I have always had a number of interests that stemmed from math, science, food, and art to writing. I used to be bothered by my numerous interests, until I learned how to use them to my advantage; I developed the talent of shuttling between interests. By Concentrating on what I was presently doing, it prevented me from thinking about what I had just done. I took a breather, a step away from what was consuming me, and kept my peace of mind. I learned one of the greatest lessons of time management: by switching interests at just the time I needed a break I was able to cut out stress. This created an opportunity for my mind to explore. 

To understand this fully, some comprehension of science is needed. The brain has two halves; the right hemisphere and the left hemisphere. Each side performs tasks. If you’re right handed, your left hemisphere is activated. If you’re left handed, your right hemisphere is activated. When I write, one hemisphere is activated more than the other. To relax that part of my mind, which can feel overworked when writing, I switch it off and turn to another one of my interests, such as math. 

Instead of my interests getting in my way, they assist in my growth as a writer, artist and creative person. This other interest utilizes different parts of my brain, allowing relaxation of the part that I had been using. When this happens, my mind becomes less stressed, causing my brain’s mechanisms to expand from the stress reduction. This gives the main powerhouse of my body the ability to think more clearly, and be open to problem solving. It’s with this clarity that writing blocks are lifted, creativity flows, and what feels like is an epiphany, is many times, just that, an epiphany.    

Making time to write every day is part of the equation. Time management skills are a must. The importance of learning that skill takes time. It won’t happen overnight, but with practice and patience, it will be reality. Knowing when to write, when to let go, when to return, when it’s okay to write backstory that will never appear, all of it is okay and is part the process of writing successfully. One of the biggest things I’ve learned is knowing what works for me, what doesn’t, and how to use both to my advantage.

It was the positive reinforcement booster I needed and enjoyed hearing. I love the fact that they thanked me for the opportunity to read my writing. I also want to thank them for providing the resource to have my work published.

Thank You Glimmer Train for your feedback!

Glimmer Train caught my eye back in the 90s when I wasn’t taking my short story writing seriously; wait, let me rephrase that. It was the beginning that led to where I am today, now taking the time to become a published short story writer and novelist. I have been submitting regularly to Glimmer Train, revising every step of the way the pieces I’ve crafted, the narratives that say listen to me.

I love what I do. A smile appears on my face when I write, alone in my world, carefully creating a realm that pre-exists only in my mind, learning how to share it with you, my audience, my readers. Writing can be a great deal of time spent alone, but it is also spent with many other people. Research, editing, feedback from fellow writers—all of it—is a process that I thoroughly appreciate regardless how frustrated (at times) I may feel. The reward—the completed story—is worth it.

With the new release of Art Spiegelman’s MetaMaus this month by Pantheon, Publisher’s Weekly Interviewed Spiegelman about digital media and the “physical book.” In this interview he states the changes happening in today’s society, “…is also making the physical book capable of being more beautiful than books have been since the middle ages.” For the full interview visit Publisher’s Weekly.

The digital release by Forbes and JESS3 explores Steve Job’s life in a 60-page graphic novel, The Zen of Steve Jobs due out sometime this fall. The book focuses on Steve’s life through the 1980’s, when his life took a drastic change and follows the challenges that came with it. Through a friendship he formed with a Zen Buddhist priest, Kobun Chino Otogawa, Steve learns the meaning of walking meditation of kinhin and the Japanese design concept ma. Both of these shaped his life and design practice when he later returned to Apple.

Originally sponsored by the National Book Foundation, National Book Month is an important event with many areas celebrating books by having book festivals. This week in particular is Teen Read Week sponsored by the Young Adult Library Services Association ( YALSA). Teen Read Week encourages teenagers to pick up a book and read. The John Newberry Medal and Honor Books are awarded annually to children’s literature. This year’s winner is Moon over Manifest by Clare Vanderpool.

The National Book Awards (NBA) began in 1950 at the Waldorf Astoria Hotel in New York City. This award honored writers given by fellow writers and marked the beginning recognition of excellence in literature. The literary community came together through The American Book Publisher’s Council, The Book Manufacturers’ Institute and The American Booksellers’ Association. The awards recognize merit in the categories of fiction, non-fiction and poetry. Having undergone many changes throughout its history, the NBA now includes the additional category of Young People’s Literature.

 And with these words I expect to find my readers—reading beyond my blog—with some of my recommended reads:

Young Adult:   “Hoot” by Carl Hiaasen

Fiction:   “The Reader” by Bernhard Schlink, “Like Water for Chocolate” Laura Esquivel, “The Waterworks” by E. L. Doctorow

Non-Fiction: “The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks” by Rebecca Skloot

Historical:   ”Wicked Philadelphia” by Thomas H. Keels

Self-Help:   “Overcoming Life’s Disappointments” by Harold S. Kushner

Literary Magazine: Apiary and Painted Bride

Short Story: “The Gilded Six-Bits” by Zora Neals Hurston and “Roman Fever” by Edith Wharton

 The National Book Awards for this year’s finalists are:

