If you want to increase your success rate, double your failure rate.

Friday, January 30, 2015

Milestones and Markers



My dearest Blogger friends,

Hello and welcome, once again, to the High Cost of this Low Living.


If I didn't love the title of my blog so much I might be apt to change it.  You see while it is still high cost, it isn't quite so low as one would gather from the title.
Contrarily, it is rather good living but nonetheless the title remains.

Today marked a milestone in my writing career.  My new book topped the 20,000-word mark.  Dialing in at 20,067 words.  1/3 of the way to a full novel length.
I am averaging 1500-2000 words every time I sit down with a few longer bursts of 3-4 thousand.
Not bad me thinks.  I only started 27 days ago.  At this rate, I will be finished by April.

I am excited, yet pessimistic.  (It's in my nature)  I really don't expect much to come of it, yet still I write.  Practice makes good!  Most would say perfect but is there such a thing as a perfect book?
Some would say yes, and most would cite the Bible, which is obscene, but all books end.  All good books leave you wanting more, but none are perfect.

My only desire is to find a handful of people who will love it for what it is and it will spark dreams of their own adventure.

Fame and fortune?  Oh, man wouldn't that be nice.  I don't live in pipe dreams though.  There are things that we dream of as kids.  Being a professional athlete, Fireman, Doctor, Nurse or Chef.

I dreamt of being a writer.  A published one.  How amazing would that be?  Can you imagine walking through a store and seeing your book on a shelf?

Well, we can all dream, right?

So back to reality.

I finished the painting in the writing room today.
I took down my huge dry erase board and painted the wall behind it.  I had previously purchased wooden trim to surround the dry erase board, but I forgot that they sell the sheets of melamine oversize to accommodate for chips in the edges during handling.  The trim would be an inch too short.  I took the entire sheet of melamine into the garage and shaved two inches of each side and two inches off the length.

After I secured it to the wall I cut and installed the trim around the edges.  It gives it a nice finished look.  Momma is bringing me home some wood paste to fill in the nail holes and polish off the mitered corners.  Then I will stain it to match my writing desk.  A nice maple.

I took a little video to show off the room.  It isn't much, but I hope you like it.





Thursday, January 29, 2015

Thirsty Thursday

Hello and welcome to a rare edition of Thirsty Thursday!

I haven't done this in a while and I won't promise to keep doing it either but it's nice to live vicariously through one's old blogs!

I started off the evening with a rare vintage of Donut House coffee, craftily brewed in my Keurig wonder machine.  I followed that up with and excellent year of Starbucks Verona blend.

While sipping the exquisite blends I opened up a few different windows on my new computer system, one being the classic Microsoft Office and the other being my writing software, titled Scrivener, and proceeded to hunt and peck my way through a few pages of story line.

Yes ,it is for the Lion and I, and no it won't be published here today.

I will tell you that I am just a few more pecks away from 20,000 words.  Progress is being made and before you know it, I will be on here begging you to buy a copy.

In case your wondering if he is still alive, of course he is.  Has he made it to the island?  Nope, not yet.  Well what in the world could he possibly be doing?  I know your wondering so I'll give you a little snippet.


"I found myself thinking of so many things during those days on my raft.  Friends and family, my dear wife, who must be worried something terrible.  I thought about people I’ve treated badly and those who I have broken promises to.   Every fiber in my body yearned for a chance to make it right.  I couldn’t count the number of times I prayed for rescue, prayed for release and prayed for death. 

I contemplated suicide many times as well.  Letting go, floating away.  Floating down.  Down where the blues turned into blacks.  Where the deep became so cold and the sunlight never penetrated.  Into the abyss where pain ended and rest would come. 

Once, I even let go of the raft, I watched it begin to drift away and when the currents started to pull it faster and faster, I panicked, the will to live was too strong and I swam like a man possessed to catch up with it.  When I reached it, I pulled myself up on it and kissed the rough boards, then I cried, blubbering like a baby but without tears.  I was too dehydrated for tears.  I didn’t want to die but I just wasn’t tough enough to take this anymore."

I am having fun with this story.  Honestly I don't know where it came from.  I don't make up the stories, they are already made up, inside me, just waiting to get out.  I merely extract the energy from within, let it run down my arms and through my fingers where it dances along the keyboard until, ultimately it dies.  Once dead, it is trapped in my hard drive and on paper. 
After that I give it to you. 
You are responsible for bringing it back to life.

On a side note, I have officially signed up for the A to Z challenge.  I am looking forward to that. 

January is almost over.  Everything here is covered in ice.  I almost slipped and fell on my keester today. 

The woodstove is heating the house quite comfortably, my efforts are paying dividends finally.  The furnace has been off since I came back from deer camp on the 18th of November.

Remmi has survived his tutoring and is recovering nicely.

Big Brown Dog is doing well.  He has lost some weight and is looking great, although his chin whiskers are as white as mine now.  I feel lucky having a great dog to grow old with!

My wife begins her new job on Monday.

I would say I am feeling blessed.  I can only hope that our good fortune continues.
It sure is nice to have things go your way.  I almost feel guilty...almost.

I should have the painting finished in my writing room this weekend.  I'm thinking maybe I need a plant in here.  I think it would be nice.

I may download some sort of typing instructor program, as I am lousy at typing.  My hands and wrists take a beating typing the way I do.  One finger, left hand and two fingers and a thumb, on the right hand.  I sure could get my stories out a lot faster.

Enjoy your Thursday evening be it thirsty or not!
Ciao,
Bushman
 

Thursday, January 22, 2015

Tutored, neutered, there all the same right?

It's finally Thursday and guess what?
I don't have to work tomorrow.  Apparently the work gods deem that 40 hours is enough this week.

That means I get to sit in my writing room and wail away at the keys until something, clearly meant for either a weekend at Bernie's, or some public restroom stall comes pouring forth.
Shouldn't take much for either one but you had better believe I will think it's funny.

Just like I think it's funny when I hide behind the door in the bathroom and scare the bejesus out of my wife.  I don't know why she doesn't appreciate it.  I laugh my ass off!

I haven't made any progress on anything at all this week.  Work has been dreadful.  The higher ups have got their whips out and they are finely tuned and polished to a painful point.

It has been non-stop, go go go, and hurry the &*$% up all week.  I'm not as young as I used to be (why does everyone say that?  Isn't it obvious) and it has taken its toll.
We built 16 fire trucks in 4 stinkin' days.

When I get home it takes the remaining energy I have left just to change clothes and make a cup of coffee...and I use a Keurig, so all I have to do is push a button!

Yeah, I know, if you want it bad enough...but really you don't want to read what I would write after work.  It would be likened to an episode of Threes' Company, but Jack would be played by Michael Moore and the girls would be played by Roseanne and Riki Lake.  (That actually might be entertaining for a spell)  What I'm saying is it just wouldn't work.

What the hell is going through your head...punk!

