147 Extracted Words – The Tease – January 2018

 

January 2018

I write flash fiction, non-fiction, short fiction, essays and novels. This month’s Tease is from a work in progress.

Nature abhors straight lines. Humans worship straight lines. We embed them in our roads, our buildings, our lives. Recently, I chanced upon the shadows of a maple tree as it cast its crooked cartography across the pre-fab, straight-edged, exterior wall of an angulate, downtown building. Even in the compressed light of a January afternoon, reality shone brightly. The tree was broken, jagged, very much in need of order, but very much alive. The building, on the other hand, was crisply engineered – paneled, aggregate rectangle upon paneled, aggregate rectangle and, of course, entirely dead. Why do we strive to produce the dead and not the living? Why don’t we embrace the crooked, the unbalanced, the unexplainable things in our lives, the things that brush up against us on the street, whisper in our ears, knock on our doors in the early morning moonlight?

There are no straight lines in great love, great empathy or great art, nor, I suspect, in a great life.

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169 Extracted Words – The Tease – December 2017

December 2017

I write flash fiction, non-fiction, essays and novels. This month’s Tease is from, well I’m not quite sure what yet. At best, it’s a work in progress.

He doesn’t believe a word he’s hearing, a thought he’s thinking. Go back? “You’re saying I have to go back?”

“Yes. I really can’t be more clear. You must return, to where you were … well, before.”

“But, I have plans …”

“We all do, don’t we?” asked the administrator with the golden clipboard. “There really are no guarantees. Not even here.”

“But you don’t understand. We are having the Plato couple over on Thursday. And next spring, we are traveling with the Khans.” He pauses for a moment, still sure this must simply be a misunderstanding. Surely, even in paradise, mistakes can be made. “On whose authority …”

“His. There is no other.” The administrator turns his clipboard toward the man, revealing a golden sheet of paper, with the word RECALL in block letters across the top. “As you can see, He even went so far as to put it in writing. No prophesiers or visionaries to twist the meaning of His words.”

“But why? I mean, I’m a fairly decent guy, right?”

Merry Christmas 2017

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Upper Little Spokane River

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206 Extracted Words – The Tease – November 2017

 

November 2017

I write flash fiction, non-fiction, essays and novels. This month’s Tease is from a work in progress.

Then it started to return, like a foolishly placed wager that demanded to be honored. Just hours before, Jessie, this woman who was bellowing at him, had been nodding off in the passenger seat, her beautiful face twitching and blinking as she struggled to stay upright, only succumbing to sleep when he promised not to stop. But the night and the sea air, mixed with drinks, soon tugged at his eyelids as well. He had to pull over at this … “Where are we?”

“You don’t know?” She punched his arm. It genuinely, fucking hurt.

“That fucking hurt.”

“Good. The next one will be worse. Get me home, to my son … now!” He watched as she looked helplessly at her phone. “No service. Shit. I knew this was a mistake. Why did you stop? You promised. Just another promise breaker. Men, just small-dicked little boys.”

“Hey,” he started to take her comments personally. “I know I promised and I’m sorry. But I was nodding off. I had to pull over. I didn’t mean to take more than a few minutes. I’m truly sorry.” He reached for her hand and she appeared to cool briefly. The heat in her eyes turned from fire-red to blood-red.

 

 

171 Extracted Words – The Tease – October 2017

October 2017

I write flash fiction, non-fiction, essays and novels. This month’s Tease is from a work in progress.

He jerked the reading glasses off the tip of his red nose and looked down at his dogs, Franklin and Jefferson and Molly. The older Franklin lay by the unlit fireplace, snoozing, as if it were January not August. Jefferson, his big shepherd, perked his ears and sat up at the first sign that their might be some action. Lifting his glasses was sign enough. Molly, his retriever, just looked at him with approving, hopeful wags of her tail, sweeping her hair and a bit of dust to each side with every swipe.

“Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I believe it is time.” He stood and walked to his desk, Jefferson on his heels. He pulled a pen from its stand and a long, yellow pad from a drawer and placed his glasses back at the tip of his nose. He opened the window to reveal its screen and flipped on a small, black fan near the  sill. Patting Jefferson between his ears, he looked to the pine ceiling and then down to the desk, writing swiftly once he began.

 

 

 

England Part IV – Cambridge

My final installment from our summer visit to Great Britain.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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