 FICTION

Andrew Krivak, “The Sojourn”
Tea Obreht, “The Tiger’s Wife”
Julie Otsuka, “The Buddha in the Attic”
Edith Pearlman, “Binocular Vision”
Jesmyn Ward, “Salvage the Bones”

NONFICTION:

Deborah Baker, “The Convert”
Mary Gabriel, “Love and Capital”
Stephen Greenblatt, “Swerve: How the World Became Modern”
Manning Marable, “Malcolm X: A Life of Reinvention”
Lauren Redniss, “Radioactive: Marie & Pierre Curie: A Tale of Love and Fallout”

POETRY:

Nikky Finney, “Head Off & Split”
Yusef Komunyakaa, “The Chameleon Couch”
Carl Phillips, “Double Shadow”
Adrienne Rich, “Tonight No Poetry Will Serve: Poems 2007-2010”
Bruce Smith, “Devotions”

YOUNG PEOPLE’S LITERATURE:

Franny Billingsley, “Chime”
Debby Dahl Edwardson, “My Name Is Not Easy”
Thanhha Lai, “Inside Out and Back Again”
Albert Marrin, “Flesh and Blood So Cheap: The Triangle Fire and Its Legacy”
Lauren Myracle, “Shine”
Gary D. Schmidt, “Okay for Now“

I found myself wandering back to the hospital without friend or foe.

I began thinking about my life and where I had gone wrong. How did I get so far off track? In youth, I felt I was entitled. I was entitled to as many women as I liked, wished or wanted. I did not know how lost I’d become until my last girlfriend threw me out of our place. She tossed my shoes out the front door and locked every stinking piece of cloth or clothing in the one room in the house that had a lock on the door.

She showed me to the door just after I climbed out of the shower dripping wet. Naked, bare, exposed she told me: “Now it’s your time to go.”

Her emphasis struck me, despite the fact I told her, in the days preceding this, that she needed to get herself together, or I’d leave.

It was an idle threat I didn’t plan to execute.

I didn’t fight with her.

“But I’m naked.”

“So am I.”

Her quick response, her body fully clothed, I knew, I just knew, sensed the verbal butt-kick was about to arrive and God, Jesus, I needed, wanted, to keep it at bay to avoid it at all costs. I had grown tired of fighting with women, every woman I had been with, but the first one.

So I walked out the door to avoid a fight, as I had done before, but not realizing what I was really doing by walking over that threshold.

The clothes I had worn on my back weren’t even on the lawn, like I expected them to be. I saw my shoes, littered on the porch and part of the driveway. When I tried to find the mates, I realized she only threw out the left ones. I stood there thinking of what I could grab to clothe myself, but there wasn’t anything. Then I thought about my truck still parked in the driveway. I didn’t have the keys, and it was locked. Damn it.

I went to the garage and busted down the door; Jesus that hurt. I got some tools and jimmied my driver’s side door open. I got in, but the clothes I had left there were gone, too. She cleaned me out good. There would be no going back, no apologies and no making-up. It was over.

I sat in my truck. I felt embarrassed. I was so keenly aware of my rejection I thought my heart was going to burst open raw. I saw my heart splattered with ventricles pumping blood to no man’s land, which is exactly where I felt I belonged. I saw myself as part of the walking dead, of people so lifeless and clueless that they have no idea or any ideas of how they fit into the system of living. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw my sunglasses there. I put them on. Then I started crying like I had never done before.

It all came back to me.  

The neighborhood looked nothing like where I grew up, but as I sat there crying I felt like I did the day I went to the get the mail when I was a kid. For a brief moment, I saw it, I saw the envelope with my Dad’s handwriting addressed to me. At the same slip of time, my mom yelled and I leapt out of my skin.

“What are you doing!? Close that box! Close it! I said close it!”

“But Mom I think I just saw…”

“A letter from your father? Silly fool. Wishing for something that won’t ever happen. Shame on you for believing in a man that doesn’t believe in you!”

“But Mom, I really saw…”

“What’s wrong with you? Your father left; get over it! Now get in the house! You’re not supposed to be snooping in my bills! And no baseball tonight with your friends!”

As I walked past my mother, she continuously hit me on the butt. The neighborhood was full of kids playing outside. I was too old to be spanked. The humiliation rushed back to me and for a moment, I had no idea where I was. Did I belong to the past while I was hopelessly lost in the present? My future was beyond my grasp.

Like a drunk who experiences bed spins, I sat in a flood of memories that spun webs around me.

I closed my stinging, tear-soaked eyes and tried to bring myself somewhere where there was peace.

I pretended I was far away someplace I’d never been and I was alone. Driving. No place special, no place to be, and no one to ask, bother or probe me.

The dream felt like an oasis.

*****

Mishon changed that.

Without realizing how I was once again looking for lost thoughts, I was staggering for something to touch and hold onto. A utility pole came into view and I went to touch it. As I slumped down with my back propped up by it, I felt the coursing energy through its wooden beam. Its humming support, the nervous energy, was matched by my own.

I tried to calm my unquiet mind that was feeling dizzy being stuck on rewind. The visual images of negativities, internalized, continuously played on the screen behind my façade.

“Sometimes if you cling too tightly, the things you want don’t come.”