So anyways I don't force it.  Mornings are my best time.  Early bird gets the worm.  The worm, in this case, is words.  Lots of them and they all make a little trip together to adventure land.

Couple new things for today.

I just left the optometrist.  I have new contacts in my eyes.
My eyes are worse than before.
He is correcting my "bad" eye.  My left eye can't really read anything without my right eye.
He is correcting my distance vision (which means I may have to wear a pair of readers over my contacts for up close stuff.  I guess he can't fix everything with one solution.
My "oilers" in my eyes, which keep the tears from evaporating too fast, don't work very well.  (I think they must be Mexican) so my eyes dry out fast, especially with contacts.
I just dropped $80.

Best news of the day:
My wife finally landed a new job!  Not sure what she will be doing but it's more money than the last job, which was corporate downsized, and it is a heck of a lot closer to home.
Can you smell that?  It's new cabin smell.  Ahhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Painting has commenced in the writing room.  More to follow tomorrow.
Out of the 7 new books, stacked on my awesome new writing desk, one of them has been closed and moved to the read pile.

Tomorrow, Remmi goes to get tutored.  Maybe it will calm him down a bit.


That's about it for now.  Time for dinner and most likely a nap before bedtime!

Later
-Bushman

Sunday, January 18, 2015

The Lion and I #9

Hello and happy Sunday,

Today I hit 10,000 words on The Lion and I, with a total of 11,160 words so far.  I am one-tenth of a way to a full-fledged novel.  Wouldn't that be special.
I had fun writing this part this morning.
Hope you enjoy reading it.
---------------------------------------




When I came to I was piled up in the back corner of the stern. I had made it out of the cargo hold just as the ship rolled over on its top. My arm had been entangled in a mooring line and the thick rope had kept me from separating from the main body of the boat. Luckily for me the boat was not top heavy and once it went over it must have rolled back upright. The entire thing had done a complete three hundred and sixty-degree turn.

The waves bashed at my body, it was difficult to get a breath of air with the water constantly pouring over me. The boat would spin every time it would dip into one of the troughs made by the towering waves. In one direction, I would be doused with waves, then the boat would spin and the wind and the rain would gnaw at my face.  There was no middle ground.  I reached up to protect my eyes from the driving, spike-like, rain drops and when my hand touched my face it came away bloody. I must have bashed my head when the ship rolled. I couldn't believe that I hadn't been washed overboard and drowned. I wasn't sure if I could consider myself lucky or not.

The wave that had rolled the boat over had also done some considerable damage to the upper portion of the ship. The Cargo hold, with its flimsy, fiberglass panels, had taken the brunt of the wave and the soft aluminum under structure had bent from the force of thousands of gallons of water smashing into it. It creaked and moaned whenever a big gale blew. I knew it wouldn’t be long and the entire structure would rip apart. Even though I had never been on the ocean in a boat before I had the idea that maybe the top being ripped off, along with the sides might give me a fighting chance at survival. The walls of the cargo hold acted like a giant sail. The wind beat upon it relentlessly and drove it mercilessly through the water. Crashing headlong into waves one second and then sideways through a deep trough the next. It was only a matter of time before the boat rolled over again and this time it might be for good.

For the time being, I was helpless. I laid there, entwined in the lifesaving rope and prayed. Lightning bolts ripped through the night sky and in those brief seconds of light I could see my ultimate demise. Events of my life flashed through my mind, mimicking the lightning bolts. Thunder boomed overhead and the waves continued to roll over the hapless boat. This was the end, I was almost sure of it.

I looked up into the pitch black darkness as a monstrous bolt of lightning tore the sky apart with white-hot electricity and I cried out.

“I'm sorry!”
“I should have never done those things, I'm sorry for who I am, for who I was.”
“I'm sorry Mary, I love you.”

Tears washed down my face and even in the storm you could see the sadness trace its way down my cheeks. Bits of light flashed and illuminated the sorrow.  I had never in my life felt so much remorse.   Death would have been a relief.
Once again, across the sky, a horizontal bolt of lightning flashed from one end of the sky to the other. It was so bright I held up my hand to block the light but not before I noticed the sixty foot wave that was about to crash down upon the stricken vessel.

“Goodbye,” I choked out into the night, where no one but God could hear me.

The wave reached the boat and at first it seemed as if we might ride up and over it but halfway up the boat turned over and rolled down the wave. Over and over it turned as the wave continued folded in on it.  Now completely under water and still rolling the boat began to tear apart.
The bridge was the first part to be torn away. I struggled to maintain my grip on the rope. The boat was still rolling over underwater and as it rolled upright the lightning flashed and I could see, through the turbulent water, the bridge being snatched away from the main body of the boat.
So easily, like popping the head from a dandelion. In one instant, it was ripped away like it was never there in the first place. I thought he saw a glimpse of the captain swirling through the water as the bridge was swept away, but I wasn't sure.

The next thing, to go, were the fiberglass panels that made up the sidewalls of the cargo hold. One by one they were ripped off the aluminum framing and pulled into the deep.
I watched as the heavy wooden crate repeatedly slammed into the framing as the boat rolled. It was like an animal fighting to free itself from a cage. One of the aluminum uprights broke free and the crate tumbled out of its confines and rolled away in the waves. Don and Juan’s lifeless bodies, crushed by the crate, must have been washed out before, as I saw no trace of them anywhere.

I couldn't breathe, the boat had been under for too long. I had to get out, get untangled from the rope, which had saved my life just moments ago but now seemed to want to claim it. I wrestled with the heavy rope. Pulling my arms free, I reached down and tried to untangle it from my feet. It was pulled tight around my shoes. I couldn't get it off. It had cinched tight on the leather and would not let go. My vision began to blur and little black specks danced before my eyes. I panicked, I was about to black out. With one last desperate attempt, I reached down, untied my shoes, and wrenched my feet free from the binding rope and leather footwear. With a giant push, I headed towards the lightning bolts.

Breaking the surface, I pulled in a breath of air like no other. It was possibly the best breath of air I had ever taken in my life. My lungs were burning and I sucked greedily at the air around me, coughing as I inhaled splashed of seawater. I was alive, at least for now.

I treaded water for the longest time. Every time the lightning flashed I would get a glimpse of my surroundings.  I couldn't see the boat anywhere. I needed something to hang on to, I couldn't tread water forever. It was already getting difficult to keep my head above water with the waves trying to force it down every ten seconds. I searched, desperately looking for anything. Another bolt of lightning shot through the night and that's when I saw it. The large wooden crate that had been in the cargo hold. It was some sixty yards ahead of me-I started to swim for it.

