been looking right at her. Perhaps even more astonishing,
remained the fact that her old self had peered up at him from those blue eyes.
She had looked frightened, as if snapping awake from a nightmare.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She closed her eyes. Roger snapped off the light and went to
the bathroom to splash some cold water on his face with shaky hands. He tiptoed
back to bed and grabbed his cell. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Arty answered on the fourth ring. “What’s wrong?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“She said my name.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger paced around the dark bathroom waiting for Arty to
speak.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“She just doubled her vocabulary. Friday and Roger. Huh. So
this Malum guy is working some kind of miracle now?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I guess so. But . . .”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“She looked scared.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
Bedsprings
creaked as Arty must have sat up or got out of bed. “What would she be afraid
of?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t know. I just wish I could be in her brain, you
know? So I could know what’s going on and help her.” Roger scratched at the
stubble attacking his neck.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Alright, dude. Uh, can I drop by soon? I would
like to see miracle Maddie.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah, that would be great.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That morning, Roger woke up before his alarm and got Maddie
ready for the day. She seemed less interactive than normal, less cheery. Roger
told Carla about the previous night as she hung up her coat. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She peeked around his shoulder at Maddie. “Guarded optimism,
Roger. The brain is a mysterious thing.” She gave his cheek a quick peck and
shooed him out of the door.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger strolled into the office with an occupied mind. He
tossed his messenger bag on his desk and hung up his black wool coat on the
flimsy hanger. He shoved it into his locker and closed the door to find Chrissy
standing there. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She bit her glossy lip. “Roger, I’m going to my parent’s
cabin this weekend. They’re out of town so I invited a couple of friends with
me, but they both bailed.” She twisted her fingers together and looked up from
under her eyelashes, “I was thinking maybe you could come up and hang out with
me if you don’t have other plans.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger scratched the back of his head. “Uh, Chrissy, that
sounds like a lot of fun, but it’s probably better if I don’t. If I was single,
I would already be on the road driving there right now.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She shrugged. “If you change your mind, let me know. I would
love to have you up there.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Thanks, that’s sweet.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger reminded himself to breath and sat down hard in his
chair, astonished at his own self-control. A part of him registered
disappointment at not seizing the opportunity. He called Arty on his lunch
break.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m proud of you man, you did the right thing.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah,” Roger sighed. “Odd how I feel one part deflated and
one part super hero.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Use the regret test. If you went up there and shagged this
chick, would you likely regret it?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yup.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“There you go. Besides, is twenty two seconds of pleasure
worth all that regret?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Twenty-two seconds, huh? At least that would beat your
record.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Arty chuckled, “Fuck you, dude. Anyway, I’m glad you turned
her down. Keep me posted on Maddie. It’s exciting stuff man. You two deserve a
god damn break.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger finished the conversation and called Dr. Malum. He
picked up on the first ring.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What did she do?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“She said my name.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was as if Roger could sense Malum’s frown over the phone.
“What else?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s it. It’s huge. She’s only said one word since the
accident.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We need to up duration and intensity of the therapy.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger leafed through his castle themed desk calendar. “When
do you want me to bring her into the office?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, not the office,” Malum muttered.
“Drop her off at my place this weekend.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Your place? For the whole weekend?” Roger blinked a few
times.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“1247 Gloucester Lane. Bring her Friday night after work and
you can pick her up Sunday evening.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Look—”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Roger, this isn’t negotiable.” he hung up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He set the phone down hard in the cradle and walked away
from his cube. Chrissy walked ahead of him, her tight, round ass clearly in a
thong, waved back and forth before him like a pendulum of temptation. He
sighed. It was ridiculous how attractive she was.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger turned around and found another route. A few flights
of stairs cleared his mind. He decided he would drop off Maddie and try his
best to avoid Chrissy and her base charms.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Friday morning he stopped off at the local coffee shop for a
large, black coffee. He didn’t like the frou-frou bullshit, just a nice cup of
coffee thank you very much. In line, he sensed someone looking at him. He
half-turned and held his breath for a moment. There she sat. The woman from the
park. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She stared right at him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He forced himself not to look back while he continued his
wait and ordered his coffee. He stole a look in her direction. She continued to
stare at him and motioned to the empty chair besides her. Roger stood still for
a moment, looking at the door and then back to the chair. He swore under his breath
and sat down across from her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The heavily glazed wooden table had an artificial feel to
it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A long deep purple dress covered most of her smooth, dark skin.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You don’t listen very well, Roger.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger shifted in his chair and blew on his steaming coffee.
He squinted over the brim and didn’t respond. A wave of guilt slammed into him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She looked to the door and her mouth drew in. “I need to go,
but <i>you</i> need to stay away from that
man. This is your last chance.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger took his fist sip as she stood, grabbed her coffee,
and walked gracefully out of the door. Roger rubbed his eyes and shook his
head. The guilt and the doubt evaporated as soon as she left. He didn’t care
what she had to tell him. He had chosen this path and was going to ride it to
the end. The bitterness and boredom of his life demanded it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As far as Roger was concerned, the weekend could not come
fast enough.<o:p></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
Chapter
5<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger turned into 1247 Gloucester Lane. The horseshoe shaped
driveway promenaded in front of a brick beauty from the late 19<sup>th</sup> century.
Roger thought the house had been designed by a locally famous architect, but
the name escaped him. A series of ground lights illuminated the driveway and
the stone path up to the staircase of the covered porch. A brightly white
painted porch swing glided back and forth in the gentle breeze.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A dark muscle car sat in the driveway aimed at the street. It
looked like a Camaro and appeared to be in pristine condition. It didn’t seem
like the kind of car a doctor would drive. The shadowed darkness tried to cloak
its aggressive lines. Roger shuddered. Something about the car both repelled
and attracted him. He shook himself back to the task at hand.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We’re here, Maddie.” He paused a moment with a frown before
exiting the car and getting Maddie ready.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Nice night, eh?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The voice startled him. Malum smiled and lit a
cigar. He wore a flannel shirt and faded jeans, similar to Roger. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The pleasant aroma of cigar smoke dusted over him as he
finished strapping Maddie into her chair. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Malum caught Roger glancing at the car. He gestured with the
cigar and a hungry look came over his features. “That beauty is a 1969 Camaro,
the last of the first generation. It’s got a 396 under the hood and runs like a
champ.” Malum nodded to himself for a few moments. “Oh, sorry. Why don’t you
come in for drink? I think we should have ourselves a little chat.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger licked his lips. “Uh, yeah. Some place you got here.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Malum glanced over his shoulder, “I like the history of it.
The roots in America haven’t been growing that long, but at least this girl has
some story to her.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger nodded and glanced for the easiest route into the
house.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We will have to carry her up,” Malum indicated with his
cigar. “They didn’t exactly build these houses to ADA code back then. People
made do and that’s unfortunate.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Malum led the way to the stairs. He stuffed the cigar in his
mouth and bent his tall frame over to pick up the front of Maddie’s chair. He
lifted it as naturally as standing and took the steps as if he carried a jug of
milk. Roger grunted and waddled up the stairs picking up the back of the
wheelchair by the handles.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The doctor propped open the thick oaken door and motioned him
into entryway. The warmth of the house brushed against his face. Roger took off
his coat and hung it on the empty coat rack in the corner. He sat down on the
bench to take off his shoes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s okay, you can leave them on.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger finished taking off his shoes. “Sorry, it’s an old
habit and I feel more comfortable without them anyway.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Suit yourself.” Malum took a puff on his cigar and pulled
it out of his mouth to consider it. “Did you want to try one?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No thanks.” Roger rubbed his sweaty palms on his jeans.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Come with me to the study. I will pour us a couple of
drinks and we can chat about Maddie and the future.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The wall scones cast their yellow light against the wooden
panels of the walls. The place looked like it had never witnessed a speck of
dusk. A clean lemony smell floated above the polished wood surfaces. He
followed Malum into a two-story library straight from a movie with hundreds of
books, a lightly crackling fire, and overstuffed furniture facing each other in
a conference.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger rolled Maddie in and perused the bookshelves. The
faded book covers spoke to him in a myriad of languages. “How many of these
have you read?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Malum poured brandy from a crystal decanter. “I don’t find
as much time to read as I wish. I always have good intentions, but . . .” Malum
walked over and placed a heavy glass in Roger’s hand. “To good intentions.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger clinked glasses and sipped gingerly at the vicious
liquid. The oaky smell made his mouth water for more.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
With a click of a remote, Malum invited Bach’s Fugue in G
into the room. One corner of his mouth rose. He sat down on the couch and
crossed his long legs at the ankles. He sprawled his arms and seemed to take in
the music.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger looked at Maddie. She stared blankly at Malum.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A creaking floorboard pulled Roger’s attention back toward
the entryway. He nearly dropped his drink. There she stood. The woman from the
park and the coffee shop. She wore an elegant black dress that came down to a
shallow V in the front. Pearl earnings dangled from her ears. Her hair was
pulled up in a striking manner. She wheeled a black suitcase behind her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger whipped back around to Malum. He had an amused look on
his face. “Roger, meet my <i>wife</i>,
Gloria. I thought you weren’t going to that retreat.” He sat up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Gloria’s jaw tightened. She looked at Maddie and refused to
acknowledge Roger. “You know I have no choice, <i>dear</i>. I will be back on Monday. I trust you will behave.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Malum barked laughter. “You know I cannot promise that.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She looked at Maddie with a pained expression and walked
briskly down the hall and out the door.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger took a full sip of the brandy and tried to make sense
of what he had just seen.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Now let’s talk about Maddie.” Malum leaned in, resting his
elbows on his knees. He took a sip of brandy then put out his cigar in the
glass tray next to the couch. “I will be leaving soon, and I want my therapy to
be completed before I leave, hence why you are here.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Wait. You’re leaving?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But, we’re just starting to see real progress. How can you
leave?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Roger, don’t be selfish. Besides, I am not a miracle
worker. I can only do so much. Don’t let that mislead you though, as I can do
so much more for Maddie. I can bring her back, Roger. Do you understand? I can
bring her back.” Malum leaned back into the couch and watched Roger closely.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What exactly is it that you do?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A perfectly white smile spread on Malum’s face. “Some,”
Malum’s eyes went toward the front door for a second, “would say that I meddle
in things that should not be meddled with. I see before me a world full of
broken people. I can restore them. No one is going to tell me that isn’t the
right thing to do. That is my gift, Roger. I fix what others cannot. I fix what
others discard. I restore hope. Does it always fit the bill? Does it always turn
out perfectly? Of course not.” Malum waved the idea away as foolish.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger stood and walked toward the fire. The smoke stained
bricks seemed to press upon him. “I’m tired of,” he turned around, “all of
this. The lack of communication, the diapers, the day care, the hollowness, all
of it.” Roger threw his empty hand up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Malum stood and placed a cold hand on his shoulder, “I know <i>exactly</i> what you mean. No more of that.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m going to go upstairs for a moment. I want you to finish
your drink and say goodbye to this broken Maddie. When you return Sunday
evening, she will be fixed and we can both move on.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Malum pulled the two pocket doors behind him, leaving Roger
and Maddie alone.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger polished off his drink and set the glass carefully
down on the white marble mantle. He looked at Maddie.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Roger,” her blue eyes darted left and right in wild fear,
“Get me . . .” then they washed over to their usual dullness.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He rushed over and kneeled in front of her. She reached out
and grabbed his watch. Her eyes roamed the room in disinterest. He rested his
head on her lap and cried.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I can’t wait to see you on Sunday.” He leaned down and
kissed her on the cheek. She offered him a crooked smile and wiped at her cheek
with a balled up hand.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger got into his car. He turned the ignition. Nothing. Not
even a protesting rattle. The battery had nothing to give.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Fuck.” Roger gave the steering wheeling a quick jab and
looked back toward the house. Malum came out the front door with the cigar in
his mouth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger got out of the car. “Sorry, I got to call a truck.
