SPONTANEOUS FRIDAY

In today’s world we talk to people all over the world. I can say hi to my friends in Africa, Australia, Ireland, you name it.

It is truly a great time to be alive. But there was a time when a person would have to go to great links to communicate with others so far away.

 

An Innocent Time

I was 15 years old living in small town USA. We were a year away from discovering HBO and ten years away from having more than a dozen channels to choose from.

One day at school a classmate of mine brought up the subject of pen pals. He told me about the ones he wrote to. Like the girl in Germany and the other girl in Paris and the super cool one in Japan.

He was big on Japan.

They taught him their language. They exchanged gifts during the holidays. Birthday cards were common and sometimes a gift for no reason.

Once he spoke to the German girl on the phone. Wow!

 

A Faraway Land

Excited by all this I asked how I could get a pen pal. He told me it would cost $10. The company would supply a list of names and from there I could choose to write to whoever I please.

He told me he had the address at home and all he needed from me was the money. I remember hurrying home that day and somehow found $10 scattered throughout my room.

The following day I gave him the money with a promise that he would submit my name and address and choices of countries.

As I waited for the list to arrive I dreamed of a day of leaning a new language. Letters upon letters containing adventures and history lessons beyond anything I could read from a drabby school book.

Maybe a phone call, I fantasized.

 

An Unplanned Arrival

I remember coming home from school the day the letter arrived. Oddly enough it wasn’t in an envelope but a plain brown wrapper shaped as a magazine.

Curious, I settled into my after school routine consisting of a snack at the kitchen table and quickly opened the package displaying the mystery in front of me.

Never trust a 15 year old boy with your money. I say this not out of opinion but of fact.

Allow me to explain.

My classmate had no intention of supplying me information that I requested. He did however supply me with a year’s subscription, courtesy of his father’s collection, of Swedish Porn.

 

My Young Eyes

For a moment my eyes failed to register the gift in front of me. Thankfully my grandmother’s eyes failed the same as she passed by on her busy day.

As my young eyes came into focus my new Swedish friend and all her pals welcomed me into their world.

Clearly clothes were outlawed in their homeland as well as shyness to the opposite sex. The pictures were colorful and bright and detailed in ways I had never imagined.

I don’t remember how I raced into my room so fast without jarring attention but I do remember being locked inside for a very long time.

 

Laundry and Refunds

Sadly it was laundry day. Thankfully I came up with a brilliant plan of asking my grandmother to leave them by the door. Come to think of it my asking was more like an order.

I might have shouted.

I never asked for a refund and I never had pen pals the way I thought I would. On the other hand I don’t remember complaining a whole hell of a lot.

Give a 15 year old boy a year subscription of Swedish Porn and all is forgiven.

Trust me on this.

So there you have it. A little surprise in a little town otherwise known as –

My First Porn.

 

Happy Friday Everyone  

I always write with a comedy slant. It’s not something I try to do, it’s just my style.

I remember once I attempted to write a piece that was completely serious. I forced the story to walk a straight line. There would be no side stories or surprises.

This thing was top notch serious stuff with a heavy message and the reader was going to learn something, damnt!

When I finally got around to reading the thing it became clear I had just created a cheap Harlequin Romance low grade knockoff.

Good God!

 

So much for my ‘Let’s Get Serious’ moment.

Once I embraced my writing style and opened up to who I was, I was able to relax and create the things that I do. But as I did something would always appear.

A darkness from the comical, clumsy characters always rose to the surface. Each one of them, it seemed, had another story to tell. A heartbreak or a struggle. Something it seemed that the characters hid deep within while using humor as a shield.

It was as if the characters relaxed. They trusted me and with that trust a secret was told.

I remember the first time it happened. It came out of nowhere and took me by surprise. I tried to fix it and when I did the story fell flat. I quickly learned and never tried that again.

As you and I know, once we go against the grain there’s always a price to pay.

 

A reflection of us

So what is it with the dark side that these characters have? Is it nothing more than inner demons rising to the surface or are they showing their true selves the way we all do?

Have they decided to hold nothing back so their story can be told?

For those of you who write novels it should come as no surprise once a character is complete that something magic happens. Unfortunately for me, being the creator means I feel their darkness too.

It doesn’t take long for their emotional journey to become mine as well.

It’s exhausting but I’ve learned it’s worth it. Their tears, their broken hearts and their laughter run deep through my veins.

So now I have a new story and with that I am seeing their comedy, their clumsiness and that all familiar darkness.

It is who they are in the same way it is who we are and I see no other way but to embrace it.

 

Ghosts and Goodies

The other day I was channel surfing when I came upon an old black and white movie. I have this sick game whenever I see a movie from the 1930’s or 40’s. I search for scenes consisting of adults who are middle age or older and when that happens I realize chances are pretty high they’re all dead.

In that moment I’m watching a ghost movie. Yes, a little twisted.