The ocean was merciless as I tried, in vain, to make it to the crate. My body would ride high up on the waves and in one moment I would be looking down at the crate, some 20 feet below me and on the next wave, the crate would be twenty feet above me. I couldn't seem to make the distance any shorter. When the next wave lifted me up, another flash lit up the sky and just as the light was fading, I noticed another piece of wreckage much closer to me. I gave up on the crate and headed towards the other piece. When I reached it I was surprised at what it was. It appeared to be the top of the crate that I had, just moments ago, been trying to catch. I drug my body half way up on the piece of wood, my heart skipped a beat as it began to sink from my weight. I stopped halfway on to it, my waist and legs, still in the water and my arms stretched out before me so my fingers would just reach the top edge.. This would have to do. It would hold me for now.
I held fast to the top of the crate and watched, through flashes of lightning, while the rest of the crate drifted off into the night.

Throughout the night, the wind and the rain beat down on me as I clung to life astride that piece of wooden crating. The storm raged for another 10 hours before the wind began to let up and the rain ceased. The seas were still rough, with waves cresting upwards of fifteen feet, but I had held on. My fingers ached from the effort of clinging to the wood, shards of wood had embedded under my fingernails and the pain was intense but I had not let go. Far off in the distance, the horizon lightened as the sun began to awaken.



Saturday, January 17, 2015

Progress of sorts

So today was an almost uneventful day.  The fact that I was out of bed at 4:30 am had me anxious and restless by 8:30.  In fact, so much so that I woke momma up from her beauty sleep and bribed her with breakfast at a local restaurant which has great food.  She was up and out of bed right quick.  I guess she was hungry.

Last night Kait was home and we all were eager for dinner as I was trying my hand at Asian lettuce wraps.  On a recent visit to P.F. Changs eatery, we had some and thought they were great so I intended to reproduce the tasty treat.  They are incredibly easy to make, and healthy too.
I made them with ground turkey for an even healthier edge.

I did not have a recipe for the dipping sauce that they had at the restaurant so I winged it and it turned out almost perfect.  We ate every last bit.  I also managed to wash it down with slightly less than a six pack of a new beer.  It is Leinenkugel's Big Butt Doppel Bock.  It is quite tasty. (and if you drink 5 of them you wake up with a headache...bonus prize)

So while I ate healthily, I killed that with beer.  Oh well, life is short and I make it shorter every day!
I was going to make egg rolls to go with the lettuce wraps but decided not to.  So guess what's for dinner tonight?  Yep egg rolls!  I just made the filling a bit ago and it is in a colander cooling.  the house smells delish!

I have made some marked improvements in the writing room today.  I finished cleaning out some more of the junk that always seems to collect in here.
I also found a new desk on Craig's list and picked that up today.  It was quite the steal at $75.

I went from this




To this





Not too shabby eh?

I also picked up the last set of blinds for the east window.  Eventually, I will get some window dressings for them so they aren't so "sterile" looking.

Next in line for today was getting the paint out of the storage room.  I will begin painting the room either tonight or in the morning.  I have a very nice color for the lower walls.  It is an earthy shade of green called grapevine.  Very dark and comfortable.  I want my room to be warm, soft and a place I can just come hang out and read or write.  The upper walls will be two different colors.  I would like to see a rich brown, sort of like coffee with just a touch of cream.  The other color will be white for the trim and window casings along with the doors.

Here is a picture of it so far.  You can see my giant 8x4 dry erase board on the wall.  It is filling up with notes, quotes, and ideas.



I want to replace the ceiling tiles as well.  I would love those replicas of the older tin squares or bronze ones.  It is a drop ceiling unfortunately and I really don't want to drywall it in.  It's one of the two rooms left, but I'm not up to the task right now.  Drywall sucks!


Enough for now, I'm off to fry eggrolls.
See you tomorrow,
-Bushman





Friday, January 16, 2015

Pondering the problems.

Hello and Happy Friday,

I'm taking a post off from the book.  I can't be serious all the time.  I do hope you enjoy what I have written.  In hindsight, I wish I had not committed to publishing this extemporaneously.

My biggest issue is that I feel as though I am neglecting the story.  Publishing it directly after first draft leaves me no room for error.  I can't go back and fix things or adjust timelines or geographical locations.  This forces me to adapt to the situation, and albeit a good exercise for writing, it doesn't give the reader a fair shake.

I enjoy creating this story and sharing it with you.  I know it will be so much more intriguing after a re-write.  Writing is really a neat thing.  Once you realize you like it, there's no turning back.
I think the biggest obstacle in writing is getting it out in the first place.

If you write, I assume you read.  It kinda goes hand in hand.

When I read a big, badass novel from say, my favorite author, Stephen King, the words are smooth and the book is flawless.  The points are driven in, the characters are well formed and the whole thing moves along effortlessly.

When I write a book and I start re-reading the first draft I think to myself, "I suck!".
I seriously do.  Sometimes I can't believe what I wrote.  I think to myself that no one in their right mind would read this crap.  Then I get disheartened.  I'm not cut out for this.
I throw in the towel and walk away, disgusted.

Here is where I go wrong.  I'm willing to bet, when the big boys (and girls) write their books, it probably reads something like mine.  But, and that is a big BUT, they understand that all, they are doing, is getting the main story out.  Planting the seed.  Then they get to go back and fine tune it and fill in all the juicy details.

Like this for instance.  Let's say I'm writing a story and there is a part about a guy that walks into a bar.  I know why he is walking into a bar, he is going to get into a fight, which will end in jail time, probation and eventually his turnaround and falling in love with his probation officer.
(When I write the story, first draft,  I simply type that a guy walks into a bar.)

There is the story in a nutshell.  That is a pretty boring story but...when I go back and fill in all the details it gets a hell of a lot more interesting.  Like this.
-----------------------------------------------------
Donovan pulled the dust streaked Camaro up to the curb.  The morning's dew had trickled down the car in little rivulets, streaking the orange paint with dirty tear like stains.  It needed a bath, but first his thirst needed to be quenched.
He emerged from the car, his pride and joy, driven by Bobby Allison in the Daytona 500 back in 1995.  It was the official pace car and he had picked it up for a mere five grand.  Cocaine!  Who knew it would bring him such luck!

His foot hit the dust covered street and small brown plumes, puffed from the ground.  It was hot.  The rain, a scarcity in these parts, had refused to come around this spring and everything was scorched.
He stood up and stretched, it had been a long drive.  His snakeskin boots were covered with a thin veil of dust and his worn, but comfortable blue jeans, had a permanent wrinkle from sitting in the car for so long.
He nonchalantly reached around behind him and patted the small of his back.  The feel of hard iron reassured him.  He adjusted his oilskin hat, purchased in Wyoming, a few hundred miles back and headed towards the door of the tavern.
------------------------------------

See that is how you go back and fix a story.  At first I knew why he was going in there but I didn't know anything about the man.

Now after a re-write I now know that he has been on the road for awhile now, he has snakeskin boots, which screams badass, and he has a nice car that he got from dealing drugs or taking a payoff.  You could also glean that he has an alcohol problem and that he may be expecting trouble because he checked his gun.