Battery’s dead.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Nonsense, take my car.” Malum tossed him the keys to the Camaro.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger snatched them out of the air and looked at the dark
beast. It needed to be driven and he wanted to oblige. Normally he would not
ever consider driving someone else’s car, but this was different.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Malum held up his hand. “I’m not going anywhere and I got
other cars. I know the guy that owns the shop down the road. He owes me a
favor.” Malum smiled. “He can bring a battery out here over the weekend and swap
it out. I just need you to trade your keys for mine.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Wow, thanks. I appreciate it.” Roger dug the keys out of
his jeans, detached the car keys, and handed them over to Malum.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Don’t be afraid to give in to the speed. She likes it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger shook his hand and walked around the car to take in
every angle. The keys buzzed in his hand. He opened the unlocked front door. It
welcomed him with a soft screech of hinges. The spotless vinyl looked slick in
the dim light. He sat down in the driver seat and closed the door with a
satisfying heavy thud. He felt around the steering column before realizing the
ignition was on the dash. The engine turned over instantly and the throaty
growl of it filled his ears. He eased it into drive and crept out of the
driveway. He looked left and right and goosed the gas pedal. It leapt on
command kicking up some gravel. The tires connected with the road and issued a
screech when the car lurched forward as it purchased traction.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger found himself one hour later in a park. He did not
remember driving there. A confusing image of a bloody girl flashed before his
eyes. A sickening tug erupted from his stomach and he barely got out of the
door before retching the meager contents of his stomach. His shaking hands made
a difficult time of starting the car again. He no longer had any desire to
drive it. He just wanted to go home and crash.<o:p></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p><span style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;"> </span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
Chapter
6<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Weekends were fleeting things normally; a tiny pillow on an
uncomfortable bed. This one however refused to leave and instead lingered for
Roger. His thoughts bounced between Maddie and the fantasy weekend he surely
could have had at Chrissy’s cabin. He looked at his phone often, aching to call
Arty, but he couldn’t make himself do it. How could he explain to Arty that he
had left his wife with a near stranger? He poured himself glass after glass of
cheap wine. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His drunken mind offered him no release and conspired to
induce the same thoughts his sober mind obsessed over, but now at half the
speed. He closed the curtains inviting darkness into the room. Sleep evaded him
though he clawed for it. No position offered him comfort.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The wine lasted through Sunday morning. A cold shower
slapped Roger awake and he mindlessly surfed the net. His phone rang at 6:30
pm.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You can pick her up now,” Malum spoke into his ear and hung up.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger took the elevator down to the underground parking
garage. Malum’s Camaro stood ready for him. The engine eagerly roared to life.
The 396 growled down the ramp. The car tore into the street with screeching
tires. Roger normally would have been mortified at calling such attention, but
now he didn’t care. He had a purpose.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He resisted the urge to stamp down the pedal and kept the
car below seventy. It hummed along smoothly. Malum’s house loomed in front of
him. The car bounced up the driveway. Roger slammed the brakes to avoid hitting
into a stone bench. He cut the engine off and closed his eyes. He put his head
against the steering wheel, exhaling slowly. The cold metal pushed him onward.
The car door opened with a regretful screech. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He jumped up the steps two at a time and before he could
knock on the door, it opened for him. Maddie stood there. Not in her wheel
chair, but actually standing on her own. Her blue eyes no longer held the usual
flatness, but the dullness remained. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hi, Roger,” she said in a flat tone. Her dead eyes lingered
on his.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
His shoulders slumped.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
The End</div>
ryansspireshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16388039654896831197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994125483603496938.post-57033761882625245502016-04-03T19:45:00.002-05:002016-04-13T06:21:51.063-05:00Maddie Part 2 of 3<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
Chapter
Three<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger finished the email to his boss and read it over a few
times before hitting the send button. The light hum of the air system and
clicking keyboards provided the soundtrack of his typical weekday. He stood up
in his cube and blinked a few times. It had been a couple of hours since he
last moved and his body reminded him that it liked to change position every
once in a while. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He walked around the corner to Chrissy’s cube. Her long legs
were crossed under the desk and she wore a look of concentration as she typed
away. Roger glanced down at her ample chest, forced his gaze back up, and
cleared his throat.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Chrissy looked up with a startled expression that turned
into a genuine smile parting her thick lips. “Hey, Roger.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He looked at her pursed lips for a moment. “Never got a
chance to ask how your weekend was.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She crossed her legs towards him. “It was alright. I drove
up north to my parent’s cabin and spent most of it up there. How about you?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger shrugged. “It was ok. Took Maddie down to the park
then to the doctor.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Chrissy leaned forward, “You’ve mentioned your wife a few
times but I’ve never seen her. Why don’t you have a picture of her at your
desk?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Ah. . .” he scratched at the back of his head. “I’m not
really a picture kind of guy.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Photos plastered Chrissy’s cube. The pictures showcased all
her amazingly good-looking friends, as if they belonged to some sort of
exclusive club.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
An impulse struck Roger. His ringing phone stopped him short
of asking her out for a drink after work. He held up a one-moment gesture and
went back to his desk.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Financial services, this is Roger.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Roger, it’s Carla.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her voice sounded strained. Roger’s heart jumped into
overdrive. “What’s wrong?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Uh, nothing’s wrong. Not wrong at all. Uh, I think you need
to come home and see this.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Is Maddie ok?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah, she’s fine, but you need to see this.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger shut down his computer, his mind racing. What could
Carla be talking about, and why was she being so cryptic? <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His decade old Toyota groaned as he pushed it past sixty-five.
He could not get to the condo soon enough. He unlocked the door. Maddie’s
familiar shrieking filled his ears as soon as he stepped in the doorway.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He entered the room with his hands in his pockets and his
face tight. Carla’s eyes were red rimmed. Roger bent down to kiss Maddie on the
cheek and looked her over. Everything seemed normal.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Carla swallowed. “Look at what we colored today.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger walked past Maddie and looked down to the picture of
the dolphin family. Roger frowned.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Ok, so where is Maddie’s coloring?” He
turned to look at the fridge.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Roger, this <i>is</i>
Maddie’s coloring.” Carla nodded and began crying.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He picked up the drawing and walked to the window. The
sunlight shone off the perfectly colored page. Instead of a mono color
scribble, she had used seven different colors including four shades of blue.
She had even drawn an “M” at the bottom of the page. Roger dropped the page and
covered his mouth. Through blurry eyes, he looked back to Maddie. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He wanted to tell her how good it was, but the words lodged
in his throat. Carla offered him a short and fierce hug.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What happened?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Carla dabbed at her eyes with a wrinkled Kleenex. “It was
just like any other morning. I cut out a picture and left all of the colors
out for her. She crouched over the drawing so I didn’t see until she finished.
I just noticed it took her a lot longer than normal.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maddie parked next to the cabinet and started at him
expectantly. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, Jesus I’m sorry. I owe you some candy don’t I?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He got her an orange sucker, walked back over to Carla, and
asked her in a quiet voice, “Did you notice anything else different today?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, it was a normal day.” <o:p></o:p>Carla composed herself and said goodbye.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger glanced over to Maddie and couldn’t help think about
Dr. Malum. He fished the card out of his ancient leather wallet and put it on
the counter. The bone white card seemed like a pustule on the black countertop.
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maddie slurped away on her sucker and pulled herself around
the condo at glacier speed. Roger kept looking at the gleaming white card.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Dammit,” he muttered. He swiped the card off the counter
and dialed the number. Dr. Malum answered on the first ring.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Roger? This is Roger, right?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger didn’t respond.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What did she do? Did you catch a glimpse of her?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“She, uh, colored. I mean, really colored.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t know what you mean exactly, Roger, but that’s not
important. What’s important is that you called me, and I can help.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger stared at Maddie. “What do I need to do?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I need you to trust me. Drop her off at my office tomorrow
morning at 8:00 and you will stay in the waiting room while I see her. Do you
understand me?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His mouth went dry and his stomach weighed down on him. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Are you there, Roger?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah. Yeah. I can do that.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dr. Malum hung up the phone and Roger bolted into the
bathroom to vomit up the contents of his stomach. He flushed the toilet and
laid his warm face against the cool floor. He looked up to see Maddie’s
sneakers right in front of his face.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She smiled at him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger got to his knees and touched her head as he walked
past. He dialed up Arty and told him everything. Roger waited for the silence
to end on the other line.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So, this dude shot blue shit out of his hands like the
Emperor from Jedi?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What? No, man. I don’t know, Arty.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hey, I’m looking at the PDF you sent me, and what Maddie
did is amazing. I just think you’re seeing ghosts that aren’t there. First, you
have the weird encounter at the park, and now Dr. Feelgood is working some
voodoo on her? Nah, man. I don’t care what the reality is, other than, Maddie
might be coming back,” the last few words came out in a half choked manner. Arty
cleared his throat.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger flipped the phone to his other ear. “Yeah, you’re
right.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m not saying that isn’t weird shit, dude. I’m just saying
crazy stuff happens all the time. No need to get all metaphysical and shit.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Alright. Later, bro.” Roger hung up the phone and reclaimed
his wine glass from the top of the IKEA entertainment center. He gave it a
little kick when he thought about what a pain in the ass it had been to put
that damn thing together. He drained his wine glass and peered out the window
at the city lights. From the eighth floor, the city looked to be jumping for a
Monday night. Roger poured himself another glass of the sour cab and paced
around the room.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He couldn’t find a reason, but his instincts told him not to
take her back to Malum. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But this had been her only breakthrough since the accident. He would give the doctor one more chance.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next morning arose in another blur, and the closer he
got to the office the more his unease grew. He glanced at Maddie. Spittle hung
from her lip and she nodded off for a second, her blue eyes blinking in slow
motion.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sorry, girl.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maddie awoke fully by the time he got her strapped into her
chair in the chilly parking lot of the medical center. His visible breath
clouded the bright aluminum of her chair. Roger pushed her into the entryway
with a gust of wind that pushed him onward as if in encouragement. The second
set of doors opened to them with a whoosh of sterilized, warm air. Maddie
received her normal collections of hellos and smiles. Malum himself came out to
the waiting room.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Morning,” he looked over his rimless glasses at Roger.
“Now, our deal is still on, right? You’re going to stay here.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger felt like the last statement should have been a
question, but the tone rang clear. He shoved his hands in his khakis. “Yeah.
I’m going to wait here.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Good boy.” Malum smiled and pushed Maddie away while he
whistled a happy tune.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What a dick,” Roger muttered under his breath and pawed
over the collection of three-month-old magazines. He settled on a sports themed
rag and mindlessly turned the pages. He glanced up occasionally and slid down
in the leather chair as the hour dragged by.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Somehow, he fell asleep. He dreamt he sat on the park bench
like any other Saturday. Commotion at edge of the park caught his attention.
Maddie stood in the middle of Malum and the weird lady. Except Maddie was the
Maddie that he had married; the beautiful wistful bank teller that wanted to be
a poet. The woman and Malum each grabbed one of Maddie’s arms and began to tug
her back and forth. She opened her mouth in a scream and Roger awoke as the
magazine hit the floor and Malum rolled Maddie in front on him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her chin rested on her chest. She breathed slowly. Malum had
looked fresh and full of vigor just an hour ago. Now his hair looked tossed
about and dark shadows encased his bloodshot eyes.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger stood. “Is she ok?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Of course,” Malum flashed a smile and his face returned to
its previous youthful state for a moment.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So what now?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I await your second call.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger phoned Carla on his way home and met her at the front
of their condo. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hey Maddie, it’s not nap time. Did you have a hard time
sleeping last night?” She looked to Roger.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I think she slept fine but the appointment took something
out of her,”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Carla frowned and wheeled Maddie into the condo.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After his goodbyes, Roger drove into work. He logged into
his computer and poured himself a cup of instant coffee. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Chrissy walked around the corner and stopped at his cube.