*****

I let go of her.

I sat staring out at the world like that day I sat staring out my truck’s window.

My vision was muted and my undertones blurred.

“I don’t have the keys,” I muttered. I didn’t that day or now.

I looked down at the set of keys poking out of my pocket: Mr. Hadley’s.

I felt remorse for what I had unintentionally done to that man.

He believed in his wife’s return.

I could not give back his keys knowing I’d crush the man’s heart, which was already heartbroken by her death.  

I knew too well what it was like to lose and I didn’t want to lose anymore. It was bad enough to lose the women, but losing Mishon hurt more. Women were harder to understand, but a fellow man? I thought he was like me and I guess that’s what I wanted. Someone like me, a son; I was old enough to be his father. Somewhere in my mind, it was a perfect fit, but it was a one-sided perspective that I’ll admit, probably only fit me.  

I guess I was foolish after all. Foolish to think the world revolved around me.

When I sat in my truck envisioning where I wanted to be, I knew then I was going on the road and going wherever the road allowed me. I wasn’t going to look back, I was going to continue with forward momentum. I was going to go where life wanted me to be, not follow a woman, not follow anyone, but follow what my gut told me. My gut told me to go on an open road and ride, ride the road, take my heart in my cradled arms and do what my mother wasn’t able to do for me. Cradle my own pain, my own fears and give my heart the compassion it needed.

Although I felt I was criss-crossing my tracks, I also felt it couldn’t be helped. I needed my keys. I needed my truck. Maybe I was wrong and been wronged in my life, but now was not the time to feel sorry for my sorried*  life. Mishon—to his credit—never seemed to be annoyed with me like I was with him. Go figure; someone I didn’t bother. I think that was a first. The further I walked, the more clear headed I became and felt okay about it all: that even being truck-less I seemed better off.

I got up from my utility pole stop and at first, I started towards the hospital, but I changed course and started my journey back to the Chat and Chew. Honey Bee she said her name was.

Despite how annoyed I was by her, I was convinced in some obscure way that she’d know where Mishon was.

*As the author of this piece, I do know and realize that “sorried” is not a word. It has been my experience that most people do not speak correct English; therefore, their thoughts would also reflect their incorrect usage. What other way to show this then by forming their own “speak” and “thoughts” using their terms? This means his dialogue and/or thoughts do not necessarily follow the rules of the English language, and therefore, does not need to be correct. I want this character authentic. One of the ways in which to do this is by throwing out the rules of the English language.

I headed on foot, like I had done so many times before. I became lost in my thoughts, again, taking me back to places I had been…

At age 17, I put my thumb out. I didn’t care who picked me up. Wherever they said they were going, so was I. I was trying to head as far away as I possibly could. I wanted to get away, be away. Even my dad, who I loved and wanted to know, couldn’t hold me down. I left without much thought to where I was going, or what I was doing with no keys in my pocket to either one of my parent’s homes.

This cute long, haired girl pulled over.

“Where you headed?” She asked with a smiling twinkle in her green-blue eyes.

“Were you planning on going far?” I replied to her.

“Not really. Some errands around town.” She stated.

“Aw, well, I wanted to go a little farther than that.”

“Well, that’s as far as I’m going.” She continued smiling.

“Would you be willing to take me to the bus station?” I quickly came up with something as I didn’t want to be an idiot in her eyes.

 “Sure I can do that. Where you planning on going?”

“Someplace far.” I answered.

“Far away from here you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Get in. I’ll give you a life.”

Oddly, I didn’t know what she meant by that and she didn’t offer me any indication of what she meant by “I’ll give you a life.” I’m not sure she even realized what she said; I think she thought she said “lift.” “I’ll give you a lift.” But for whatever reason, she said life and stranger yet, that’s just what she did.

She gave me reason to live life.

That was my first girlfriend. The one I really fell in love with. The unfortunate thing though, I didn’t know how to keep her.

She did drive me to the bus station, but we had started talking and there was something about it. Our conversation was real. It wasn’t phony or fake and I was very attracted to her. We were very attracted to each other. When it came time to leave, wherever I was going, I wouldn’t get on the bus. We kept talking. Then the last bus pulled out for the night and we were still sitting there talking.

“Wasn’t that the last bus?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, weren’t you supposed to be on it?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re not going anywhere, are you?”

I smiled at her. She smiled back. I started shaking my head no. She smiled more and I swear at that moment, my heart burst. I think she must have sensed this.

She took my hand and said, “Come on, let’s go somewhere else and talk.”

When she took my hand, she had my heart. She led me away and I followed her, wherever she let me be with her, I followed her. Until one day arrived and she wouldn’t allow it anymore.  

“What do you mean I can’t stay?” I asked in shock while she stormed around the room furious with me.

“I told you why and if you don’t remember, you need to leave.” She looked me hard in the eyes and stood her ground.

I couldn’t remember why, so I walked out the door. (Beat) I wish I had never done that.

After that, I couldn’t get her back, although I tried.

Even after all this time, I still don’t remember what I was supposed to remember. I don’t know what it was. Sometimes that torments me. If I had remembered, would I still be with her?

