[stylist] Fwd: Re: fiction

Fri Jan 14 23:40:59 UTC 2011

just thought I'd add, mischeviously, the closing of my last e-mail 
was done on purpose.  lol
jc

>Date: Fri, 14 Jan 2011 17:38:50 -0600
>To: "Writer's Division Mailing List" <stylist at nfbnet.org>
>From: "James H. \"Jim\" Canaday M.A. N6YR" <n6yr at sunflower.com>
>Subject: Re: [stylist] fiction
>
>Chris,
>this is good and it flows really well.
>
>I saw that typo Donna mentioned, too.
>
>I think you have a misuse of words, instead of debacle I think you 
>meant defense of democracy [evil grin].
>
>now, one thing I wanted a little more of in the story was descriptions:
>so what does the barmaid look like?  for that matter, does mike look 
>long and lean, a wolf, or is he built like a tank?
>
>smell like what in the bar/shop?
>
>good job Mike.
>jc
>
>At 02:01 PM 1/14/2011, you wrote:
>> 
>>1,425 Words
>>
>>
>>
>>  Just Call Me Al
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>
>>By Chris Kuell
>>
>>
>>
>>The jingle of the bell at the door caught me off guard. I was 
>>squatting in a very un-lady-like position, tightening a nut on the 
>>new faucet in the double sink. Twenty past eleven was early, even 
>>for the biker crowd. I heard the tap, tap, tap of a cane and stood 
>>up to see Mike Edison, a blind frequenter of my bar, The Chicken 
>>Bone Cafe. He made his way to the corner stool, collapsed his cane 
>>and tucked it under his leg.
>>
>>
>>
>>"Hey, Mike. Haven't seen you much this winter. What've you been up to?"
>>
>>
>>
>>"Oh, you know, the usual," he said. "Training for the Olympics-I'm 
>>pole vaulting next summer. I'm also taking a welding and a 
>>photography class at the Voc."
>>
>>
>>
>>"Smart-ass," I said, and poured him a pint.
>>
>>
>>
>>"Actually, I've been making pretty good progress on my novel. I'm 
>>on Chapter 17, a little over 200 pages."
>>
>>
>>
>>"Hey, that's great," I said. "Congratulations." I placed the beer 
>>on a coaster in front of him. With a well practiced ear, he found 
>>it without difficulty.
>>
>>
>>
>>"So, why're you in here before eleven-thirty, instead of being 
>>home, writing a steamy sex scene in your book?"
>>
>>
>>
>>"Ain't no cure for the summertime blues." He sang the line, and 
>>thankfully, didn't continue. Ray Charles, he isn't.
>>
>>
>>
>>I clicked on the TV in the corner of the bar. "You and the wife 
>>arguing again?" Mike lived down the street, so he came here 
>>sometimes to cool down and gain perspective when things weren't so 
>>glorious on the home front.
>>
>>
>>
>>"Naw, that's not it," he said. He took a long pull off his beer. 
>>"Ahh. Like mother's milk."
>>
>>
>>
>>I've heard this expression from him a hundred times, and it's 
>>pretty well worn out.
>>
>>
>>
>>"No, me and the old lady are okay." Mike took another drink, and 
>>then looked me right in the chest. Now, I know he can't see, and he 
>>doesn't know that is where his gaze is focused. But at times, I have to wonder.
>>
>>
>>
>>"You ever notice how I have a knack for pissing people off?"
>>
>>
>>
>>"That's not true, Mike," I said. "You seem to get along with 
>>everybody. Especially the ladies you buy drinks for."
>>
>>
>>
>>I turned on the faucet and checked for leaks, but everything was 
>>dry. Rosie Riveter comes through again.
>>
>>"There was that one night, though, when I thought I was going to 
>>have to take the bat to you and Steve. You had too much to drink 
>>and were quite vocal in your opinion about Bush stealing the election."
>>
>>
>>
>>"I wasn't drunk," he broke in. "I was bullshit. I mean, the whole 
>>2000 election debacle was unconstitutional. But, I'm unpatriotic if 
>>I don't just bend over and take it."
>>
>>
>>
>>His face reddened and he stopped talking. After another sip of 
>>beer, he said, "Well, I pissed off a lot of people in the internet 
>>writer's group I belong to by posting an anti-tea party satire."
>>
>>
>>
>>"What didn't they like?"
>>
>>
>>
>>He drained his beer and I poured him another. Nobody else had come 
>>in yet, so I didn't mind talking.
>>
>>
>>
>>"My commentary was mildly acidic, although, you would have fainted 
>>if you saw my first draft. This was the toned down version. I 
>>thought it was entertaining, thought it would make people laugh. 
>>And maybe, just maybe, make people think seriously about our 
>>country, and what is best for all Americans. Both today, and ten, 
>>twenty years from now."
>>
>>
>>
>>"Doesn't sound bad to me." I warmed up the small grill where I made 
>>burgers and sandwiches for the lunch crowd.
>>
>>
>>
>>"I didn't think it was. After I posted it, I thought of a dozen 
>>other points I should have included. You can guess how it went. The 
>>choir cheered, the republicans in the group think I'm a knee-jerk 
>>liberal, and a handful think I hate Jesus."
>>
>>
>>