Her light perfume pricked at his senses. She wore a form fitting gray skirt and
a dark sweater that clung to her chest. “Roger, would you have time tonight for
a quick drink?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger looked into her green eyes, down to her mouth, and
back to her eyes. “Uh, yeah, is everything ok? You look a little distraught.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah. Well, no. Glenn has been acting like a total jerk
recently, and I need a guy’s advice.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger rotated his chair to face her. “Sure, I can offer you
the enlightened modern male perspective.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Enlightened male?” Chrissy placed a hand on her hip. “Sounds
like an oxymoron to me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Allow me to disprove that over a couple of beers tonight.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’re on.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger felt the blood rush to his crotch. He turned back to
his computer and assured himself that his motives were pure. He simply wanted
to help her. He sent a text off to Carla that he might be a little late
tonight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Throughout the workday, he thought of Chrissy. He also
called home a couple times hoping to hear that Maddie had done something else
to indicate that a further step had occurred in her stalled recovery. Carla
informed him that everything was normal except that she slept more than usual.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A new bar had opened up a few blocks from their office. Roger
and Chrissy walked over there and shared a few office stories along the way.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The neon-infested bar held a full crowd. They found an
unoccupied corner. A tiny server materialized from the chaos and took their
beer orders.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger listened intently to Chrissy’s story about her
boyfriend Glenn. He liked how close he had to stand to hear. He caught himself
glancing down at her breasts when she looked away. He was pretty sure she
caught him once and she smiled in response.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So, do you think my friends are right about Glenn? I need a
guy’s perspective. I have too many friends that are girls.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger picked at the label of his empty beer bottle and
motioned at the server for his third beer of the evening. “Glenn sounds like a
D-bag.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Chrissy squinted then broke into laughter, placing a hand on
Roger’s arm. He leaned in a little.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I guess my girlfriends had it right.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The server swapped out his empty for a fresh one. Roger took
a swig from his new beer. “Not only is he a d-bag, he’s an idiot. Any guy would
be lucky to have you. I mean, just look at you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Chrissy bit her lip, leaned in and kissed his cheek. “You’re
sweet.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger, felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He looked at
Chrissy for a long time and finally tore his gaze away. His phone indicated
that he had two texts and that it was nearly 8:00. “Shit. Time flies when
you’re around a gorgeous woman.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Chrissy glanced down at his phone. “Is that the, uh, woman
that takes care of your wife?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah, that was Carla and I think she’s getting pissed off.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Do you have leave right now?” Chrissy pouted a little and
took another step closer.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger’s heart beat harder and the heat spread below his waist.
“I suppose I can at least finish my beer. Just a second while I text her.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So, I don’t mean to be rude, Roger, but can I ask you a
personal question?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Go for it.” He took a swig of his beer. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So, are you and your wife able to, you know, be man and
wife?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger laughed dryly and set his beer down on the window
ledge. “You mean have sex? It’s ok to say the s word.” He sighed. “No. Not
since the accident. It wouldn’t be right. She has the mentality of a two-year-old.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Don’t you get lonely?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He nodded and picked his beer up not trusting his voice.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“This is going to sound really bad but I’m just going to say
it. I like you, Roger. You’re really cool. If you ever want to, ah, hang out
and come over to my place, I would like that. You better get going though.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She hugged him straight on and she had to notice that he had
the beginnings of an erection.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
All the way home Roger felt dirty and regretful. You didn’t
do anything wrong he repeated to himself.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Carla met him at the door with a raised eyebrow. “Late night
at the <i>office</i>?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Carla, I’m sorry. I was having a round with the guys and
time slipped away from me.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She frowned at him. “Please be more respectful of my time in
the future. Now go in and get Maddie ready for bed. She’s been zonked out all
day.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
That night Maddie woke him up by calling out his name.<o:p></o:p></div>
ryansspireshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16388039654896831197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994125483603496938.post-55656825658395949812016-03-31T07:00:00.001-05:002016-04-03T19:46:13.651-05:00Maddie Part 1 of 3<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">
For a summer in college I worked at a home for developmentally disabled adults. They had four residents and only one of them was capable of speech. It was difficult to work with them, knowing this was the limit of their abilities and there wasn't a damn thing I could do about it. I would occasionally run into a person that would resemble one of my boys and I would think, this is what Roger would look like and be doing if his brain hadn't been damaged</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">
It could happen to any of us. Our brains are amazing but delicate things. I wanted to explore the concept of losing someone close to brain damage and poking at the idea of what people would be willing to risk and lose to gain something of the person back. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left; text-indent: 0in;">
That's the spark that led me to write this short story titled Maddie, which I will put out here in three parts. <span style="text-indent: 0in;">I put some bits of the four residents into Maddie. In a very small way, it's my tribute to them and their struggles.</span><span style="text-indent: 0in;"> As a warning, it's a rough draft that hasn't seen the care of an editor and I typically don't write in this length or genre. It's certainly not my best writing, but I like the premise. I hope you enjoy.</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
Maddie</div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
Chapter
1<o:p></o:p></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger arrived at his eighth floor loft. He took a moment to
gather himself before unlocking the door. The resounding click started a chain
reaction as he walked inside the entryway.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Maddie, go see who’s at the door. Do you think it's Roger?” Carla asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger removed his black wool coat and sat on the bench to take
off his shoes. Maddie slowly rolled around the corner. She wore her favorite
pink tracksuit and matching princess bib that sparkled in the dull light of the
entryway. She moved herself in the wheelchair by pulling slowly with her feet.
She refused to use her hands to propel herself and was confined to the chair
due to severe balancing issues.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As soon as she saw Roger, a crooked smile lit her face and
she shrieked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I hear shrieking. That must be your husband,” Carla said
from around the corner.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger leaned down and gave Maddie a kiss on her cheek. She
tilted her head to the side and pawed with an awkward hand gesture, but her smile
stayed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Did you and Carla have a good day?” Roger asked. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He moved out of the narrow hallway and into wide-open space
of their loft. The fifteen-foot ceilings made the 800 square feet seem larger
than it was. Three oversized windows provided a foggy view of the city. The
gray day mirrored his mood.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Carla was their day nurse who watched Maddie when Roger worked
at the office. She kept her gray streaked hair pulled back in an old-fashioned
bun. It remained a glaring contrast to her otherwise open and liberal persona.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We sure did. We took a walk in the park and Maddie even
colored you a picture. Maddie, did you want to show Roger the picture?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maddie’s gaze locked on something outside.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger walked across the concrete floors to the black
laminated counter tops. The kitchen light captured every scratch and ding in
the surface. Carla stepped aside to unveil a page carefully cut out of a
coloring book. It was a picture of a dolphin leaping out of the water. It had a
euphoric look on its face. Roger wondered what the fuck it was so happy about. The
picture had heavy uneven purple crayon lines scribbled all over it. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s very good, Maddie. So good,” Roger hung it on black
fridge with a dolphin magnet, “that I think it deserves some candy.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maddie stopped looking at the ceiling, let out a small
shriek, and began to pull herself over to the cabinet. Roger opened up the
door and retrieved a jar containing a hundred identical orange suckers.
Maddie shrieked again as he placed one in her sticky hand.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I got you a little something, you know, for your
anniversary,” Carla whispered to him. She handed him a sealed card. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Thank you, Carla. You didn’t need to do that.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Nonsense. A five-year anniversary is something special.
Enjoy your weekend.” She gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze and said
goodbye to Maddie. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When Carla left, the only sound in the studio remained
Maddie’s slurping and the radio quietly playing in the background. The
pretentious DJ droned on in a monotonous tone about a little known classical
piece. Roger looked around the spotless studio and sighed. Another weekend.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What day is it today, Maddie?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Fwydah,” she answered in a cheerful voice.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Suckers were the only hard substance that Maddie could
handle. The rest of her food had to be pureed. Roger retrieved the container
labeled meatloaf. He threw the colored speckled mush in the microwave and
poured himself a hefty glass of red wine.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maddie finished her sucker and dropped the stick on the
floor.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hey,” Roger said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She wheeled herself back over to the window.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger got a new bib out of the cabinet and stirred the
concoction that would serve as her dinner. He called her to no avail. He
shuffled over and pulled her wheel chair to the flimsy kitchen table and locked
the wheels in place. Her blue eyes rolled around the room.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He got a spoonful ready for her. She dutifully ate each bite
he wordlessly presented her. She let him know she had reached her limit by
spitting the food out onto the table.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“OK, we will wash you up and then we will watch the news.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maddie had religiously watched the news after work. Though
she seemed to have little interest anymore in the current events, Roger parked
her in front of the TV every evening on the beige colored rug that dutifully defined
the boundaries of their living room.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger drained his second glass of wine and watched the news
with her. Maddie began nodding off toward the end of the broadcast.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hey, you can’t be tired already, Maddie. What day is it?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Fwydah,” she mumbled.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Indeed, little lady.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He fished around the closet to get her pink dolphin PJs. He
undid her seat belt and laid her on the bed. Drool dripped down her open mouth.
He changed her out of her clothes, put her in a fresh diaper, and changed her
into the PJ’s. The process took him fifteen minutes. She had her own single bed
with rails that laid next to his tiny bed.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The third glass of wine floated him into a fitful sleep. He
awoke to her sobbing. He scrambled for the lamp and knocked it over with a
clumsy hand.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Fuck.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He picked up the lamp and flipped it on at the same time.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maddie immediately stopped crying. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Aw, sorry, Maddie, I forgot your nightlight.” His head
bobbed on his shoulders. The sour taste of wine settled in his mouth. He bent
over and switched on her dolphin nightlight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It took him another hour to fall back asleep.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The next morning sunlight blanketed the room through the
thin drapery. Roger moaned and threw his arm over his head. He looked over to
Maddie. Her blue eyes locked onto his when she caught him looking.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What day is it today, Maddie?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Fwydah.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Close, it’s Saturday morning and you know what Saturday
morning is right?” He didn’t wait for her to answer knowing none was going to
arrive. “It’s park day.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He rolled over to a sitting position and scratched at the
neck stubble that attacked his tender skin. “First we will get you changed,
feed you some breakfast, and then head on out.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The cell phone rang. He shuffled across the unforgivingly
cold concrete floor and saw it was Artemis.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hey Arty,”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I didn’t wake you, did I?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Nah. What’s up?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I figured I would invite myself over and chill out for a
while. Oh, wait. It’s a park day right?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger smiled and dumped a packet of oatmeal in a white
ceramic bowl. “Yup, wanna meet us there?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yeah, that would be cool. See you there in half an hour?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Whoa, dude, what’s the rush? How about an even hour?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Alright, Roger, sounds good. I won't be able to stay super long, but it would be nice to see you two.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh boy, Maddie, I think we're going to see someone special
at the park today.” Roger stirred the oatmeal and glanced up. Maddie had one of
her blank stares on. “Aw shit, not today.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her non-responsive state melted away after he got her in a
fresh diaper and dressed. He did her hair up in two pigtails. “We gotta get
your hair cut soon, darling, starting to look like a hippie. Me too I suppose.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After breakfast, he snapped out the footrests on the chair
and rolled her down to the elevator. An older couple arrived in the lobby at
the same time. They smiled uneasily and didn't get onto the elevator with
them. They pretended to await the next one with a special purpose. As soon
as the morning air reached her, Maddie wore a crooked smile.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Kind of chilly today.” Roger pulled a hand off the chair and
blew on it. He rolled her the three blocks to the park and positioned her next
to the bench and locked her wheels. A bird flew by and Maddie starting
screeching.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hey Maddie,” Roger
pointed to the slender man with an olive complexion and dark hair walking
toward them, “Who is that? Is that. . .could it be? Is that Arty?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“EEEEEEEEEEEE!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How’s my favorite girl?” Arty kissed her on top of her
shiny hair and plopped down on the bench. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sup, dude?” Roger asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Where is everyone today?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger scanned the empty playground. “Inside playing video
games.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Probably. Awww shit. I totally forgot. It was your five-year
anniversary!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger nodded. “Yeah. It was.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maddie moved a claw like hand out in front of her.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What are you pointing at?” Arty asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger scanned the horizon in the direction but couldn’t see
anything.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Are you pulling our leg, Maddie?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She offered a crooked smile.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They sat in silence and watched as a family of four claimed
the playground for themselves. The two younger kids looked at Maddie a few
times.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You know, Arty, that kind of stuff used to bother me. People
looking, or staring at Maddie. It’s like, they’re aiming a giant spotlight at
her.” Roger glanced at Arty. He nodded. “Then I realized Maddie, doesn’t care,
so why should I?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Exactly!” Arty shoved his hands in his skinny jeans and
smiled at Maddie. “Too bad everyone else can’t get over themselves, like her
damn parents.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger grunted. “Not just her parents. Shit, you’re the only
friend we got left. I got a lot of emails and calls the first few weeks and
then people, I don’t know, didn’t want to think that sort of stuff can happen. I
guess they didn’t want that kind of burden around their unblemished lives.