Now, after all this time, I don’t think so. She would have still thrown me out, despite my love for her.

She called me Horse.

She told me I was a wild horse who didn’t want to listen, created his own foolish path, yet craved a family he could call his own, but that I was untamable.

“You want a family?” She snarled at me.

“Yes, I do. I want a son.”

“And if you get a girl?”

“I’ll get a son. We’ll keep trying until we do.”

“And if you have ten daughters and I can no longer have them, you will…?”

“That won’t happen!”

“And having a daughter is that bad for you?”

“Well, I want a son.”

After that, we stopped having sex. I felt like she was purposely punishing me, taking away my chance to be a man. I started to sleep with other women. A man can go only so long without sex. I was such a goddamn fool. I was too young, too wild to know any better.

Just like she said.

“So, how’s the baby making going for you?” She sarcastically asked out of the blue.

“Well.” I answered smugly before I realized I had hung myself on the spot.

“That’s good. I hope you get exactly what you’re after. I know it’s not me. It’s something that doesn’t exist for you. And it never will.”

I grew furious over that remark. I felt my manhood was in question, that she castrated me. I started to call her all sorts of names, all the names I wanted to call my mother, accusing her of cheating on me, accusing her of not loving me, accusing her of keeping me down, creating obstacles to my goals and denying my right as a man to have his family.

She didn’t flinch. She looked at me. “Do you love me?” She asked in a calm, stilled voice. I didn’t hear her. She repeated it in the same manner. I was still in my fury, so still, I didn’t hear her. Or, at least, I thought I didn’t.

It was the next day she threw me out.

I have often wondered why she asked me so calmly. I’ve wondered if she had said it with emotion, if that would have made a difference; why couldn’t she yell at me?

It didn’t occur to me until now that she did say it with emotion. A lot of emotion. She loved me. It was something, I regretfully, questioned without thought. I questioned her love for me. Then I realized that was what I was supposed to remember. She had wanted me to answer her question: Did I love her?

My heart sank hard.

And now I carried a heavy heart like I carried a sword. The only difference was one was a weapon, the other a wound.

I don’t know why I was so dumb. Why I was so blind. But she was right. I never got the family I craved or the woman or the job or the career. It hurt knowing this because I could see it. I never had any of the things I wanted because what I was after, I got in my own way, just like I had done with Mr. Hadley.

I had other girlfriends, but none meant the same. I felt lost without her and pined away for something and someone I couldn’t obtain.

Now I knew that’s why my other relationships failed, too.

I destroyed them because I wanted her.

While I was deep in my thoughts, meandering the streets, I saw from a distance what looked like my truck.

It just couldn’t be.

The closer I got to it, the clearer it became.

It was mine.

“What the hell!” I said under my breath. I couldn’t believe I’d found it. I walked over to it and pulled out my keys.

While I was fiddling with the keys, trying to find the one that unlocked my door, I realized this set wasn’t mine. I felt my heart sinking further into a chasm; the keys that had been jingling in my pocket this whole time were Mr. Hadley’s.

“Jesus!” I cringed at my own stupidity. I stood there looking at the keys in my hand while looking at my truck.

Was this some kind of a joke? Some kind of poetic justice?

I kept looking back and forth between the two images in utter disbelief.

Where the hell were my keys?

 “Hey, how are you?” Mishon inquired like nothing bad had happened.

 “Okay. Waiting for test results.” I replied with a downward gaze.

 “Honey Bee was worried. Said that it was a shame you fell twice in the lot.”

 I shot Mishon a look. Mishon grinned back.

 “Why are you here?” I asked Mishon.

 “I have nowhere else to be, so I thought I’d keep you company.” Mishon said with a huge smile across his face.

 I didn’t respond. I was trying to find my lost thoughts again. Mishon seemed to know this.

 “What’s on your mind?” Mishon asked, as his demeanor changed.

 “Do you remember the fear you had as a child when your parent got mad at you?” I asked Mishon.

 “Fear?”

 “Yeah. The scary thing you witnessed your parent create inside of you.”

 “I don’t know if I know what you mean.” Mishon said.

 “When a parent is so mad and their anger is directed at you. They lose control of their emotion and you have no idea what your parent is going to do.”

 “My Momma got mad at me a few times, but nothing like that.” Mishon said allowing the silence to fall. “You okay?”

 “Yeah.” (Beat) “My dad left my mom. Then my mom turned into a different person. She was always angry. She yelled at me with a temper that I doubt could have been tamed.” (Beat) “Like a wild animal that’s caged, striking at anything, she’d yell at me about everything. I wasn’t eating fast enough, I was taking too long to dress; I didn’t listen. There was always an excuse attached to her anger. And it always involved me.” I paused, lost in more thought. I was trying to trace back the roots to where it took seed. “My dad left when I was ten. I resented her for it.” (Beat) “I went looking for my dad when I was a teenager.”

 “Yeah?” Mishon perked with interest. “Did you find him?”