Now the story breathes a bit more and the direction for further writing opens up quite a bit.

This is what I need to conquer.  Getting past the first obstacle.  Stop being in such a hurry to get it right.  And stop trying to get it right the first time.

That being said, refer to the second paragraph.  As much as I try to get some details in my story I feel pressured to get a page or so published on the blog.  It outweighs the creativity.  To me, it kills the story.
I won't complete the story of, The Lion and I, completely on my blog.  I will get you good and warmed up and then I will deliver a complete book later on.

My apologies for misconstruing the facts.

So anyways,
Would you buy it?

Cheers,
-Bushman


Thursday, January 15, 2015

The Lion and #8

The Lion and I
VIII



 The waves were building as the wind whipped across our bow. The steady lap of waves against our hull became louder and louder. From below our feet it sounded as if all of hell were breaking loose. I held firm to the gunnell, grasping and old rusty cleat. Seawater washed over the sides of the makeshift cargo boat and poured over the top of my shoes and at the same time, waves crashed against the other side, splashing on my back. I was soaked, from head to toe.

I looked at my wrist, where my watch had once resided, and cursed myself. I looked across the boat at the only other person stupid enough to be out in the open, in this storm.

“Que Tiempo?'' I asked him.

He looked at me for a minute, I was hoping the deafening roar of the storm was the reason for the delay. He shifted his eyebrows up and shrugged his shoulders. Then, turning his palms up, he gestured the universal sign for “What?”

I pointed at my wrist and repeated myself, louder this time, “Tiempo?”.

He nodded and glanced at his watch.
Instead of trying to be heard over the roar of the ocean he simply held up 5 fingers.

“Holy Shit!” I thought to myself.

I started counting backwards. We had left the dock that morning at sunrise, about 6:30, I guessed. We had sailed due west for several hours before the captain came out with sandwiches. bologna and cheese on dry white bread with no mustard, ketchup or mayo. I was hungry so I choked it down. I regretted it now as my stomach began to churn with the ocean and the rocking of the boat.
After lunch, it was 2 to 3 more hours before they met up with the ship. He guessed the time around 3-3:30 when they pulled alongside the large container ship.

He was quite surprised when the giant black ship cut her engines and slowly came to a stop. It was just the two of them, alone in the ocean, most likely 100-150 miles from any land.
The sea had been calm at that time. The storm would begin about an hour after their encounter with the container ship.

He watched as a large boom swung over the side of the taller ship. On the end of the boom was a large crate. Probably six feet by six feet and almost as tall. The boom lowered the crate down to the ratty, smaller ship and with much concerted effort the two shipmates slid back a large hatch cover on the top of our cargo hold. The crate was lowered into our hold and my two mates quickly unstrapped the slings and then secured it to the floor of our cargo hold. As soon as the last click of the ratchet strap sounded the two quickly exited the cargo hold, climbed up on the top deck and put the hatch cover back in place. Neither of them seemed to eager to stay in the hold for very long.

I had pretty much figured it out that we were smuggling drugs of some kind. I just didn't know why I needed to be apart of it. The two Mexicans surely didn't need my help and no one, except for a few brief words from the captain, had said anything to me the entire journey. I said a quick prayer that we didn't get caught and watched as the container ship sailed off into the horizon. The entire time the two vessels had transferred cargo not one person was ever seen from the larger ship. Another reason to think, whatever I was in on, was highly suspicious.

I expected the captain to turn the boat around and head back for the coast but instead he kept our current course. We maintained our line directly into the setting sun. I wondered if we were going all the way to Hawaii. That would take days not hours. I began to worry.

The storm peaked in intensity about 8 hours after our pickup. I knew I was a dead man. Giant waves crashed over the entire boat. Engulfing it in thousands of gallons of water at a time. The wind was so fierce that the boat almost lay on its side at times. Wave after wave pounded into the boat and I could not stay outside anymore, like I had been instructed. I released my death grip on the cleat and lunged for the cargo hold door. I almost made it before a wave hit and slammed me up against the opposite rail. My head hit something hard, I couldn't tell what it was, it was too dark and there was too much water sloshing everywhere. I staggered back to my feet and locked on to the door handle. Giving a mighty tug I opened the door and collapsed on the inside. The remaining Mexican followed me inside. Seems as if he had enough of the storm as well.

He closed the door and I wiped the water from my face. There was a red light on, inside the cargo hold and once my eyes adjusted I could make out the large crate. The second Mexican was busy cinching the tie down straps and double checking the cleats on the floor. I stumbled over to where he was to see if he needed help. He pointed to a box in the corner and said, “sientate”.
He slapped his butt with his hand and pointed at me and the box.

“I got it, I got it...sit,” I said and headed towards the box to sit down.

As I passed the big crate, that had come from the other ship, I heard a low growling sound.
I whipped around, facing the two men, my eyes big and questioning.
“What the hell is in there?”, I asked them.

“Nada, nada, nada,” they replied.

“Bullshit,” I said to them.

I walked over to the crate, listening as best as I could, over the storm raging outside. I put my hands on the crate. I didn't know if I should be expecting to feel something or not.

Don and Juan, the two Mexicans I had nicknamed, just stood there gawking at me before one of them ran towards the door of the bridge.  I figured he was going to tell the captain I was snooping around. Which is exactly what he did but before the captain came down I had a chance to survey the box a little more.   As I searched, I detected a distinct odor of an ammonia like smell. Almost like strong cat urine. Something stirred inside the crate. I could feel it, almost sense the vibrations in the wood.

The captain burst through the door, apparently trusting Don to drive the boat in this storm. He charged up to me, pushing me back towards the box I was supposed to be sitting on.

“You sit, no worry. You no look. Not your time. We need you...we ask,” his English was broken but I understood enough to make do.

As my butt hit the wooden box whatever was in the crate let out the most God awful sound I had ever heard. It scared the bejesus out of me and judging by the reactions of the captain and Juan, it did them too.

He looked directly at me, like it was my fault.

“We need you help,” he said. Desperation, fear and panic showed in his eyes.

He staggered over to me where I sat on the box. The boat was rocking terribly and it was almost impossible to even walk around. He motioned me up off the box. I stood and he removed the lid.
Inside of the box was a small leather briefcase. He pulled it out and replaced the lid on the box. He then set the briefcase on top of the box and flipped opent he triggers that opened the case.
The lid popped open and inside, tucked into loops of elastic, were three syringes. Big syringes, like the size you would use to tranquilize a horse.

He removed one and handed it to me pointing at the crate.

“You make sleep,” he said.

“Me? Why me?,” I asked him.

“You are the doctor,” he replied. As if this made perfect sense.

I stared at him. My mind was racing, so many questions, so little time.
I shook my head at him. No way was I going to participate in any of this. I wanted no part.

“No fucking way pal,” I yelled over the creaking of the boat and the pounding of the waves.