Whatever the reason, they left.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hey man, that’s their loss. Right, Maddie?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She pointed again.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger squinted. It looked like she was pointing at a
building behind the park, but he couldn’t tell.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How’s life at the cube farm?” Arty asked.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger shifted on the bench and cleared his throat. “Ah,
fine.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Arty scrunched up his face. “What’s the deal?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well, there’s this new girl and . . .”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Ah, hell no man,” Arty cut him off. “Dude, you’re married.
Keep your shit together.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I know. I know.” Roger threw his arms up. “Sometimes . . .
it’s hard Arty. It’s like sometimes I get a glimpse of Maddie, like she’s still
in there. But other times, I get nothing. Is this what I get the rest of my life?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Arty looked around. “Just because your relationship has been
simplified doesn’t mean it’s bad. What you and Maddie had and still have is
good. Besides, you never know what can happen.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s been two years, Arty, and not a damn thing has
changed,” A chill ripped through Roger.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Stranger things have happened, bro.” Arty wiggled his
eyebrows. “Hey, I gotta bolt. See you two later.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger watched him go. Arty turned around once to blow a kiss
at Maddie and waved. A few more kids invaded the playground. Maddie pointed
again in the same direction, but this time he could see a woman walking toward
them.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She looked to be in her middle years. A handsome woman. That
phrase popped in his head. He couldn’t exactly explain what that meant, nor
would he ever offer that as a compliment, but he meant it as one. The woman
walked with a refined grace and confidence. Her dark skin radiated beautifully
in the morning sun. She wore a simple dress and no jacket like the morning cold
demanded.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“EEEEEEEE!” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger laughed. “I think she likes you.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hello, Maddie,” the woman said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, I’m sorry, have we met?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The woman kneeled down in front of Maddie and flashed a wide
smile full of perfect white teeth.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Roger, you don’t remember me?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He scratched his head. “I’m not that good with names but I
never forget a face. Sorry, I’m drawing a blank.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Mind if I join you?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger indicated the bench and the woman sat down, her back
straight.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“They’re fun to watch aren’t they?” She said, facing the
playground.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s one of the reasons why we come here.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That, and it’s where you proposed.” <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger blinked a few times and cocked his head. Now that he
thought about it, there was something very familiar and even comforting about
this woman. “I’m at a disadvantage, you know our names, and interesting details
about us and I got nothing.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The woman glanced down at her watch then looked to Roger. He
could not look away from those intense, warm eyes. “I have to leave soon,
Roger.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Just listen. He’s coming.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Who?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I said, just listen. He’s coming and we all know he can work
his magic and be charming. But he doesn’t work for free.” the woman said. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For the second time, a chill came over Roger. He couldn’t look
away.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But no matter what he promises you, don’t do it. You hear
me? Don’t do it.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger tore his gaze away. He could not handle the intensity
of her eyes. She stood up and knelt in front of Maddie. She bent over and
whispered something in her ear.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“EEEEEEEEEE!” Maddie said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The woman walked off at a brisk pace without looking back. <o:p></o:p></div>
<span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><br clear="all" style="mso-special-character: line-break; page-break-before: always;" />
</span>
<br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="text-indent: 0in;">Chapter
2</span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<span style="text-indent: 0in;"><br /></span></div>
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center; text-indent: 0in;">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger paced the kitchen and laid the story out for Arty.
Several moments of silence filled the air. He could picture the incredulous
look on Arty’s face.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s really weird, dude,” Arty finally said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“She didn’t seem crazy though, that was the odd thing. I
would expect someone that talked like that be to be crazy,” Roger said. He
glanced over to Maddie, who happily slurped on an orange sucker.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Don’t actions define crazy? Hey, I won’t fault you if you
want to believe in any hoodoo voodoo stuff, but I think she was just plain old-fashioned
bat-shit crazy. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’m just saying.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger finished the conversation and streamed a movie for
Maddie. She loved anything with a lot of movement and color. She pulled herself
around the studio and looked back at the TV often. She dropped her spent sucker
stick on the floor. Roger rolled his eyes but didn’t say anything.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He brought up his on-line calendar and groaned. They had an
8:00 appointment with Maddie’s doctor on Monday. “Maddie, you get to see Dr.
Klinth on Monday.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She stopped rolling, glanced at Roger, and continued her
track around their small place. He sent an email to Carla to remind her that
she could come over later on Monday. Gods knows she should just come with,
based on the number of questions she would likely bombard him with about the
appointment.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger poured himself the dregs of the wine bottle from last
night and plopped down on the couch. A fresh bottle filled glasses two, three,
and four. He passed the rest of day in a wine induced haze with visions of the
woman from the park. The more he thought about her, the more she transformed
from mystical to just plain odd. He had to agree with Arty. She had just been a
harmless but crazy lady. He almost believed that.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Monday morning came too early and Roger rushed out of the
door munching on a breakfast bar. He rolled Maddie down to their sedan, locked
her wheel chair in place, and lifted her from the chair into the car. She
latched onto his watch, fixated by it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger peeled her hand away and belted her in place. He
collapsed the wheel chair and put it into the spotless trunk. It had room for
little else. He put the radio on for Maddie and turned the heat on. The fall
morning condensed their breath on the windshield.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Shit, Maddie, I think we’re going to be late.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He pulled into the half-full parking lot at ten minutes past
eight. The receptionist stared blankly at him as he apologized for being late.
A nurse walked by. She saw Maddie and came over.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well, good morning, Maddie!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“EEEEEEEEE!”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The nurse grabbed Roger’s elbow, “Isn’t she a ray of
sunshine?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Another nurse took them back to the examining room where
they waited for Dr. Klinth. The information always seemed the same. Maddie’s
condition had not changed in the two years since the accident and coma. Despite
her unchanging state, Roger dutifully maintained her monthly appointments.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A younger doctor entered the room. His blond hair had been
slicked back like a movie star from the 40’s. He had to be around 6’ 4”. His
stethoscope rested against a piano key tie. Roger had not seen one of those
since the 1980’s.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, um, where is Dr. Klinth?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His cool blue eyes looked up from the chart. “I’m Dr. Malum,
I’m taking on Dr. Klinth’s patients. I’m afraid he had an accident on Friday,
and passed away.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh my god. What happened?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Car accident.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“God, that’s terrible, didn’t he have three kids, too?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Malum frowned, “Four actually.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s horrible,” Roger shook his head. “I’m Roger, by the
way and this is Maddie.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dr. Malum’s cool and strong grip made Roger feel a little
uneasy.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Nice to meet you and Maddie. Here’s my card.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He handed Roger a plain looking business card. Malum sat on
the stool, and logged into the computer. “I can never get used to these things.