 “My dad had been trying to have a life with me, but my mom got in his way. My father had remained out of my life six years because of her. He left her, so she retaliated by not allowing him to see me. You know what she told me?” (Beat) “My dad left because he didn’t want me. You know what that does to a child? It shut me down. She wanted me to believe that she was the best thing I had. She would tell me I was lucky. That at least, she wanted me. Then she’d go right back yelling at me.” (Beat) “My world shattered when I realized my mom lied. My dad told me how he tried so hard to be in my life. He showed me all the postmarked cards he sent for my birthdays and holidays—all ‘return to sender’ in her handwriting.”

 “I can see why your world crumbled.” Mishon replied with understanding.

 “Now I know why she yelled at me the one time I got the mail and why I was punished for getting it. She didn’t want to me to know the truth.”

 “What truth?”

 “The truth about her.” I replied in a monotone fashion, then continued: “All my life I’ve been trying hard to get away from her, but you know what?”

 Mishon doesn’t respond; he’s looking out the window.

 “I kept going back like a dumb dog that’s lost. She’d take me back, trip me, run me into the ground, and when I’m face down in the mud, she’d say: ‘I told you so.’ Do you know what that’s called?”

 Mishon looks at me and shakes his head.

 “Emotional abuse. She’d manipulate me because she wanted me dependent on her. I’m her insurance policy that she’s in control; that she is, still, the boss and that she’s needed. She wanted to be number one in my life, even though she knew she wasn’t. Do you know what I call her? The monster of the Texas range.” (Beat) “Sometimes letting go is hard. You know you need to let go and you do, but emotionally it takes many years to actually let go. Do you know what I mean?”

 “Yeah, I think so.” Mishon states distantly, as he continues to stare out the window.

 “Frankenstein’s monster wouldn’t have instilled fear if there was no one around to scare. He would be alone. With no status, no supporting members, he would be nothing. That’s why my mom wanted me down—to make her feel better about herself.” (Beat) “I broke my mom’s heart leaving. I did what the man before her did, but it was for a different reason than why my father left.” (Beat) “You know why I left?”

 Mishon answers quietly: “You were mad at her.”

 “No. It was her lies. She had be lying to me since I was ten. And who knows, it could have been longer. What I didn’t know is that I wasn’t in control, either.”

 Mishon turned back to look at me. “What do you mean?”
 
“I was being an adult in paving my own life, but I knew little about that, with one exception.”

Mishon looks at me curiously. “What was the exception?”

“To have stayed would have been certain misery and eventual death.”

Mishon exclaimed: “Death? Really? Don’t you think that’s extreme? She wasn’t trying to kill you or anything, was she?”

“No. But spirit killing buys an earlier grave. If the way is from self-destruction or natural causes—the body responds to negativity like a growing cancer. It will die when it’s not properly taken care of or nourished. Words matter. You know the saying ‘Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me?’

Mishon nods and answers: “Yeah.”

“That person was a fool.” (Beat) “Honesty is something I promised myself I would always do even when it makes me look bad.”

Mishon looks at me earnestly. “Really?”

“I’ve practiced it. I’ve had to be honest with myself, moreso, than with any other person.”

“Who’d you hurt?” Mishon questioned.

“Myself.”

“I meant other people.” Mishon stated.

“I know what you meant.” (Beat) “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that I hurt me. Do you know what the worst obstacle in your life can be?”

“What?” Mishon inquired.

“You’re probably too young to know it yet, but each one of us gets in our own way of accomplishing things. I am my biggest obstacle. I lied to myself. Don’t ever do that. It’s one of the worse things you could do to yourself. You know I told myself it didn’t matter that my mom wasn’t in my life. I found out otherwise. Even when someone is toxic, it doesn’t mean you should shut them out.”

With a serious tone, Mishon asked: “Is that why you consider yourself fallen?”

“I took this trip to find who I really am—ugly, handsome, the monster or the lost dog, I needed to reevaluate me. What I mean to me, not what I mean to others. To do that, I needed to get away from others that knew me. Those “others” always change, they’re not always present with me, but me—I’m with me all the time, no matter my change—I still look in the mirror. Sometimes I don’t recognize the man staring back at me. But it’s still me. You know? I see a weathered soul, sometimes lost, sometimes hurt, sometimes afraid, sometimes strong. But no matter what, I still stand; tall with weighed shoulders, tall with a hallowed look, small and crushed with a heavy heart and low like a bent tree.”

Mishon was moved. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“For what you’re telling me.” Mishon said with watery eyes.

“Don’t be. It’s my life. I don’t feel sorry for you for yours.”

Mishon began, but then stammered and stuttered: “I’m sorry. I mean, I mean, I mean I’m sorry I’m not trying to judge, I’m sorry for—I mean I didn’t mean to suggest—“

“I know what you meant, Mishon. No one’s life is perfect. I wouldn’t want your life with a dad who has been committed—If that’s true—But I don’t pity you. I accept your life as is and don’t judge you for it. You couldn’t help who your parents are no more than I can. I can’t say I’m sorry to you like you can with me. That’s your youth talking. You don’t know any better.” (Beat) “I’m sorry if telling you this makes your uncomfortable.”

I smile at Mishon and he sorta smiles back. He sits down in the chair and stares out the window again.

Mishon broke the silence and stated: “I wish you’d change your attitude.”