“You make good on bad money doing this,” he said. “You even with Mr. Sal.”

That's when it all began to make sense. Now I knew why I was here. It seemed as though Sal was smuggling a live animal in the crate and he need a veterinarian to go along  for the ride should something come up. Which, just my luck, had.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I stammered as I stood up. I headed towards the crate as the captain made his exit. Juan promptly re-appeared and together with Don's help they began to remove a section of the wooden crate using a hammer and a crowbar.

The crate was nailed tight and try as they might, they couldn't quite get the crowbar in between the seams of the wooden planks that made up the crate. One of them disappeared through the doorway and came back a second later with a large sledge hammer. He lifted it high over his head and as he brought the hammer down with a grunt the boat was hit by the final wave.

The boat rolled over onto it's side. The hammer flew from his hands and smashed against the wall. I fell forward and slid into the opposite wall. All three of us lay in a huddle against the wall, which was now the floor. The crate remained strapped to the floor, which had now become the wall, and sat above us a few feet away. I scrambled to my feet and started to move towards the rear cargo door. I was getting out. I didn't care about anyone else. I was not drowning in this stinking cargo hold.
Water began pouring in through every seam and crack.

I looked back just in time to see the straps that held the crate in place let go. The snapped and even in the gale of the storm it sounded like a bull whip. The crate came crashing down and before they even registered what was about to happen, it crushed Don and Juan.

Another wave hit the boat as I opened the cargo door and sent the vessel over on its top. I lunged out the door into the pitch black and that was the last thing I remember of that night.




Tuesday, January 13, 2015

The Lion and I #7

The Lion and I
VII

When I awoke the next morning the sun was just rising, a brilliant crescent of reddish yellow light peeking its head above the ocean. The water was flat calm and I could just make out the sound of the ripples lapping at the beach. The fiery reds reflected from the surface of the water and it appeared as if a red carpet lay before me.

A seagull soared overhead, flying straight into the sun. As it flew further into the glowing morning horizon it soon became nothing more than a speck and a moment later was swallowed up by the fiery orb, which was now rapidly making its way up the eastern skyline.

I thought for a moment that I had found the most beautiful place on earth. I forgot everything for just that serene bit of time, no more time than it takes to tie your shoes. 

I forgot about being shipwrecked, I forgot about my home and my job and I even forgot about Mary. Time stood still, I was entranced as I watched the sun race faster and faster in the sky until it was completely above the water line and only the squinting of my eyes from its radiant glory snapped me from my trance.

I picked up a coconut that I had opened the night before and finished drinking the fluid from the inside. I needed to find a water source. Coconut milk was not going to cut it. I was also hungry. I had never felt so hungry before and thoughts of eating that dead crab from the night before entered my mind.

I stood up and stretched. My whole body was stiff and ached something awful. I began to pinwheel my arms, trying to loosen up the muscles and get the blood flowing. It felt good so I started to hop up and down as I pinwheeled. That felt even better so I started running around in circles, arms pinwheeling out of control as I hopped around- half running, half skipping and hopping.

I let out a whoop like a wild Indian. Hell I felt like an Indian. I stopped running for a moment. 
A thought had struck me funny and I looked around foolishly as if someone might be watching.
I let out another whoop and then a double whoop and then like some crazed spirit had taken possession of my body I removed what remaining clothes I had on and began to run up and down the beach in nothing but my birthday suit.  I whooped and hollered and ran around jumping and rolling head over heels like some sort of deranged man monkey.

After a few moments, I stopped-I felt silly. 
Sane people do not act like this I kept telling myself.
I gathered up my clothes and re-dressed myself. I took a few deep breaths and then, in my head, I started to list and prioritize the things I needed to accomplish.

Number one, I needed to find out where I was at, more specifically if this was an island or a larger piece of land that may have inhabitants nearby. My face turned red at the thought of people nearby and the chance that someone had just witnessed my little escapade. I giggled.

Secondly I needed to find some water. 
Third was a toss up between food and shelter. 
Although I was hungry as a bear in the spring I dreaded the thought of another night out in the open with those crazy beast crabs running amok.

I felt a little better once I had made a list. I had always been a list guy. I had lists for everything. Ironic, I thought, out here in the middle of nowhere with nothing and I'm still making lists.

Up and down the beach I looked.  "Eenie, meany, mienie, moe," I said.  I went left, which was north and began to walk. Every so often I would holler out, “HELP”. Everything looked the same for quite awhile.

I know now how far I walked that first day, which wasn't very far, but looking back it felt like forever. The beach began to shrink the further I went. It kept skinnying up to the forest and soon it was no more than a few feet wide and beginning to change to mostly rock and bleached out coral. The rocks soon turned into larger size boulders. They were mostly black and porous and I believed them to be volcanic rock as I had something quite similar in my flower beds at home. At least it looked the same.

It wasn't very long before I was off the sand and climbing on the rocks. The beach had disappeared altogether. To my left, the land had risen up steeply and now was a sheer cliff. Seabirds nested in rocky crags cut into the face of the rock wall. Their droppings painted the face white below their nests. I couldn't see any chicks in the nests but I could hear them up there squawking every time one of the parent birds would get close to the nest, a small flapping fish or minnow held firm in their beaks.

There was only one spot where I had to get into the water to continue my walk. The rocks dropped off into a small lagoon no more than 40 feet wide.  On one side, the ocean and the other the face of the rock cliff.  The water was crystal clear and it looked as if it were no more than a foot or two deep. I sat down on my butt and slid off the rock and dropped into the warm water of the lagoon. I was quite surprised when my feet did not reach the bottom. I dove down, swimming hard I touched the bottom within a few seconds. I guessed it to be around 15 feet deep or so. Colorful fish darted in circles around me as I swam for the surface. They chased the air bubbles I let out from my nose. Dashing in and dashing out with nothing more than a quick flip of their tails.

I swam to the other side and crawled up on the rocks once again. I made a mental note that this would be a great place for fishing if I was here long enough to need it. I resumed my walk on the other side of the lagoon and just as the rocks had begun to appear and form the cliffside they now began to disappear and the land gradually faded back to flat again. The beach opened up and I was able to quicken my pace.

I walked for a few hours that morning and just as I was beginning to get discouraged I came across some footprints. Lots of footprints. It looked like there had been some sort of gathering. Everywhere I looked I could see signs in the sand from people. I began to holler even louder as I walked.
“Hello...anybody there? Helllllllooooooo,” I hollered so loud my throat began to itch.

I kept walking a bit further when I saw something else on the beach. I broke into a jog and in a few seconds I was standing in front of a pile of driftwood. I looked around at my surroundings. Damn, everything looked the same. A set of tracks led up the beach, towards the woods and I followed them. Just before the sawgrass took over the sand I saw a mound in the sand.


“Son of a bitch,” I whispered. I'm on an island.