The movie was about a prisoner and his last meal. He was angry and he told the guards he was not eating. Since he believed he was innocent he would rather walk to the electric chair on an empty stomach.

I gave this a lot of that and I’m still trying to figure out the angle on that one.

Growing a little bored I moved on to the national news which consisted of the current state of my country. Realizing what I had done I quickly returned to the movie.

 A wise move. Trust me.

 

What’s for Dinner?

The plot had moved on to a popular female lead. Somehow she was connected with the angry prisoner and had just hatched a plan for his escape. But that didn’t interest me. Let’s face it, all of us can put together a prison escape with our eyes closed but choosing a last meal?

Now we’re talking a challenge and a challenge I’m not sure I am up for.

I’m the type of guy with a short list of favorite places. Usually five but no more. There’s usually three choices on the menu that I choose and depending on my mood I always work my way down the list.

How nice it would be if I could walk by every table and sample the new stuff I don’t have the guts to order.

And so lies the problem with my last meal. I would never have the courage to try something new and if I did, imagine the disappointment if it was nothing like the picture on the menu.

I seriously doubt the guards would give me a do over.

 

Decisions…decisions…

So there I was, back to my original question: It’s my last day in my cell and the choice is all mine.

What do I choose to eat?

Do I go full healthy? Maybe a nice salad with a nice fruit dish on the side? Possibly a nice organic energy drink. I’m thinking hint of lemon.

The combination would create a much needed spring to my step as I skipped my way to the executioner.

But who needs that kind of spring?

So my mind took me back to a time when we had this really cool rotisserie grill. It was fun to watch the chicken turn, the meat sizzle and my stomach growling. On the negative side it took forever and I was starving for the longest time.

Who needs that kind of memory on my last day?

 

I am the kind of steak!!!!

Yes, that’s Elvis. No, that’s not me. Glad we cleared that up.

Suddenly a great memory surfaced.

It was summer. I had graduated from kid to teenager and for reasons unclear I was placed in control of all things barbeque. Suddenly I was popular. Sunglasses, rock star looks and plenty of babes.

Sorry, way off topic.

The first choice of my last meal was decided: My steak on my grill made my way. Now I needed item two. Corn on the cob from our garden. The kind where you had to shuck it yourself. Easy choice.

The next item was just as easy. Green beans from the garden. Picked and cut the same day and boiled for hours in bacon.

I’m on a roll, folks.

Last but not least: My grandmother’s homemade bread. I swear I can still smell it.

 

Executioner, I’m ready!

Now that is what I call a kick-ass final meal. Bring on the gallows, baby!

On a side note: Since I’m running this fantasy show I’m not Bryan, I’m Andy Dufresne from the movie The Shawshank Redemption

Those familiar know the rest of the story. Wrongly accused. A daring prison escape living out a nice life in Mexico waiting for his buddy Morgan Freeman to catch up. We hang out. Work on boats, learn a little Spanish and make a mean avocado dip.

So there it is. My last meal and dab of fantasy all rolled in to one.

Hope you enjoyed.

 

Happy Friday Everyone!!!

Mae Clair of Story Empire wrote an excellent post on her blog. In fact it was so good I decided to steal her idea.

Okay, not really steal. Let’s just say I borrowed it for a few days, tossed it around and carefully handed it back all shiny and new.

Mae brought up an interesting subject of reading books in the first person. She wrote how, at first, she avoided this type of writing but in time she realized that she was missing out.

I can’t remember the first time I read a book in first person but I do remember that I never pushed it away.  

I was curious of the inner workings of the characters mind. I was drawn to their mistakes and their success. I never grew tired watching them learn and grow.

 

My First Mistake

The first time I attempted to write I wrote in third person. I figured it was natural and a good way to start. Looking back it was a good way to practice but when the real story came along it had to be in first person.

For the longest time I wondered why I wrote my book in first person. The story could have easily been told in third. It would have given the reader a broader scope into the lives of the characters instead of the unreliable narrator.

It wasn’t until I finished writing the novel that I realized the answer. If I were the reader this is the kind of book I’d want to read. The idea of getting inside the protagonists head and watching him stumble with his thoughts was too good to pass up.

 

Looking in the mirror

I think I am drawn to first person because it reminds me of myself. Sometimes the characters are a tad clumsy, a bit unreliable and way to stubborn for their own good.

On the positive side they are honest, a little too naive but most of all they mean well.

One of the earliest realizations I felt when reading a book in first person was the understanding that I was not alone with my fears and self-doubt.

There is nothing better than reading a book in the eyes of a character who understands you.

 

Connecting with the reader

When you think about it, making a connection is the goal of every writer. If we can touch one person and show them they are not alone we’ve created something special.

Not every novel in first person makes that connection. Let’s face it, that’s a hard thing to do. But if you possess that magic, that ability to show someone there are others just like them that is a powerful tool and one not to be wasted.

Writing in first person is not for everyone and that’s okay. We all have our own style. But if it is your thing and you have the ability to connect, you are on your way to something special.