“My attitude?”

“Yeah, you sound like someone who is angry about his life, wishes he had another one and wants people to apologize for it.”

“Why you son-of-a-bitch! I said.

“I don’t understand why you’re so angry. I mean, I must have hit upon something—look at you.”

“Get out!” I shouted.

“You keep talking like I’m an idiotic youth. You judge me all the time. You think it’s okay. You get mad when I do it, but you think your age gives you the right to do it. You think being older has given you some type of authority.” (Beat) “I wonder if you even recognize the mother—your mother—in you.”

“Damn you.” I said angrily to Mishon.

“I’m sorry—well, not really—since you like honesty. You don’t like what’s being reflected back to you.” (Beat) “I guess I’m your mirror.” Mishon matter-of-factly stated.

“No you’re not.” I said peeved.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m not the youth you once were. I’m not the anger filled man looking for his father. I’m not a lost dog. I’m just a boy—trying to be a man.” (Beat) “Your shoes aren’t mine but they could easily be. Just decades apart.”

I looked hard at him, but he continued:

“Your crisis—confidence—about who you are isn’t a crisis. It’s just a reminder that your confidence is in fact intact. I must have hit upon something. Otherwise you wouldn’t be so angry with me. You should talk to your mom about her life. Maybe you’d find something you didn’t know about her. That could provide you with what you’re looking for. A tie to something inside yourself to keep you grounded.” (Beat) “I’ve said what I wanted to say. I’m sorry if you dislike or hate me. I like you despite the anger or judgment you’ve thrown at me.”

“Get out. (Beat) I said get out.” I initially said in a low voice, then I grew louder.

“Okay, I will, but—“

“Damn you Mishon! I said get out!”

“One last thing—“

“Leave! You’re not wanted here! I said leave!” I yelled hard at him.

“Stop fighting with yourself. Sometimes you expect too much from friends.” Mishon said while heading out the door.

When I got out, Mishon wasn’t around. I don’t know why I half expected him to be. For whatever reason, and as difficult it was to admit, I felt I lost a part of me.

“Mishon: A Horse With No Name” is dialogue driven.

The story may not be a script, but it is a visual narrative.

It can be tricky trying to capture that authenticity of a person’s speech, with slurs, stutters and intonations. Many people speak English colloquially. This can create difficulty in reading dialogue. There is a natural tendency to want to correct poor grammar and any imperfections that appear in the text; however, if the reader heard the dialogue in a film, play or radio, there would be less criticism of grammar or speech, and more focus on the character’s traits.

In the blog post “Mishon: A Horse With No Name,” the main character’s language is difficult to read and the structure of the sentence seems awkward, but when read aloud this dialogue comes alive:

“I had to. I was under her roof.” (Beat) “You know when you’re a child, you are at your parents’ mercy. What they decide goes. It doesn’t matter of your innocence or whether if you’re old enough to understand to disagree, you still don’t pay the bills or rule the house. You have to follow even if your heart tells you it’s wrong.”

Not every story comes neatly packaged with all the ends tied. Trying to reflect how life is by constructing a story to replicate life, it doesn’t necessarily come with all the questions answered. There can be a lot of ambiguity.

Returning to the post, “Mishon: A Horse With No Name,” Mishon tells how his father was out in the woods yelling “Mee-shine.” There is no clear explanation for his father’s behavior. This is purposely done. In real life, stories are passed down and are accepted as truth, regardless of actual proof. No explanation is necessarily offered or expected. The stories are what they are.

Creating a story that keeps the reader engaged, despite potential difficulty in reading, is an art unto itself. Sometimes the story’s construction doesn’t work; therefore, editing the smallest changes to a story can make the biggest difference in the story’s development. These changes strengthen the story, while making the storyline more cohesive.

Going back to the first post, in the very beginning of “The Birth of a Story,” a slight change was made in this sentence:

I finally came to a gas station and asked if they could help me get my truck that was up the road and fix the driver’s side door, which wasn’t hinging properly.

The conjunction in italics was added later as a form of foreshadowing. In other words, it was edited after the entry was posted. This slight editing change made a difference in the story, since it explains why the main character fell out of his truck in the third blog post: “The Chat and Chew.”

Writing is learned in the course of the editing process. Ideas are further developed, reconstructed or are thrown out entirely. New ideas also spring from editing. Writing with the mindset of going from point A to point B, the author may find that going to an unknown point—point C—is where the story needs to go before going back to point B.

In the end, the story makes sense even if the information wasn’t explicitly given. The audience forms the connection with the information presented in the storyline. Building the foundation of a story allows the story to take on a life of its own, thereby allowing it to direct the author. In effect, the story tells itself.

“So why didn’t you tell your Momma what you’re doing?”

The silence lingered. He never got the chance to answer before Honey Bee made her appearance. With her messy head of hair, that I couldn’t stop looking at, she chatted away like she knew us and we were the best of friends.

“So what brings you here this time?” Asked Honey Bee like this was our weekly visit. “I know your wife left you a while back, but you never told me about your son here, although I know at times you hid the truth from me. Don’t worry, I don’t mind. I have my secrets, too. I know I’m not as old as you, but I have lived long enough to know when not to pry. I hope you’re doing better. Did you fix that old jalopy or did you finally sell the parts?”