Sunday, January 11, 2015

The Lion and I #6

 The Lion and I
VI

I was scared, that's for sure. Too much had happened in such a short period of time that my mind and body were in shock recovery mode. Every little thing sent me jumping about.
The noise coming from the brush behind me was no different.
I jumped up and spun around, careful to keep the tree between me and whatever was making the noise.
“Hello,” I hollered into the dark.
“Is anybody out there?”

Nothing or no one answered. The noise had gone silent. I waited for a minute or two, which felt like an hour and decided that whatever it was must have wondered off. I had no idea where I was and visions of wild boars or jaguars and even tigers jumped into my mind. Just about anything that could possibly eat me, I figured, could be lurking in the dark. Lying in wait in, the three foot tall, thick Bermuda grass, for just the right opportunity to strike.

I laughed nervously into the night. I knew that tigers lived on the other side of the world but nevertheless the fear still lingered. I sat back down on the soft sand and once again leaned my back up against the trunk of the palm tree. I looked up at the moon, it seemed so big and so close. I had never witnessed such a sight before. I reached out my hand as if I could touch it when the noise started again.

This time I jumped up and headed towards the water's edge. I wanted to be in the open if I was going to be attacked.

“God damn you,” I hollered into the night.
My pulse was racing and adrenaline spikes surged through my body. The sound was much closer this time. I picked up a piece of driftwood from the sand and held it up, wielding it as a club. The sound continued, audible even over the surf some 30 yards behind me. I took a few steps closer to the brush, I could see the grass moving in the moonlight.

I held the makeshift club high over my head in an attempt to make myself seem bigger than I really was. I started to grunt and make deep sounds. I wanted to look big and sound big. In sheer anticipation of the attack that I thought would be the end of me I screamed into the night and started stomping towards the grass. I wouldn't go out without a fight. A few feet from the still moving grass, I gave one last blood-curdling scream and that is when a gigantic crab crawled out of the grass.

Slowly he inched his entire body out of the grass, all two feet of it, and headed towards the nearest palm tree which happened to be the one I had my back against just moments prior.
He was huge. He had a shell not unlike a turtle, domed in shape, mottled brown and black but what was even more striking was the huge legs that protruded out from under his shell. There were three of them on each side and each one ended in a sharp point. They were as big around as a man's wrist and slightly lighter in color than the main shell. A light sandy brown with little bumps that were colored black. Two gigantic claws protruded from the front, Each one was bigger than my hand. His head, almost as big as his claws, and with an equal amount of shelled protection was nestled between those gigantic front legs.

I stood there in awe, feeling ridiculous at my prior gestures, and watched this amazing looking creature. As he reached the tree, he began to climb. If I wasn't in shock before I sure was now. I could not believe my eyes as the giant crab scuttled his way up the tree. I could see him perfectly in the moonlight as he made his way up into the palm fronds at the top and then he disappeared into the thick vegetation atop the tree. I sat there for quite awhile trying to soak in the sight I had just seen. Even though he was just a crab I still didn't want to get near him. I imagined with one pinch he could take one of my hands off.

Creepy was my first thought. Food was my second. There was a lot of meat in that giant crab. He had to come down at some time and I just had to be there to catch him somehow.

My mind raced as to how I could dispatch the armored beast. I wasn't sure the driftwood could get the job done but perhaps the rock that I had used to shell the coconuts could. I raced over to where I had found the rock and pulled it from the sand. I carried it back to the tree and sat and waited. It was sometime later when I heard stirring from the tree top and I strained my eyes to see anything up there. The moon had moved across the sky and it wasn't near as light as it was before.

I could hear a sound up there. It sounded raspy almost saw like. I imagined that's what it would sound like if I heard an elephant chewing on tree branches. Then the chewing noise stopped and something moved in the tree and I heard a 'thump'.

A coconut had fallen out of the tree, I presumed he had knocked it loose while he was devouring whatever it was he had found up there. A bird's nest, full of eggs, was my best guess. I was happy he had knocked a coconut from the tree as the ones that were scattered about were mostly over-ripe or rotten. I made a mental note of its location so I could gather it up in the daylight. Soon another noise came from the treetop and in the scarce moonlight, I watched as the monster made his way back down the tree. Upon reaching the bottom, he scuttled over to the coconut that had fell and with his giant claws, promptly ripped the thing to shreds and began devouring the contents.

At first I was a little mad. I had wanted that coconut and he was eating it. I didn't make the connection right away that this was a giant coconut crab and that he went up the tree specifically to cut loose a coconut and then eat it. I was upset and I had gone many days with little to no food or water. That was my coconut. Emotions overtook me and I ran towards the crab, cursing and screaming and when I got close I smashed the rock down upon his head. His shell wasn't as hard as I had presumed and his head caved in from the rock and he lay still. He was dead. I ripped the coconut from his claws and sat down next to the dead creature. I chewed a piece of the white flesh and then I began to cry.

I was overcome with emotion, terrified at what was lurking in the dark, not knowing where I was and almost at the brink of total dehydration and walking the trail towards starvation. I was not of a sound mind and I felt sad at killing the crab almost immediately after I dispatched it.

It was a senseless act. One committed mostly from trying to gain some form of control or power over my desperate situation. I had no way of cooking the crab and I wasn't about to eat it raw as I could tell from its carapace that it was all runny on the inside and only the heat from a fire would firm the flesh and make it edible.

So I sat there and I cried for a good bit. Soon enough I was done feeling sorry for myself and I began to dig a hole. I thought it only right to bury the poor crab. I also didn't want any dead things around me that might attract another even scarier predator. One even more vicious than a coconut eating crab.

Later on, in my stay on the island, I would learn to use these crabs to harvest my coconuts for me. There wasn't a large population of them on this little island, and if I ate them all it would only take a few weeks to eliminate them all.
In the days to come, after I had depleted the store of coconuts in my main area of the beach, I had to venture out further and further to find good coconuts. An idea came to me one day when I came across one of these crabs in my daily ventures to find fresh coconuts. I could keep one as a pet of sorts.

So I gathered up some of the vines that grew everywhere and made some restraints. I kept him tied up nearby and every so often I would drag him to a palm and because he was hungry he would climb right up the tree and cut loose a coconut.


I would drink the milk and eat most of the flesh and he would get the rest. I had several different crabs tied up around the island at all the best spots for coconut harvesting. It was my own personal herd of coconut harvesting crabs. I even had names for them.


Saturday, January 10, 2015

The Lion and I #5

Happy weekend fellow word enthusiasts,
I come to you this fine Saturday morning from my writing studio, den, office, portal of adventure, whatever it may come to be called.
I am slowly turning it into a place of comfort and retreat.  This morning I moved my old coffee pot in there.  I drink a lot of coffee, especially when I write and I got tired of running up and down the stairs for a fresh cup.  Not to mention it breaks up the flow of the writing.  So now I just swivel in my chair and voila!  Fresh cup of coffee.  It smells good in here too.  Isn't that what a writing room should smell like?  Freshly brewed coffee, books, and the leather is what I think of.  I have two out of the three.
Here are the latest two pages of the story.  Hope you enjoy.  Mind you this is raw writing,  I fix the typos and try to keep the punctuation bearable.  There are many things to re-write but for now let's just enjoy the story shall we?