Paper is much more honest than these little ones and zeros.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger cocked his head. The doctor appeared to be about his
age. Malum scratched at his neck and Roger got a whiff of a vaguely familiar
aftershave. It took him a moment to place it, but images of his grandfather
bubbled up from the deep recesses of his memory. Pipe smoke and that particular
aftershave always reminded him of his grandfather.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I read Maddie’s file and I found her lack of progress
disturbing,” Malum said.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger opened his mouth. The warmness of the blood flow
registered in his neck and face. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Malum held up a hand, “No. It’s not because of a lack of
effort on anyone’s part. It’s not anyone’s fault.” He leaned in closer and
glanced over at Maddie. “What we need here, is a change of perspective. Instead
of managing her little symptoms and trying to keep her as comfortable as
possible, we need to aim for recovery. We need to have her back.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well,” Roger crossed his arms over his chest, “Dr. Malum,
we <i>have</i> already tried that. Her brain
is beyond repair. If anything, two years have proven that.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maddie fixated on Roger’s watch and tried to grab it. He let
her have a hold on it.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Malum looked him straight in the eyes, “I can fix her.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“The top neuro surgeon at the Mayo, couldn’t fix her,” Roger
said with a sigh. “This is the way it’s going to be. It’s not, uh, fair to
suggest otherwise.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I understand your skepticism. Hope can be a dangerous
thing. But, what do you have to lose? You don’t even have to believe this is
going to work, just let me try.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m listening. What’s the plan? Trust me though, we have
tried everything already.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Malum wheeled over on his short stool directly in front of
Maddie. She glanced up at him and then back to Roger’s watch. Malum cupped her
free hand in his. Maddie stopped playing with the watch and slowly turned her
gaze directly on him.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Roger shifted in his seat. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Maddie’s other hand stopped grasping his watch and went
limp. Something bright and blue flickered around Malum’s hands.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What?” Roger stood up. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Malum ignored him and stared at Maddie.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She began to shake.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Let go!” Roger tore Malum’s hands away and wheeled Maddie
out of range. “What kind of . . . is this some kind of joke?”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Malum’s blue eyes narrowed. “Wait and see. I bet she
surprises you soon and then you’re going to call me, Roger.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Don’t fucking count on it, <i>Dr.</i>” Roger wheeled Maddie out of the room and offered Malum a final
dirty look.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
ryansspireshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16388039654896831197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994125483603496938.post-87834871771423546102016-03-14T07:04:00.001-05:002016-03-14T07:07:37.532-05:00Cardboard GoldLike many other children of the 50's, my dad collected baseball cards. Legends with names like, Mantle, Maris, Koufax, and Aaron, were neatly arranged and sorted in cardboard boxes. Time is the great separator, and my father lost track of his collection, cast away like many other aspects of childhood. Those cards were worth hundreds of dollars in the 1980's. He often lamented that fact and it wasn't lost on me. <br />
<br />
My meager allowance earned from dishes, dusting, vacuuming, mowing, and shoveling was divided into two piles. The first fed a savings account, which back in the 80's could actually earn you some money. I would take the rest of my earnings, jump on my Huffy bike (no GT or Haro for me), and pedal my way to our local card shop, Extra Innings. <br />
<br />
It wasn't hard to fall in love with collecting cards and it didn't hurt that the home team won two world series (87 and 91) and that the steroid era wasn't in full swing yet. You opened the door to that cramped card shop and the bell would jingle to life as you beheld a glorious view of boxes, stacks, and packs of cards. I didn't know it at the time, but my entrance into the baseball card collecting arena was ill-timed. <br />
<br />
Topps, Fleer, and Donruss were the big three card companies. I was mostly a Topps man, but dabbled in the other two. An upstart company called Upper Deck came along in the late 80's and created premium cards and soon birthed the modern card that every kid wanted: <br />
<br />
<img src="http://portasite.com/wp-content/uploads/griffeyRC.jpg" height="400" width="266" /><br />
Behold the 1989 Ken Griffey Jr rookie card<br />
<br />
This card rocketed in price and soared over a $100.00! That was mind-blowing to me as a kid.I was buying packs of cards with a stick of gum in them for $0.50, hoping to get a $1.25 Mattingly. I never nabbed this unicorn, but did collect thousands of cards (including a few Ken Griffey Jr. rookie cards in other sets). With the lessons of my father and the example of the KG card, I knew I had cardboard gold sitting in those plastic sleeves and boxes. <br />
<br />
Turns out, I should have sold all of my cards back then. Nearly 30 years later and they still aren't worth what they peaked at. Companies saturated the markets with more and more cards. The bottom fell out shortly after I stopped collecting. My card collection ended up selling on Ebay for less than $100.00. <br />
<br />
It's funny how one generational truth unravels into mere myth. If I had a child collecting sport cards, my message to him would not mirror my father's. I was witness to this phenomenon a second time when purchasing a condo near the height of the market. Ten years later, I still can't get what I purchased it for <br />
<br />
That gets my wheels spinning. I got an idea for a new novel on the back burner and this theme of generational truths might get baked into writing. Hmmmmm. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />ryansspireshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16388039654896831197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994125483603496938.post-46412566629318242212016-02-15T06:57:00.000-06:002016-02-15T06:57:37.369-06:00BERTImagine you just heard a stirring new song that immediately grabs your attention. It's from a band you never heard of and you do a little internet research. Turns out the band/song was a carefully planned social experiment. Researchers compiled thousands of popular songs and analyzed them with a highly sophisticated computer program named BERT. BERT found all of the patterns that bend our ears and hearts and spat out a unique song using those mathematical patterns. <br />
<br />
I can picture a few different reactions on a spectrum ranging from:<br /><br />
"Cool! When is BERT going on tour?" <br />
"I don't care what the process is, I just like the song." <br />
"That's cheap. Creativity shouldn't be hijacked, researched, cataloged, and replicated by a machine. It should be natural!" <br />
<br />
The set up is a bit of an exaggeration, but the premise is reflective of the writing process. There are so many rules and guidelines when it comes to writing a novel. Ranging from the structure of the whole and chapters (exposition, rising tension, climax, falling tension, resolution - and don't forget, the inciting incident must be in the first chapter and have glowing arrows pointing toward it.), to the mundane (<i>beware adverbs! beware!!!</i> Did you hear that in a ghostly voice and maybe some rattling chains? Good.) <br />
<br />
Layer in a few dozen additional rules because it's within a genre (this is fantasy, it has to form a trilogy! Hey, where's the dragon?). All of these suggest a formula to me. A map claiming this is how you write a novel, unless you're a genius, then you can do whatever you want. Genius I ain't. <br />
<br />
My knee-jerk reaction is to fight against prescribed formulas and that's part of the reason why I have avoided plotting and prefer a less structured writing method. Frankly, that's been hit or miss. It worked fine for <i>Rise of Raulet</i>, but it blew up on my next book, and now I'm 15k into the rewrite and battling against those feelings as I rearrange the structure to not-coincidentally align with the more classic five-stage formula. <br />
<br />
I tend to oscillate between the three types of reactions when I think of formals and writing. It's analogous to following the wisdom of your elders. The teenager in me isn't impressed. Ultimately, I think I need to get over myself and make use of the guidelines. Instead I can express my rebellious need by crafting a story with a unique element that isn't getting enough play on the bookshelves. <br />
<br />
<i>p.s. In my first draft I accidentally wrote, "I tend to <u>osculate</u> . . ." instead of, "I tend to <u>oscillate</u>." Ha!</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />ryansspireshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16388039654896831197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994125483603496938.post-60948954699433882972016-02-08T06:42:00.000-06:002016-02-08T06:44:39.356-06:00Assassin's HeartThe news didn't surprise my writing group two years ago. One of our members, <a href="http://falenformulatesfiction.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Sarah Ahiers</a>, had finally landed an agent, the first step in a writer's dream. <br />
<br />
Three years of querying three novels, and each one received a high response rate, and the early drafts of <a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0062363786?keywords=sarah%20ahiers&qid=1454934301&ref_=sr_1_1&sr=8-1" target="_blank">ASSASSIN'S HEART</a> were great. You didn't have to be Nostradamus to predict that her finely woven YA Fantasy tale was going to hit the big time. <br />
<br />
Sarah's agent nabbing quickly turned into an auction for her book, which catapulted into a two book deal with HarperTeen. That all happened as a few week blur. The traditional publishing model is a slow-moving behemoth, despite the initial sprint. She had to wait nearly two years before her book finally launched. The moment has arrived. <br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilGaZZiifcZ8cWPFbjAIuC2OMdM9tJb8ePPL8Iq-thng3yZS2zUApSAt0qG1PhNB5R1ZfJpdL1GEd8W51oqi5DzbXH0JtHhlKqCKmZtzVV0DaZ_Xf1hu_vEqNIbOw8Ld1cgCdMjHhdS2U/s320/AH.jpg" width="212" /> </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Isn't this a gorgeous cover? </div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I'm excited to read the story in its final form. If you're a fan of YA fantasy, or just fantasy in general, I would recommend this book. Sarah has crafted a rich, vivid, world that serves as the seamless backdrop to her revenge tale (who doesn't like a little revenge story?). Pepper in some romance and humor to round it out, and you have a page-turner. </div>
<br />
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0062363786?keywords=sarah%20ahiers&qid=1454934301&ref_=sr_1_1&sr=8-1" target="_blank">Check it out here</a> <br />
<br />
A little bit of trivia for you: the first title of the book was ALL THAT REMAINS. It got axed after it sold, but still makes an appearance on the cover. <br />
<br />
Even if you're not interested in this particular tale, I would keep your eye on her. She's a great writer and pairs that with a strong work ethic. She is sure to produce a wealth of wonderful stories. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />ryansspireshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16388039654896831197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994125483603496938.post-51289993427484378882016-01-24T16:35:00.000-06:002016-01-24T16:35:35.817-06:00Sacred"To entertain is sacred," my friend said to me over a couple of pints at a local bar. I chuckled and leaned back in my chair, thinking the premise a bit overstated, though I agreed with the sentiment. We had been discussing the creation process and motivation to put ink to page. <br />
<br />
Part of the reason I write is to give a little something back for all of the hours I have been fortunate enough to enjoy a movie, game, or book. My primary aim is to entertain. I think there is a natural defensiveness that genre writers feel, a need to defend the idea that pure entertainment without the benefit of a strong social message is somehow lacking in literary value. <br />
<br />
Granted, I may weave into the story a backdrop of gender/race/etc equality, but that's often times my own distaste with our present world, and not my explicit attempt to sway others into my branch of thought. <br />
<br />
In a world (hard not to hear Don LaFontaine's voice) that's eager to serve up countless examples of hatred and disaster, I take refuge in entertainment. It helps me recharge and fortify against reality. And if I can help create that for a few other souls, awesome. <br />
<br />
It reminds me of Emily Dickinson's beautiful poem, "Not in Vain" <br />
<br />
If I can stop one heart from breaking,<br />
I shall not live in vain:<br />
If I can ease one life the aching,<br />
Or cool one pain,<br />
Or help one fainting robin<br />
Unto his nest again,<br />
I shall not live in vain. <br />
<br />
I've had more time to marinate on my friend's idea, and I think he was right after all.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />ryansspireshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16388039654896831197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994125483603496938.post-79650898643473669352016-01-10T19:45:00.002-06:002016-01-10T19:49:27.559-06:00A Little More Perspective PleaseEffort. In its pure, and glorious form, we often feel it's sufficient criteria to pass judgment upon another soul. <br />
<br />
As a child, I was often praised for my efforts, and soon that became one of the primary identifiers of self-worth. There are certainly worse things a person could pick up, dust off, and use as their guide, but it has it's limits if a person tries to apply that outside of their little box.<br />
<br />
It doesn't take too long to realize that effort alone is not sufficient. Still, it can be an effective shield against failure, to take comfort in the fact that you tried hard; you gave it the old college try. People will only expect you to try your hardest, right? Even as an adult, people are willing to cut you some slack if they perceive you are trying. <br />