“We’ve never been here before. Just passing through.” I politely, awkwardly, answered.

“Oh.” As she looked us up and down.

“Yup, we’re just passing through.” Mishon followed.

“Well, I thought I’ve seen you before.”

“Nope. Our first time.” Mishon answered.

“Really? (Beat) Are you sure?”

“It’s our first time here.” I said.

“Then welcome to the Chat and Chew.”

“Could you tell me something? I asked with curiosity.

“Sure, go right on ahead, honey.”

“Why is this called the “Chat and Chew?’ “

“Now I know you’re not from around here. The “Chat and Chew” is where people chat and chew. Get it? It’s that simple. No hidden meaning, just a meeting place to eat and talk. Where you chew your food and the other person, sometimes myself, chats away happily, like this: How you doin’ this mornin’ Bob? Well, I know I heard about Miss Missy, but I would have never guessed she was going to marry Mr. Rumbolt’s son. He’s a sweet boy, but I didn’t know Miss Missy really liked him. I heard him say that he thought Miss Missy was cute and would make a good wife, but with her education, I’m not sure she is going to fit into his plans.” She gave us a wink as she lowered her voice. “Our manager really likes that we do that.” Without missing a beat, she raised her voice and asked, “Where you boys from?”

Mishon and I looked at each other, but then I noticed Mishon was in his own world. He was staring off into space like he was closely monitoring something outside. I turned and looked to see if there was anything there, but I only saw the parking lot filled with cars.

Honey Bee noticed his gaze, too.

“What do you see out there, honey? Did you lose someone?”

Mishon didn’t answer.

“You have to excuse him. He doesn’t mean to be rude.” I answered. Just as I was about to shake him, he quickly looked at me, looked into my eyes and said:

“Why does being here, mean you fell? Maybe this is right where you’re supposed to be.”

“Oh my dear, did you fall? Are you hurt? I can get ice for you. No wonder you’re off into space. You’re still dazed. I’ve been here chattering away and you’ve been lying there in pain. Now, don’t fret, Honey Bee will take care of things.”

Before I could stop her, she went off to get ice. I could hear her saying to her co-workers: “I don’t know but I think he fell on the gravel out in the parking lot.”

I looked at Mishon; he looked at me. I felt like I was being challenged to a duel.

“You look alright to me. You don’t seem like you’re crazy or anything. Your head is on your shoulders. You don’t look lost. Maybe I don’t get it, but you seem like a normal, healthy guy to me.” Mishon said as a matter-of-fact statement.

I didn’t know what to say to him at that moment, but he continued.

“So I guess that means you’ve been falling since you were a teenager? How would you measure that drop? 1,000 feet? Below sea level?”

 I noted the sarcasm in his voice and I could feel heat gathering around my neck; I knew it was traveling into my face.

“Mishon, you’re just a kid. What could you possibly know about life?”

“Obviously more than you.”

“How old are you?” I snapped.

“I’m not as young as you think I am.”

“I swear youth can be so ugly sometimes.”

Mishon shook his head and rolled his eyes before he spoke: “What could have you so down that you consider yourself to be “fallen?’ ”

“Life. (Beat) I’m living it.”

“Then pick yourself up.”

“Is that what your Momma taught you?”

He paused. “You fall down; you get up and brush the dirt off. (Beat) What’s happened that’s so bad in your life? Nothing can be that bad.”

“Killing another human?”

“What?”

“You heard me. Killing another human can’t be that bad?”

It was at this point that both of us finally noticed Honey Bee standing there with packed ice in her hands.

“It sure seems to me that there is some sort of problem here. I’m not going to pry; but, I will tell you two to ease up on one another, clear your heads and be in peace. (Beat)  I hope this wasn’t a lover’s quarrel, but looking at the two of you, I doubt it. But get over whatever has your antlers entangled. Life is just too short for this kind of stuff.” She handed the ice pack to Mishon: “You, tend to your bump.”

“Now what are you two boys going to have today?”

“I guess I’m going to take a coke and the turkey club.” I answered.

“Hot chocolate and a large salad.” Mishon said.

“Okay.” Honey Bee said as she wrote down the order while muttering: “The green bird and pig. The pig trough. The injured one wants a steamed brown cow and the old one wants an old fashioned.” Her voice raised, “Now for your turkey club, what kind of bread do you want?”

“The freshest one.”

“Okay.” Honey Bee said while she continued to mutter. “The green bird and pig with mud flaps.”

“Toasted?”

“Sure.”

“The green bird and pig with two hard slaps of mud flaps.”

She looked up from her pad and smiled. “Now get along!”   

“Did you hear her? She called you old.” Mishon said to me.

“Yeah, I heard her. So what of it?” I responded snarkily.

“Well, that wasn’t nice of her.”

“I think I was more intrigued by her descriptions of our meals. Why are you ordering a hot chocolate in this heat?”

“I like drinking it. It soothes me. A steamed brown cow might be good for you, too.”

“I doubt it. I’d be pouring sweat, stinking the whole place up.”