The Lion and I
V

I don't remember much about the first day on the island. Little bits and pieces float through my memory like stars drifting through the galaxy. Every so often one of them gets close enough to be drawn into my mental gravity and it pops to the surface of my consciousness.

When I awoke on the beach, the first thing I noticed, was how hot my face was. It was like someone had laid a hot iron on it. My cheek was covered in sand and when I brushed my hand across it the feeling was that of wiping it with heavy grit sandpaper while drizzling melted candle wax on it. I was laying belly down in the sand still clinging to the side of the shipping crate that I had been floating on for a few days.

I could feel the wooden splinters still embedded under my fingernails. The storm had been intense and it was all I could do to hang on to the makeshift wooden life raft. I wasn't sure of how many days I had been adrift, but I knew it was long enough that I was severely dehydrated and my head was pounding.
I sat up a little too quick and vomited seawater all over my lap. I could feel my pulse in my head, throbbing and beating. It was like a marching band inside and it made me want to vomit again.

After another vomiting episode, this time nothing came up but frothy spittle, I took a look around the immediate area. At first glance, it appeared to be straight out of the vacation brochure my wife Mary had left on the counter. The slightest thought of Mary and the reality of my situation came rushing into the limelight.
"Oh my God Mary!" I croaked. My throat was swollen almost shut. I began to panic slightly. Standing up I half jogged half stumbled down the beach. I began to cry for help. Sobbing and shouting with my hoarse voice, I must have been a miserable sight. I made my way towards the only thing visible on the beach and when I closed in enough I noticed it was nothing more than a pile of driftwood. I fell down in a heap next to it and began to sob. Through the tears, I saw a little red crab dart underneath the driftwood.

I must have blacked out when I fell down next to that driftwood pile because I don't remember much of the rest of that day. I must have gotten up and made my way up the beach to the edge of the woods because that is where the next memory starts. In the blink of an eye, which now I deduce as to being somewhere in the neighborhood of 6-8 hours, I had made it from the driftwood pile up to the edge of the woods and now I sat, cross-legged, Indian style, staring out at the ocean.

I vaguely remember snapping out of my delirium as I sat there staring at the ocean. It was big, no it was huge. The immensity was overwhelming, staring at the endless expanse of blue almost drove me back into a state of panic. I felt my stomach turning over again and I quickly looked away.
The sourness in my belly began to recede as I looked at the sand beneath where I sat. I tried not to look at the ocean anymore.

There were leaves and palm fronds scattered everywhere from the storm. Coconuts dotted the sand here and there and I distinctly remember a light bulb going off in my head.

“There is water in those things,” I whispered. My throat, having gone so long without water and then being subjected to numerous purging episodes, was on fire perhaps worse than my cheek.
I crawled on my knees to the nearest coconut. It was still in its green husk but thankfully I had watched many episodes of survivor based reality shows on TV that I knew if I could get the husk off and crack the hard inner shell I would be rewarded with some coconut water.


Grabbing up the coconut I searched around fro something to smash it on. A few paces inside the edge of the forest, just before the thick brush started I found a rock about the size of a bowling ball and it had a decent edge on it. Turning the rock, I wiggled it into the sand, sharp edge up, and began to rub the coconut back and forth on it. Trying to saw through the tough green husk. I would saw it in sections about two inches wide and then peel that section away from the nut. Working my way around the shell I soon had half the husk off. Good enough for now, I just needed the water inside. I wasn't even thinking about eating it at the moment.

Next step was to turn the rock straight up so the point of it faced me. I wiggled the rock back and forth down into the sand to hold it steady.
A lot of people say that reality TV is nothing but a bunch of crap, but I beg to differ. Most of it is crap, but there are a few things from those shows that saved my life I think. One of those being how to extract the milk from a coconut. Breaking it in half would just spill all the juice out onto the ground. You have to be careful and try and chisel a hole into one end. The sharp point of the rock did just that.

I raised the giant nut to my lips and sucked greedily at the jagged hole. Bits of broken coconut shell and sand made their way into my mouth but so did some of the sweetest tasting coconut milk. It was like heaven in a shell. A few things remain embedded in my memory and that first coconut and the way that liquid felt coursing down my miserable throat was one of them.

I must have opened 15 coconuts that evening. I drank so much and ate so much of the delicious white inside that I was in fear of vomiting again.

I found a shady spot under a big palm and leaned my back up against it. The sun was setting and I knew it was going to be a long night. I rested my head against the smooth trunk and drifted off to sleep.

I was awakened sometime in the night. It was dark but the moon was almost full and I could make out my nearest surroundings. Something was stirring in the brush behind me.



Thursday, January 8, 2015

The Lion and I #4

Hello  and welcome to Thursday.  I'm a bit tired tonight so I've only written a short bit.  I worked some on story structure and how I want the story to move.  I really like moving around in my stories.  Back and forth, the past and present.  So if you can't wait to know why he lives with a lion and how the hell it got to be that way then you might be in for a long ride.  Some of my favorite books kept me guessing right up until the end and I aspire to those.
I do have to work tomorrow so my hopeful Friday blog blast won't happen.  Sorry, maybe Saturday.
Until then,
-Bushman

The Lion and I
IV

Turquoise, blue waves rolled in on the beach, their white crests rolling over the top. Curling in on themselves the waves ride in close to the beach before gravity and the depth of water bring them tumbling into the surf. As they crash the sound echoes down the beach. A spray of fine mists rises from the crashing water and miniature rainbows dance overhead as the bright sunlight beams down.
One after another they crash. The sound as rhythmic as a metronome and as soothing as the whisper of wind through the leaves on a tree.

All down the white sands lay bits of sea life washed up from the waves. The ever-changing cycle of the tides washes out the old and brings in the new. Their daily ebb and flow is likened to the lungs of the ocean- always breathing.

Pieces of bleached out coral lay strewn about along with the broken shells of numerous crustaceans. They too, like the tide, must always be changing. Most shells are shattered by the pounding surf but occasionally one makes it through with minimal scathing.

A pile of driftwood has collected at the waters edge, tossed about in the surf the pieces became tangled and entwined. A lovers fate sent crashing into the beach to lay drying in the sun until the next storm should break them apart and carry them to separate ends of the earth.