<br />
I don't want to state that last line too lightly. It doesn't matter how hard you are trying, if others around you do not recognize that effort. That's my problem. Even though I will fully admit the playing field is not even, I have assumed that effort was. It may sound a little meta, but even effort is subject to different levels of, well effort. It might be easy for one person to undertake, to try, something than another person. Yeah, I know this sounds sophomoric, but bear with me. <br />
<br />
That doesn't even get to the idea of what is worthy of a person's effort and how subjective that is. It reminds me of when my brother and I, as kids would square off against our dad on the racquetball court. I was maybe, I don't know, twelve, and my brother was ten. I would dive for the ball and was singularly focused on defeating our dad. I could not for the life of me understand why my brother did not <i>appear</i> to be trying as hard as I thought I was trying. It drove me nuts, and I acted like a jackass. <br />
<br />
Thankfully, I outgrew that. Well, okay, I outgrew <i>most</i> of that. But even now in my mid-thirties, my knee-jerk reaction is to devalue a person, solely because I perceive their effort to not be as intense as I think it should be. *sigh*. It's a horrible habit. The remedy is all about perspective, needing to think outside of my own limited point-of-view.<br />
<br />
That leads me to next writing challenge. I got my notes back from my editor, and the short version = rewrite the novel. One of the fixes will be fleshing out some of the other points-of-views. POV can be an exceptionally powerful thing. It grants us a solid chance at empathy. We can fall in love with a villain, or at least understand why they did something considered heinous. It can break down the walls of simple categories/labels, and instead, force us to consider people as individuals worthy of understanding. And once we make a serious attempt at understanding a person, it's hard not to like them and learn a little about ourselves in the process. <br />
<br />
And that's where my writing life and non-writing life intersect. They could both use a little more perspective.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />ryansspireshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16388039654896831197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994125483603496938.post-26663586518057146212015-12-13T19:36:00.000-06:002015-12-13T19:36:07.989-06:00Damn the NumbersI have two scenarios for you. Both involve self-published books within the fantasy adventure genre. In the first scenario, it's the author's first book. It has not been read by anyone else. No writing group. No editor. No copy editor. Nothing. Boom! He self publishes it; eBook only. And yes, it is just as bad as you imagine. <br />
<br />
In the second scenario, it's this author's third completed novel length manuscript. It has been read by a number of people prior to publishing. It has seen the benefits of a writing group, an editor, and a copy editor. He self-publishes it and makes it available in both paperback and eBook. <br />
<br />
Guess which one sells better in the first six months? Since we love irony, or its close relatives, you're probably thinking that the first book sold more. You would be correct. What's interesting, is that it is not even close. As I am a visual person, I have some charts to illustrate the disparity. The first one isn't so horrific, it shows how many free copies were "purchased" for the two books. This would include promotional give-aways and some Amazon free programs such as Select and the lending library. Book One is the god-awful first book and it gets 8x the number of downloads. <br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN4iqUIPpJhRbQXLc6naZuon0jV02xl96za-lxd-gj3aBV5Op4PTiGl6bbdvjC_NC8xEFPiKpF4fO9au1Eszfek0gitdskNmqNT3ARdyDLeL38RbaslYFmVmgrKGm3V2ueuGrnAiQF86Y/s1600/Free+Units+Compare.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN4iqUIPpJhRbQXLc6naZuon0jV02xl96za-lxd-gj3aBV5Op4PTiGl6bbdvjC_NC8xEFPiKpF4fO9au1Eszfek0gitdskNmqNT3ARdyDLeL38RbaslYFmVmgrKGm3V2ueuGrnAiQF86Y/s400/Free+Units+Compare.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
One thousand versus 150. But, these are only the free copies, so they don't matter as much, right? Sort of. It's still publicity, and people spending time with your work. But, let's look at the real number. The actual paid for, sold units. Drum roll please . . . <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5IbekKocQgSSCTwhNLy3YqLetQYJyC1htQkBxePO61euQ6__Fc26qWe1rR0Rmnkgrkx6cgbyfIy1-0hksvHRhM9RTRxU2cl7UR2zIBhxyvNPHeaDxSnnBBeBmLRXsCF3XxSp9JS5MTxI/s1600/Purchaed+Units+Compare+2nd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5IbekKocQgSSCTwhNLy3YqLetQYJyC1htQkBxePO61euQ6__Fc26qWe1rR0Rmnkgrkx6cgbyfIy1-0hksvHRhM9RTRxU2cl7UR2zIBhxyvNPHeaDxSnnBBeBmLRXsCF3XxSp9JS5MTxI/s400/Purchaed+Units+Compare+2nd.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Ouch. See how Excel couldn't even render a visible color for Book Two due to the scale difference? Nearly 3,800 units sold versus, <i>almost</i> 30. Or in other words, the second book hasn't even sold 1% of what the first book did. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I took the first book down after the six month mark, as I couldn't abide by the idea that a work of mine was available to the public in such a raw and half-assed form. It also didn't help that I had some readers gouging their eyes out after trying to slog through the error-infested work, and weren't shy about expressing their experience to me. It was a fair complaint though, and it helped me develop a thicker skin <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I admit to entering into Book Two, a.k.a Rise of Raulet (ROR), with a fair amount of naive expectations. My first book sold relatively well and I had improved since then, and I put more time, money, and effort into this next project. I made sure to do all of the "right" things, involving a team of folks to help me fine tune the book. So, if book one sold that many in such a sorry state, imagine how many this next book would sell?!?! Yeah, it sounds asinine stated like that, but in my heart, I believed it. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Granted, it's not an apples to apples comparison of course. Two books never are. The first book was in 2012 and a lot has happened within the self-publishing realm over the last three years. And the first book came out at $0.99 and I priced the second one at $2.99 (eBook). I did recently lower the price to $0.99 just to see if it does any differently. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I'm hoping that I can soon arrive at a place of acceptance with ROR sales being virtually non-existent, and my first walking nightmare doing so much better. There is some feeling of redemption in putting ROR out there, to "prove" that I can produce a book of good quality, but I already knew I could. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
In the self publishing arena, you have the opportunity to oversee elements you wouldn't normally get to in the traditional publishing world. But, even with that additional influence, there are still numerous factors outside of your control. You just have to accept that fact, and keep at your art in whatever form that takes and damn the numbers.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
ryansspireshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16388039654896831197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994125483603496938.post-83911866309634886002015-12-01T06:38:00.000-06:002015-12-01T06:38:02.873-06:00A Little Bit of AlchemyFirst, a quick NaNo update before I blab about my next manuscript. Well, this was my second attempt at conquering the leviathan (50,000 words in one month!) and I hit the 20k mark. Not where I wanted to end up, but I did reestablish a couple of writing habits that proved to improve my daily word count by a couple of hundred words, so I will take it. <br />
<br />
I must admit that my weekend free time was dominated by this: <br />
<img src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/7/70/Fallout_4_cover_art.jpg" /><br />
In my defense that game is fraking awesome!<br />
<br />
Anyway, I wanted to briefly talk about my next manuscript. ALCHEMIST is my next fantasy adventure story. I should be getting it back from my editor soon. In some ways this was a reaction against my last book <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Rise-Raulet-Ryan-S-Spires/dp/1514841800/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1448971960&sr=8-1&keywords=rise+of+raulet" target="_blank">RISE OF RAULET</a> which had three rotating point of views and some brave characters. Don't get me wrong, I'm proud of how the last book turned out, but I wanted to do two things differently:<br />
<br />
1. I wanted to focus primarily from one perspective.<br />
2. The protagonist had to be a total nerd. <br />
<br />
Alright, so the protag, Nicholl, is going to be a nerd, but what can he nerd out on? For some reason my mind turned to alchemy. Not the classic turn crap into gold bit, but a pseudo scientific chemistry, full of balanced equations, competing forces, and nesting formulas! I liked it. That was my backdrop. But what about the plot? I hear that some people consider that important. <br />
<br />
Here is what I threw poor Nicholl into. He's just graduating from the equivalent of college. He's got one close friend, Trude, the woman that has pulled him out of more jams than he cares to admit and serves as his common sense and guide to those awkward things called social interactions. A baroness grants the freshly graduated Nicholl with an odd/enticing opportunity to use alchemy to free a Gazer. <br />
<br />
What's a Gazer? There are three hundred statues that appear only at night with their eyes fixed on the heavens. Well, all of them but one. They are all uniquely carved and appear incredibly life-like. Plenty of theories have been formed over the years, but most agree they are magical based on their flickering in and out of existence, plus they cannot be moved. <br />
<br />
The baroness has a theory of her own and thinks Nicholl is the only one that has the raw brilliance to crack the code and defeat the magic, freeing the Gazer and breaking the stone shell. Nicholl sees this as the ultimate academic challenge and is blind to the baroness's true intentions and the potential fallout of his actions. Thankfully, Nicholl brings Trude with him so he might have a chance to survive this. <br />
<br />
I'm excited for it and do plan to query this bad boy out depending on how the editing goes. The one challenge I have is that in its current state, the book is a little short (70k ish) and borderline YA. Hmmm. Worse case scenario, I don't get any bites and I end up self-publishing the bad-boy. I will keep you posted. <br />
<br />
How about you? What's your newest project?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />ryansspireshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16388039654896831197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994125483603496938.post-53801345480994283832015-11-15T20:05:00.000-06:002015-11-15T20:05:46.657-06:00NaNo UpdateHalfway through November and a fine time to assess the 50,000 word goal proposed by NaNoWriMo enthusiasts. My own battle is a mixed result. Thus far, I have written every day in November. I typically don't clock in on evenings and weekends, and the extra work has piled on the words. However, I'm more on pace for a 30k finish. In order to hit 50k, I would need to write more on the weekends and thus far, I haven't been inspired to whittle away the weekend hours with writing. <br />
<br />
That's fine. I can find satisfaction in working harder than usual and hitting 30k. One of the cool things is I know a first-time NaNo participant that is using the structure to finally commit to writing a story that has been existing only in her head now for some time. The premise is fascinating and I for one am looking forward to reading it. <br />
<br />
That's the best part about a public event like this and sharing it with others. It can open doors and encourage a person to embark down a creative path they otherwise might not have. And the world could always use more artists. <br />
<br />
In other news, I turned in my next story for editing. After I finish NaNo and get that back, I will write a piece on what that is all about. Odds are I will query that bad boy and see what happens. <br />
<br />
<br />ryansspireshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16388039654896831197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994125483603496938.post-8175657107833188162015-11-08T19:45:00.000-06:002015-11-08T19:45:37.649-06:00An Artful BeanOur condo is relatively small, but 12.5 foot ceilings produce a considerable amount of wall space. We've lived here for nine years, and have slowly started decorating the walls. In part, the reluctance was birthed from the daunting task of finding art to scale the seemingly endless drywall. Rachael broached the idea of using coffee bean bags as frame-worthy art. Though I like the idea of using things not intended as purely visual art, as art, I was a bit skeptical.<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
She collected a handful of bags over the years. Here are a couple of them for reference:</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpvg8h1t7sSBe9pBORQ7KUlNoqwAKLSQ5IdDV4bL5Yxk6z_Q7cr64ssGyEntbBNuPm7lznTDBzHLIbf2zK3wREtEBX9KNrA-w5oX1zN2qy1t3EebORuuMddRouCdTkXTC1k2tm7IcAEzI/s1600/Coffee+Bags.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpvg8h1t7sSBe9pBORQ7KUlNoqwAKLSQ5IdDV4bL5Yxk6z_Q7cr64ssGyEntbBNuPm7lznTDBzHLIbf2zK3wREtEBX9KNrA-w5oX1zN2qy1t3EebORuuMddRouCdTkXTC1k2tm7IcAEzI/s320/Coffee+Bags.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
The burlap wonders are roughly 18" X 30". We narrowed the seven down to five, cut them, and loaded them into some ordinary black frames. You can sort of tell that from this horrible picture:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsc2XzEbE4pEOfmcHOuwv_YRl2eljYPFkw7kwbLkO0waeV27lJI9hwBUWaH9TTHMeW0ll20eOZ4uiI3qUgP1eHvCNFgDmQ3s5U5L1PYegdL1wp7fgusLSZ7-Kje9RRJPsjCrWKCt14de0/s1600/One+Coffee+Bag.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsc2XzEbE4pEOfmcHOuwv_YRl2eljYPFkw7kwbLkO0waeV27lJI9hwBUWaH9TTHMeW0ll20eOZ4uiI3qUgP1eHvCNFgDmQ3s5U5L1PYegdL1wp7fgusLSZ7-Kje9RRJPsjCrWKCt14de0/s320/One+Coffee+Bag.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
Next up, climbing up and down a ladder to hang them perfectly level over our kitchen cabinets, while attempting to maintain my fragile patience. Wish me luck. How about you? Any recent art projects?<br /><div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /><div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
ryansspireshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16388039654896831197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994125483603496938.post-64092540868937154982015-10-21T20:37:00.000-05:002015-10-21T20:38:24.864-05:0050k, BabyNovember encroaches, promising colder, longer nights and days riddled with turkey. Both of which I shall embrace. One November event I have typically avoided is NaNoWriMo = National Novel Writing Month. The goal is straightforward. In the month of November, you try to clock in 50,000 words, approaching the lower bounds of a novel's word count. Hence, the title of the event.<br />
<br />
I write Monday through Friday in the morning for an hour or two, but I'm a slower type of gent (using the term loosely) averaging anywhere from 300 to 1k. The daily target for NaNoWriMo is 1,667. <br />
<br />
I tried one year and didn't bust out of the 20's. So you can see why I hesitate a little.<br />
<br />
I even told my writing group just a few days ago, that I did <b><u>not</u></b> intend to embark upon that train wreck again. But here I am, thinking about it. Envisioning the word count piling up, the inspired ideas, the hated jock, at his locker with a small smile on his face,starting the slow clap that quickly envelopes the whole school until they are ALL clapping and cheering me. Wait. Why am I in high school? Gross. Anyway. <br />
<br />
I'm doing it. Going to give it a serious go. Another one of the huddled masses stooped over my keyboard at odd hours. I don't plot, though. That also gives a fellow pause. This type of momentum requires a consistent writing. But, I would rather my story develop organically. Don't worry. My characters don't talk to me and force me to do things or any of that BS. I just enjoy the discovery that comes from writing without a plan and the problem solving needed to figure myself out of writing jams. Well, it helps that I write fantasy, cause you know, you can just make stuff up. It's fantasy. <br />
<br />
Sure it's prescribed. Sure it's annoying. Sure some channels of NaNoWriMo chatter annoy people. I don't care. It's time to shake up my routine a bit and stretch. <br />
<br />
How about you? Rocking the NaNoWriMo? Or another new endeavor in November?<br />
<br />
<br />ryansspireshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16388039654896831197noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994125483603496938.post-78191270168107948032015-10-11T13:33:00.002-05:002015-10-11T13:33:41.432-05:003,000 Miles & None The WiserWhat should an introverted homebody lacking any semblance of direction sense, with a slight fear of driving, do with a week of vacation? Why, go a road trip of course! <br />
<br />
My mother re-located to the southwest and I had yet to visit her new home. Rachael thought we should take advantage of the opportunity, and instead of the standard few hour flight, turn it into an asphalt adventure and cure some of our geographical ignorance. <br />
<br />
When it comes to geographical considerations, I am, simply put, a moron. My third-grade memorization of the states and their capitals has grown thick with cobwebs, and sadly was never supplemented with additional knowledge. A few years back I started upon the Shelby Foote's brilliant civil war narrative, and was forced to consult a map tirelessly due to my ignorance. <br />
<br />
We rolled away from Saint Paul on a cool and crisp (how else to describe a MN morning?) on October 3rd. Our first day was designed to ease into the trip, with a pause in Des Moines to visit a friend, and then only a few hours more to bring us into Lincoln, Nebraska, birthplace of Rachael. Why there isn't a statue there to commemorate the event is puzzling to me! The college town has a plethora of bars and dinner spots to choose from, but our weariness prevented much exploration.<br />
<br />
Next day had us in Denver exploring the mythical Red Rocks Amphitheater. The rocks there are simply gorgeous. I am not a photo journalist, as these photos will attest:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXZ7ZFRvdd1BZSvzjk7lFItJ-aaIe-8qrwFmRdR6ruV6x-rQN4MFT96f3Dp8jh0cGB3sVtLWkNGLrrCswgrCxfNqDBwdvxoNCIbgw89NrUX0aKJWFf-NGr5bZMvls0bV41agyDDwWtWXw/s1600/IMG_20151005_0911241_rewind.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXZ7ZFRvdd1BZSvzjk7lFItJ-aaIe-8qrwFmRdR6ruV6x-rQN4MFT96f3Dp8jh0cGB3sVtLWkNGLrrCswgrCxfNqDBwdvxoNCIbgw89NrUX0aKJWFf-NGr5bZMvls0bV41agyDDwWtWXw/s320/IMG_20151005_0911241_rewind.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifPRkblFgocKEoi5MwDNUZum0GIKUTXPcrxVA4SYd8NqjBJurbalFt-f6ArygSUaKv04a-M9-KdoiOoSP48BxpiUifzYvvg7ejpR8makP75CWOV-VtkFiI2XL4psvG2BF1qWOH9MzfAQs/s1600/IMG_20151005_0853138_rewind.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifPRkblFgocKEoi5MwDNUZum0GIKUTXPcrxVA4SYd8NqjBJurbalFt-f6ArygSUaKv04a-M9-KdoiOoSP48BxpiUifzYvvg7ejpR8makP75CWOV-VtkFiI2XL4psvG2BF1qWOH9MzfAQs/s320/IMG_20151005_0853138_rewind.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
After Denver, we rolled into Albuquerque and woke up to the news that just a miles away from our hotel, hundreds of hot air balloons were being launched. This has got to be the lamest photo ever, but here was our view: <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeiLiPqrirdTi_qioRCwK8R78DDKJEj6goELmMCLb5S5TjqkObjIgOmoGSRLg7AHUkZAf1Hqt4ZwKIVN0sdm_ldkJQs7U3apYJYT2z1BeXlvbBIUhGICFIc2dEC24xGX25I2JTUBXy82E/s1600/IMG_20151006_0734367_rewind.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeiLiPqrirdTi_qioRCwK8R78DDKJEj6goELmMCLb5S5TjqkObjIgOmoGSRLg7AHUkZAf1Hqt4ZwKIVN0sdm_ldkJQs7U3apYJYT2z1BeXlvbBIUhGICFIc2dEC24xGX25I2JTUBXy82E/s320/IMG_20151006_0734367_rewind.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The next few days in NM went by too quickly. A few highlights:</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjULfsWR9MchsssD7NLbVOMc9FMWKvkE6VqQigqw0XcsXmRim2Dv96K2h1Iyofmo0BBnmM44ZP6IJ3QlN7DP_n2XrTXCe04WVuQa92sDqCD5zwliY4xy74Vq0P-687YUPVFG4t478qZyZg/s1600/IMG_20151007_1039433_rewind-44585783.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjULfsWR9MchsssD7NLbVOMc9FMWKvkE6VqQigqw0XcsXmRim2Dv96K2h1Iyofmo0BBnmM44ZP6IJ3QlN7DP_n2XrTXCe04WVuQa92sDqCD5zwliY4xy74Vq0P-687YUPVFG4t478qZyZg/s320/IMG_20151007_1039433_rewind-44585783.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
My wife and I in White Sands <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qCFwjlDq5PJpiHtsFX5dmiwOif-RsVVeesgcCF3MWWNieERH17OrPHvkp0WyXwadHoXVNzWk65ufP2RNUVNDjaO6XVK1imrdoXGppt61RjBcDZCMYCcbDUaS0VUJNcB_1IgL37YANYI/s1600/IMG_20151008_093250.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4qCFwjlDq5PJpiHtsFX5dmiwOif-RsVVeesgcCF3MWWNieERH17OrPHvkp0WyXwadHoXVNzWk65ufP2RNUVNDjaO6XVK1imrdoXGppt61RjBcDZCMYCcbDUaS0VUJNcB_1IgL37YANYI/s320/IMG_20151008_093250.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
A wooden railroad trestle in Cloudcroft NM <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkMSekXETfxduV5PargtJW9_7sRVwaVw8WpNiFcAbowxjiC60v-95m6Fl5pYNJ5wjrhyphenhyphenvE6lpnX-Cg5bUWqtCPntIHj8LsEC4YeIDCJn93zqjo9mmb6WenuwyaEWftiu7_ThN2F3XcClk/s1600/IMG_20151007_1134016_rewind.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkMSekXETfxduV5PargtJW9_7sRVwaVw8WpNiFcAbowxjiC60v-95m6Fl5pYNJ5wjrhyphenhyphenvE6lpnX-Cg5bUWqtCPntIHj8LsEC4YeIDCJn93zqjo9mmb6WenuwyaEWftiu7_ThN2F3XcClk/s320/IMG_20151007_1134016_rewind.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
What trip would be complete without visiting the world's largest pistachio?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
The desert mountains possesses a raw beauty that's easy to appreciate. It's fascinating to see the terrain change from a dusty scrub land into a lush coniferous forest simply by increasing the elevation a couple thousand feet, which can be done in 20 miles of travel. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We took three days to get down there, and decided to do the trip back in two. Nine hours of driving got us to Oklahoma City, and we were surprised by the greenery OK had on display. Day two consisted of 12 merciless hours of interstate 35, and for the record, Kansas, your $7.00 of tolls was not very cool. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Even the most cynical corners of my mind can at least recognize the advantages of travel, if nothing else, to appreciate and long for the comforts of home. Overall, I enjoyed the trip and welcomed the tiny bit of knowledge I garnered about this giant land mass that is the United States and its various forms of beauty. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
How about you? Done any traveling recently?</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
ryansspireshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16388039654896831197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994125483603496938.post-6177219636021963422015-09-28T06:39:00.000-05:002015-09-28T06:39:42.080-05:00Stuttering StarburstIn first grade, I was special. Ms. Haugen would pick me up from class and lead me through the empty halls, through the cheesy bread smelling cafeteria, and into her tiny office. I didn't know what a speech pathologist was, but I thought she was cool. We would play games, talk, call up random businesses to ask questions, and all sorts of random things. At the end of every session, she would let me pick a Starburst from the jar on her desk (of course I nabbed the pink ones!) <br />
<br />
At some point I was deemed cured and Ms, Haugen no longer would pull me from class. Some other lucky kid must have been eating those pink Starbursts, leaving the neglected yellow and orange to pool at the bottom of the jar. I now knew what they must have felt like.<br />
<br />
As an adult I still have minor speech issues. Not so much the classic stuttering people think of, when a section of a word is repeated, like a skipping record. Instead it's more of a sporadic pause, where I want to say the word, but I can't force it out. It doesn't happen often, but it's there, a stalking ghost of an awkward kid. <br />
<br />
Talking on the phone is when it strikes most. I think it's the extra attention on the sound of the voice. In person, you have expressions, and other stimuli to help deliver the message. On the phone, you only have your voice. <br />
<br />
When I was envisioning a character for my new manuscript, <em>The Alchemist</em> (working title), I pictured him as a gifted academic, but struggling in the social world, oblivious to social cues. Also, I heard him stutter. I was able to tap into my own experience and add in the minor quirk to flesh him out further. It's the little things that help build a character beyond just the physical description, the clothes they wear, and the things they say. The small things purchase credibility with the reader as they experience the diversity in your imagined world.<br />
<br />
There is a push in fantasy, and other genres to increase the amount of diversity represented in the books, and I'm all for that. I believe it should go beyond the obvious gender, race, and sexual preference checklist. Interesting worlds in my opinion, are teeming with various forms of life and sentient beings possess that much more potential for variation beyond coloring and who the like to have sexual relations with. The possibilities are endless. You can use our world as an example.<br />
<br />
I'm working on a new story and pushing hard at three-dimensional characters and environment. I hope to create a living, breathing world. Maybe one where the orange and yellow Starburst are the sought after ones. You never know.<br />
<br />
ryansspireshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16388039654896831197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994125483603496938.post-35867707823150182472015-09-21T06:51:00.000-05:002015-09-22T06:18:53.539-05:00The Dreaded QuestionWhether it be family and friends, interviews, or fans, authors get asked a fair amount of questions. The infamous inquiry that has been identified by a number of writers as their least favorite is: where do you get your ideas? <br />
<br />
Not that I have people beating down my door to seek my audience, but I don't mind that particular question. Personally, I don't think the actual method is usually interesting, but the details for a particular story can be. <br />
<br />
The reason I don't think the method is all that fascinating, is it typically involves the same two components. Unhinging the mind, and metacognition. Don't worry, I'm not getting all new-age on you. Or stated in another way, you let your mind off the leash and follow it into the weeds. <br />
<br />
It might be a full-blown plot that develops in the mind, or it could be a scene, a concept. One of the starting blocks for <em>Rise of Raulet</em> was a scene from a TV show where a young man is taking care of his publicly shunned sister. Both the sibling bond and the societal rejection were used to form Jasper and Margret.<br />
<br />
Sometimes it's more directly derived from a reading experience. That's one of the freeing aspects of writing. Tired of seeing XYZ recycled again and again in a particular genre? Great! Write something in a different vein. Hence, why some people refer to the writing process as adding to the conversation. Granted it is a loud and disorganized conversation, but I will buy that for a dollar.<br />
<br />
There is one question that makes me a little uneasy, though it is a fair question, and that is: is this character, you? The answer is always no with a small asterisk. Well sure, my thoughts went into building that character, and in that regard it's a part of me one could argue. With an unlimited world of imagination, why would I create a character that is me? Booooorrrring! <br />
<br />
I want to feel unhindered in the creation process and I usually do. But, creating a violent character, or if I wrote a sexually deviant character, that would make me shift in my seat a little, as some people are going to assume those characteristics are mine too! Just because a character in my story likes to rub jelly doughnuts all over his body and then dance naked in the silvery moonlight, doesn't mean that I do that. What a waste of a good pastry. <br />
<br />
I don't mind if people don't like me. Ok. That's a slight lie. It bothers me a little. What would make it worse, is if the person doesn't like or respect me based on a lie or a misconception. That idea drives me batty. That is why the question, if a character is me, is my dreaded question.<br />
<br />
How about you? Do you have a dreaded question?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />ryansspireshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16388039654896831197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994125483603496938.post-77816686534201188852015-09-13T15:20:00.001-05:002015-09-13T15:24:40.717-05:00The Only Two Fans in the WorldTurn back the time machine to the late 1980's and think video game consoles. The glory of the Atari had mostly waned, and two competitors rose to fill the void. My family was fortunate enough to have some disposable income and snapped up one of these amazing boxes. You're probably picturing this:<br />