>>"Do you?" I asked. Bartenders and shrinks are masters of carrying 
>>on conversations with very few words. It's a real talent.
>>
>>
>>
>>"No, of course not. I love Jesus." He took a draw off his beer. "I 
>>also love Buddha, and Moses, and that Hindu God with all the arms, 
>>and Mother earth. I'm still on the fence about Mohammed and Joseph 
>>Smith, though." He leaned his head to one side, listening to the 
>>weather forecast on the television before continuing. "In fact, I 
>>probably love Jesus best of all. I just don't believe in heaven, in 
>>the way most people do, so I don't think you have to be a Christian 
>>to get there." He absent-mindedly swirled the beer in his glass. "I 
>>think there are many religions on this planet to serve the people 
>>of the various cultures. To help them get through this soap-opera 
>>we call life."
>>
>>  "I try never to discuss politics or religion with people unless I 
>> know exactly where they stand," I said. "It's just asking for 
>> trouble. You want a burger?"
>>
>>
>>
>>"Sure," he said. "You're right, I know. I've stirred up trouble a 
>>dozen times before on internet groups, I just can't seem to help 
>>it. Manipulation by fear and intolerance infuriates me." He sipped 
>>and scratched the nubs of beard on his face." They spew out lies 
>>and hypocrisy, and America eats it like Lassie on a T-bone."
>>
>>
>>
>>"Un-hunh," I said, flipping the sizzling burger.
>>
>>
>>
>>"I just want to shake them; tell them to wake up. But, then I 
>>realize I'm no better than the nut-jobs on the far-right of the 
>>political spectrum."
>>
>>
>>
>>Mike sat in silence for a minute. Then he said, "You know what I 
>>was thinking about this morning when I was eating my Raisin Bran?"
>>
>>
>>
>>"What?"
>>
>>
>>
>>"I remind my self of Al Sharpton, which is not a compliment." He 
>>shook his head and rubbed one finger along the edge of his glass. 
>>"Now, I'm no fan of Mr. Sharpton. He is a bigoted idiot who takes 
>>up causes primarily to get his face on TV. But, even though nobody 
>>of power takes him seriously, they have to listen, to appease him 
>>somehow, because he does have followers. In his loudmouthed, 
>>opportunistic, wacko kind of way, he brings attention to 
>>African-American issues - and people notice. He makes them think."
>>
>>
>>
>>The door jingled again with the arrival of fresh patrons. I set the 
>>burger down in front of Mike.
>>
>>"Ketchup at ten o'clock," I said, putting down a bottle.
>>
>>
>>
>>"Ketchup, Reagan's favorite vegetable," he said.  He felt for the 
>>top of the hamburger bun and splashed a glob left of center.
>>
>>"It makes everybody's buns taste better."
>>
>>
>>
>>I laughed. "Do you ever stop thinking about sex, Mike?"
>>
>>
>>
>>"Sure. I only think about sex forty-five out of every sixty 
>>seconds. Gotta leave some time for politics, religion, and general 
>>day-dreaming."
>>
>>
>>
>>"Personally," I said, pouring a beer for a customer with a beard 
>>like a lumberjack, "I think you should carve out more time for your 
>>book, and spend less time gabbing with your friends on e-mail. 
>>Biggest time waster ever invented."
>>
>>
>>
>>"Again, you're right," he said. A small blotch of ketchup was on 
>>his lip and I wished he would get it.
>>
>>"But, writing is a lonely business. I don't go to an office where I 
>>can interact with other people around the coffee machine. I mostly 
>>get to hear people's opinions in essays and writing prompts. It's 
>>fascinating to see the different directions people go with a 
>>similar starting point."
>>
>>
>>
>>He finished his burger and wiped his hands and mouth with a napkin. 
>>"Another beer, Mike?"
>>
>>
>>
>>"No," he said, reaching in his pocket and handing me a twenty, 
>>folded into a triangle. "You've convinced me. I'm going back to my 
>>novel, where I can at least pretend everything is okay."
>>
>>
>>
>>"After you finish, you can have a book signing here," I said.
>>
>>
>>
>>"That ought to bring in two or three new customers."
>>
>>
>>
>>I handed him his change. He said, "Keep the ones and just give me the five."
>>
>>
>>
>>"Mike, that's about forty-percent tip," I said.
>>
>>
>>
>>"Support your local bartender," he announced to the two other 
>>patrons, and then got up to leave.
>>
>>
>>
>>I held the door and he pinched my ass as he walked by. I gave him a 
>>quick jab to the shoulder but he shrugged it off and laughed.
>>
>>
>>
>>Two college-aged girls watched Mike tap his way down the street. 
>>They came into the bar, holding hands and bubbling with the 
>>excitement of new love.
>>
>>
>>
>>"Hey, was that Mike Edison, the blind writer?" one of the girls 
>>asked. "I heard he lived around here."
>>
>>
>>
>>"Yeah," I said. "But, he thinks he's Al Sharpton."
>>
>>
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