Something about the whole thing got under my skin. Maybe it was because of what I admitted to myself out loud; that I had fallen. It was the first time I really heard myself say it, let alone saying it to anyone else. Now I was regretting sharing that. Both of us sat there in silence.

“I heard you fell outside. How bad are you hurt?” Asked a pot-bellied man.

“I didn’t fall. (Beat) He did. Ask him.” Mishon answered pointing at me.

“I’m sorry. I guess I misunderstood Honey Bee.” Then he turned to me and put out his hand: “Hi sir, I’m the manager here. Robert McAdams.” He shook my hand. “Welcome to the Chat and Chew. I understand you fell outside in the lot. How bad are you hurt?”

“Actually, I didn’t fall outside. I’m fine.”

“You sure sir? Because if you’re hurting, I need to know. I’d need to fill out a report. You don’t need to lie about it.”

“No, really I’m fine. I didn’t fall.”

“That’s not what you told me.” Mishon chimed in.

“See, you should listen to you son.” The manager said.

“He’s not my son.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. Really, sir, I’m fine.”

“You sure? I don’t want to get a call later and find out you’re going to sue me.”

“No lawsuit. You don’t have to worry because I really didn’t fall”

“Okay. But if you’re not okay, I better not get a call from your lawyer.” He writes something down on his clipboard, then continues: “I’m going to make a record of this and this young man here, he’ll be my witness that I spoke to you and you declined. And if you change your mind, you better let me know. Nice to have met you.”

“You, too.” I said as we shook hands.

After he walked away, I looked at Mishon.

“Why’d you have to say that?” I asked angrily.

“Because you’re the one who said you fell.”

“You don’t have to be such a smart ass.”

“You may have fallen a long time ago, but I don’t think you’re still there.” Mishon responded.

“I wish I never mentioned it to you.”

“Is that anything like your other wish?”

“You know I did like you, but I think I just changed my mind.”

“It doesn’t matter if you like me or not. Why were you on that road the day I found you? Were you trying to kill yourself?” Mishon asked.

(laughs) “Hell no! What makes you think that?”  

“You keep talking about falling, so…”

“So?”

“So, it seems like something a fallen person would do.” Mishon explained.

“No, I wasn’t going to kill myself. I was actually headed back to my vehicle. Remember?”

“Oh yeah.”

“Oh yeah? Do you have a bug up your ass? Why were you there?” I asked angrily.

“Oh, I was just driving around.”

“Just driving around. (Beat) I don’t believe that. The guys at the station said you weren’t where you were supposed to be. (Beat) Where were you supposed to be?”

“I was right where I needed to be.” Mishon responded.

“Which was?”

“Helping you.”

“Helping me?” I questioned.

“Helping you find your way back.”

“To what?”

“Life.”

Damn Mishon.

It felt like I had to be somewhere in a hurry, so I was rushing Mishon to get out of the place after we finished our food. I wanted to get back on the road, but we needed the check. He gave me a sideways glance. That irritated me.  

“What’s up with you?” I asked him.

Instead of answering, he shook his head at me. That pushed my buttons further.

“You might as well say it. Because right now, Mishon, you’re annoying the hell out of me.”

“Why are we in a rush?” MIshon asked with annoyance.

“I want to get out of here.”

“Do you need to be somewhere specific?”

“Yeah.”

“Someplace you need to be in a hurry, really?”

“Yup.”

“Where?”

“Well, Mishon, that’s really none of your damn business.”

That shut him up. I wasn’t about to be cornered by him any further.

That’s when Honey Bee came over to tell us: “I just want you boys to know that our manager said your meal’s on us.” She then lowered her voice: “You know, because of the fall you don’t want to report.” She then, quite purposefully, winked at me.

That infuriated me. I didn’t like the implications. I wasn’t a liar, hated it when people thought I was, and now to get something for free that I didn’t deserve—because of Mishon—I wanted him gone.

“Mishon, I think this is where we should part and go our separate ways.”

“You really think so?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Okay. Have it your way. I think it’s a mistake, but you know, you have to do what you have to do.” Mishon replied with ease and with no annoyance in his tone.

I looked at him and shook my head.  “What the hell does that mean?” I asked him, but before he could reply, I simply stated: “Never mind.”

He followed me out to the parking lot and stood by the restaurant, watching me go to my truck. I looked over at him and shook my head. I said under my breath: “Lost kid.”

I got into my cab and started the engine. I was looking at him in the rearview mirror when I pulled out of the parking spot. Before I was able to peel out, he called out and waved to me. He ran over to the passenger’s side window and asked me something I hadn’t anticipated:

“Where do you get your money from?”

“What?” I said, startled. As my foot pressed on the gas pedal, my body fell back on the cab door, and it gave way, so I fell right out of my truck onto that damn gravel lot.

“Goddamn it!” I said under my breath while I laid there on the lot. I could feel shooting pain through my body, although at that precise moment, I couldn’t pinpoint where.

Then Mishon was looking down at me. I could see his lips moving, like he was telling me something, but I couldn’t hear him. All I could say was: “Mishon, I’m hurt bad. Real bad.”