<br />
<br />
<a class="irc_mil i3597" data-href="http://www.vg247.com/2015/03/11/netflix-engineers-got-a-nintendo-nes-to-run-the-streaming-service/" data-noload="" data-ved="0CAcQjRxqFQoTCIad763f9McCFQgVkgod9fIAzw" href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CAcQjRxqFQoTCIad763f9McCFQgVkgod9fIAzw&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.vg247.com%2F2015%2F03%2F11%2Fnetflix-engineers-got-a-nintendo-nes-to-run-the-streaming-service%2F&psig=AFQjCNFRNeeScCzSk43AT8DtVS3-BFQZmg&ust=1442258928672926" jsaction="mousedown:irc.rl;keydown:irc.rlk"><img class="irc_mi" src="http://assets.vg247.com/current//2015/03/nintendo_nes.jpg" height="225" style="margin-top: 0px;" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
<div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike><br /></strike></div>
<div>
Nope. While everyone else was jumping around with Mario and shooting ducks, my brother and I were taking precisely-timed 30 minute turns on this beasty:<br />
<br />
<img class="mainImage" data-bm="75" src="http://gametrog.com/goblin/images/sega-images-main/sega-master-system-images/sega-master-system-feature.png" height="201" width="320" /><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This $200.00 investment came with Hang-On and Safari Hunt:<br />
<br />
<img alt="" class="mw-mmv-final-image mw-mmv-dialog-is-open" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/c/c1/Hang-on_arcade.png" /><br />
<br />
<br />
Kids around the neighborhood invited us over to experience Mario and Top Gun, but no one wanted to play Hang-On or Alex Kidd. That didn't stop my brother and I from spending many glorious summer days inside maintaining our pale and haunted appearances. <br />
<br />
I still recall reading about a new game called, Phantasy Star. It was to be our introduction to the role playing game. Looking at this picture elicits a stream of nostalgia bound glory and also a little shame, as I begged my poor mother for the game endlessly:<br />
<a class="image" href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Phantasy_Star_box.jpg"><img alt="Phantasy Star box.jpg" data-file-height="365" data-file-width="250" height="365" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/en/2/26/Phantasy_Star_box.jpg" width="250" /></a><br />
Now, I'm not a video game historian, but this thing was ground breaking. First of all, note the fact that we have a female protagonist. That's pretty awesome. The game had four heroes that you would explore the world, fight monsters, level up, buy/find better equipment, and actually had a mostly coherent story line: <a class="irc_mil i3597" data-href="http://www.emuparadise.me/Sega_Master_System_ROMs/Phantasy_Star_(USA,_Europe)_(v1.3)/89149" data-noload="" data-ved="0CAcQjRxqFQoTCOT9nfXl9McCFUYGkgodpHcAOg" href="https://www.google.com/url?sa=i&rct=j&q=&esrc=s&source=images&cd=&cad=rja&uact=8&ved=0CAcQjRxqFQoTCOT9nfXl9McCFUYGkgodpHcAOg&url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.emuparadise.me%2FSega_Master_System_ROMs%2FPhantasy_Star_(USA%2C_Europe)_(v1.3)%2F89149&bvm=bv.102537793,d.aWw&psig=AFQjCNGoS9Cv1ljN3VfiU7ag7eaF0mB-QQ&ust=1442260663304573" jsaction="mousedown:irc.rl;keydown:irc.rlk"><img class="irc_mi" src="http://199.101.98.242/media/images/89149-Phantasy_Star_(USA,_Europe)_(v1.3)-3.png" height="430" style="margin-top: 99px;" width="469" /></a><br />
<br />
You can see where I learned my colorful language with early influences like this. Both the SEGA master system and the next generation console, the SEGA Genesis, did poorly in sales compared to the NES and SNES. It fostered a defensive pride and SEGA loyalty in my brother and I. We were quick to point out the hardware superiority (we were born nerds from day 1) of the SEGA versus the NES, but it fell upon deaf ears.<br />
<br />
When it wasn't my brother's turn or play (or my dad, as he sometimes played = waiting a full hour!!) I would watch whomever was at the controls, experiencing the game with them, and some games (Streets of Rage anyone??) would allow for 2 players, which could not have gotten better.<br />
<br />
Almost thirty years later, and my brother and I are still avid gamers, a passion that we share. Occasionally discussions with friends and new acquaintances will turn to retro-gaming and I'm always hoping I will encounter another SEGA fan, but inevitably talk turns to Mario.<br />
<br />
How about you? Ever had the joy of rocking a SEGA Master System or Genesis?<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />ryansspireshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16388039654896831197noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994125483603496938.post-50471953569291967842015-09-08T06:56:00.001-05:002015-09-08T17:33:47.042-05:00Secrets and Letters<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There are two ways to nab that elusive literary agent and obtain
that big book deal born of dreams.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Method 1<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">First, you must obtain a mint condition, first edition Stephen
King novel. I’m talking pristine. Which one? Doesn’t matter. The next step involves
locating an abandoned crossroads. Preferably one with a lonely, flickering light
that even the flies know to avoid. Bury that aforementioned book at the dead
center and wait five or ten minutes for the next available agent. Try not to
let your senses be dulled by the soothing music.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">The agent will appear with a puff of smoke and a whirl of
discarded query letters. The summoning was the easy part. She will demand you
pass two tests. The first test is a brutal trial that eliminates nearly all.
She places a vintage version of the board game, Operation, upon the dusty road.
Time has only made the damn thing more sensitive (did I just switch tenses?).
She points wordlessly to the wishbone.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If you somehow manage to skirt the buzzing sound and lit
nose to obtain that pesky piece of plastic, your last Herculean task is the
secret handshake. Every published author knows the handshake, but is sworn upon
painful obscurity to never reveal it. Plied with enough bourbon, they will
relent and admit the existence, but that is all you will manage to dredge. If
you can master all of the intricate slaps, fist-bumps, and fist-plosions,
she will bow her head and hand you the golden typewriter.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That damn thing is heavy. You didn’t walk to the crossroads
did you? Good luck carting that behemoth home. Newb.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Calibri;"> </span></o:p></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Method 2<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For the rest of us, there is the query letter. For those of
you that don’t know, the query letter is a one page attempt to introduce
yourself and to convince the agent that it’s worth their time to read your
newly minted manuscript.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Some consider it a necessary evil, but It does makes sense.
No agent has time to read 200 novel-length manuscripts. The challenge is to get
past the auto-reject. Imagine if you had 200 letters to go through. Are you
going to carefully examine each one, stroke your chin, and ponder the contents?
No. You will be looking for any excuse to recycle and whittle that slush pile
down to a few promising samples. So do they.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">There are a few possible responses to your query letter
ranked in order of awesomeness and scarcity:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">1.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Silent rejection. Very common.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">2.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Form letter rejection. Dear Author, thanks but
no thanks.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">3.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Helpful rejection. No thanks, but . . . they may
tell you specifically why they passed on your manuscript, ask you to send your
next work, or just offer some rare words of encouragement. Bless the agents who
take the time to do this.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">4.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Partial request. They ask for a few chapters to
test the waters, partially intrigued by the query, but not completely sold yet.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.75in; mso-add-space: auto; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">5.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt/normal "Times New Roman";">
</span></span></span><!--[endif]--><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Full request. Bingo. They saw enough promise in
your work that they want to read the whole thing! From here it could be a no
thanks, a revise and resubmit, or an offer of representation (this is where you
learn the handshake!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.75in; mso-add-space: auto; text-indent: 0in;">
</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">In
my first round of queries, I got partial requests, but nothing panned out. I
did get a helpful rejection, which was, well, helpful. I also got a form
rejection, after seven months. That was not very helpful </span><span style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-char-type: symbol; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;"><span style="mso-char-type: symbol; mso-symbol-font-family: Wingdings;">J</span></span><span style="font-family: Calibri;">. One of the bits of
advice I picked up was to set aside your favorite 5-10 agents and save them for
last, instead sending out smaller batches of queries to see if they elicit
responses. If not, rework and try the next batch. Rinse. Repeat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="margin: 0in 0in 8pt; mso-add-space: auto;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s
an odd system, but as flawed as it is, it does seem to largely work. How about
you? Have any bits of advice or tales to share about the query process?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
ryansspireshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16388039654896831197noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5994125483603496938.post-69761747078446737152015-09-05T11:45:00.002-05:002015-09-05T12:37:33.747-05:00Resonance<div class="MsoNormal">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Some books are devoured whole, the tension arc building and
carrying us through the pages, defying the rest of our carefully planned
schedule for the day. After these books are set aside, we may never step inside
that particular universe again. It was a delightful ride, but it didn’t linger,
it didn’t resonate.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A knee-jerk response would be to judge that rapid finish as
the ultimate measure of enjoyment. But, these aren’t the books I seek the most.
The works I revel in, are the ones that even after I refile the book, filling
the gap on the shelf, I can’t help but think about it more, relive a particular
scene, wonder what if . . .?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have found that these resonating experiences come in three
varieties:<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
1. A particular
passage<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
2. The ending<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
3. The entire
breath of the book<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I recently had the pleasure of reading Elizabeth Bear’s All
the Windwracked Stars. I certainly found it an enjoyable read and would
recommend it to a seasoned fantasy reader, but it wasn’t my favorite book of
the year. However, there was one passage that I halted over and reread multiple
times. Not because I didn’t understand it, but because I wanted to replicate
the feeling of wonder and sharp inhale the first time my eyes touched it: <br /><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“And Cathoair found himself thinking that there should be a
word for the way the hair sticks in curls to the neck of somebody you ought to
have learned to love but didn’t, when you are walking with them at night, down
the beach in the rain.”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Haunting. Occasionally these powerful segments can actually
pull us from the story, sending us along an overgrown path, one we haven’t
dared to traverse in years.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Endings get a lot of hype, as well they should. I’m not
delving into the shocking endings, or the cliff hangers, I mean the perfect
capsule that enriches what you just read and creates a life of it’s own beyond
the text.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The example that sticks out most of me is Stephen King’s
Christine :<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What if it’s started again?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if it’s working its way east, finishing the job?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Saving me for last?<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His single-minded purpose.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
His unending fury”<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Granted, you need the rest of the story to understand the
character of Roland D. LeBay, and his constant anger, and those final two lines
are sublimely perfect. It’s the only time I can recall actually feeling scared
after finishing a book.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Finally, there are books where the fiber of it stretching
from preface to epilogue refuses to leave. The first example I have of this is,
The Girl Next Door by Jack Ketchum. That was such a powerful and disturbing
book that I begged my friends for a light-hearted read to cleanse the palate.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A second example is Octavia Butler’s Kindred. What a
marvelous job of transporting us into the antebellum south and into the mindset
of the early 19th century. The relationship that is built between Dana and
Rufus is as human as it is ugly. I agreed with Dana’s choice near the end,
though I would have not predicted that conversion. The willingness to go along
with her poked and prodded at me and I could only sigh in resignation.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
That’s my story. What books resonate with you?<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
ryansspireshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16388039654896831197noreply@blogger.com0