A small crab scuttles about under the wood, his red shell flashes in the sun every time he pokes out from under the shade of the driftwood tangle. He searches valiantly for any morsels of food that the ocean has thrown upon the beach. Always in a sideways gait, he scurries to and fro, stopping only to move his oversized claw up to his mouth to eat whatever bit of food he has found. A shadow passes by and in a blitz of sand, he buries himself an inch deep under the white granules. A seagull cries as it floats in the midday breeze circling its way up and down the surf line. As it passes, the crab emerges from the sand and resumes his foraging.

Beyond the surf line, the ocean stretches as far as the eye can see. Nothing is visible except the vast stretches of blue. Beginning at the edge of the beach, it is a shade of periwinkle and changes to turquoise a little further out. Past the coral reef the water deepens and changes to a baby blue. It is still shallow enough for the sunlight to reach the white sandy bottom and the reflection of light keeps the water a softer blue for a bit further. Past the reef where the water begins to deepen quickly, the color changes to a more distinct blue, and then it switches to dark blue and then almost black.

Looking the other way, past the stretch of white beach, lies the trees. Numerous palm trees are grouped together and spread out along the leading edge of the island forest. They are rife with coconuts and the ground is littered with their husks.
Inside the edge, the forest begins to thicken. Palmetto bushes crowd each other for available space, their sword-like fronds reaching up towards the sunlight, which is mostly blocked by the towering palms. Thick vines snake their way across the sands. Every foot or so a soft yellow flower sits atop them. In some areas, it appears there are little yellow highways that disappear into the brush.
Past the thick palmettos and the vines the forest opens up a bit more as the sunlight no longer reaches this far in. Tropical birds sit high in the trees calling each other as they search for food to give to their chicks. The cacophony can be deafening at times.

A quarter mile or so into the forest the land begins to rise and jagged rocks appear from the sandy humus. Soon they merge together and begin to rise steeply from the forest floor. As the land increases in elevation, the sunlight begins to make an appearance again and so does the vegetation. The vines once again take hold and cover the entire rock face. The land rises even higher, at the top is a small spot, clear enough to stand and take in the breathtaking view of the entire island.

Atop the rocky mount a 360-degree view of the island showed much of the same scene. The island is no more than a 2 miles wide at its widest point. It is only slightly longer than it is wide. White sandy beaches encompass the entire island except for the south side where the rocky hill is cut off by an almost sheer cliff. Its expansive rock wall extends some three hundred feet straight down into the rocks and crashing surf.

For all practical purposes, this is one of a thousand islands that dot the vast expanse of this area of ocean. It is just like all the other islands deemed uninhabitable except in one way. There is something out of place on this island.

On the beach, on the north side of the island, just past the waters edge, is a square object. The unnatural square edges contrast sharply with the soft features of the outer edges of the island. It appears to be a large wooden panel of sorts. The words UP, painted in large, blocky red letters, are just visible from this distance. Next to the panel lies a figure, a man. He has lost his shirt and his shorts are in tatters. He wears a pair of white tennis shoes with ankle high socks inside of those and nothing else.
His hand flops back and forth as the waves lap at it. Gently rocking it back and forth. As the tide rolls in the water begin to envelop the man. Soon his legs are covered and next his waist. Within an hour, the surf begins to reach his face. One cheek is buried in the sand while the other faces to and is ravaged by the sun. The soft spray tickles the nose of the man and he sneezes..




















Tuesday, January 6, 2015

The Lion and I #3

It's Tuesday night and I had enough energy to write a little tonight.  That is after I shoveled the snow out of the driveway, thawed out the chickens water jug and filled it back up, filled up the firewood racks in the den, got dinner started and scrubbed out the crockpot that had been in the sink all day soaking.  Sometimes those things don't like to come clean.

I have a decent start to my writing den.  I purchased a 4'x8' sheet of melamine and attached it to the wall in front of my desk.  I can use dry erase markers to write anything I want about my story or stories.  It helps if I have a visual of sorts.  I'm old school.  So far I have started a little planning on the current story, which you will read a little more below.  The board has given me a place to store my thoughts and ideas and I won't forget them.    The den is a mess, but I cleared enough junk off the desk to hold my laptop, brewed a cup of coffee (ended up being two) and started writing.

I really got into the flow tonight and hammered away for a half hour.  The timer on dinner jarred me out of my zone.  Hope you like what I came up with today.
I am going to start using numbers to represent the different parts.  They aren't really full chapters anyways.  So without further adieu I give you part 3.

Cheers,
-Bushman
-------------------------------------------------------------

The Lion and I
III

The heat from the sidewalk rose up in shimmering waves, cooking everything it touched like a twisted, sadistic microwave. The sun was high in the sky, well past noon. The overwhelming heat was intense and it sucked the air from the lungs just as fast as you could breathe it in.

Yellow taxis littered the street, it seemed as if they were jammed in curb to curb and anywhere there wasn't one, a tour bus or limousine filled the spot. Exhaust poured from their collective tailpipes and promptly murdered any purity that was left in the air.

A few scattered palm trees, planted in whitewashed concrete containers, seemed to lean over and glare at passerby’s. If there was any moisture in the air they sure didn't show it as the husks around their palm fronds reached out from the trunk begging for anything that resembled water. The ends of their fronds were frayed and brittle.

He blinked several times, adjusting his eyes to the harshness of the sunlight. Brilliant beams of solar radiation reflected off every window, store front, automobile and all the millions of light bulbs and once flashing billboards. Even in the light of day they still appeared to be lit up.

“Vegas is an eyesore in the daytime,” he thought to himself.

He stepped closer to the curb and checked the bus stop posting. According to the sign, the bus would stop every hour on the hour and if he had still owned a watch he would have known that he had a full 54 minute wait ahead of him. He checked his pockets one more time to make sure he had counted the little bit of change he had left. Two dollars and thirty-seven cents. That was it. That was all he had left. Everything else was back inside those doors. His watch, down the street at the pawn shop.

He sat down on the bench with a heavy sigh. Squinting he searched for a marquis or anything that might tell the time. Just down the street under the marquis for the Diamond Rio Casino was a scrolling digital billboard, it currently was rattling off baseball scores and a few minutes later it gave the current temperature. 102 degrees. A few seconds later the top news stories. He watched for a few minutes more but knew he wouldn't see the time. There just wasn't any clocks in Vegas. No one really needs to know what time it was or for that matter wanted to.

As he sat there and waited for the bus he tried to recollect the last 32 hours. At first it wasn't too hard to recall how it all started.

Coming home from work and pulling in the drive, he killed the engine to his Hummer II. As always he patted the steering wheel and said goodbye to his beloved SUV on steroids. Any day they would come to collect it. He hadn't made a payment in three months.
A slow walk down the driveway to the mailbox. He distinctly remembered checking out Mrs. Marsiniak. She was bent over, weeding the flower beds in the front of her house, her tight shorts revealing every perfect curve. Even for a polock she was one fine broad.

Reaching the mailbox he opened the little door expecting an avalanche of overdue notices to come pouring out but instead it was just one envelope. He stood there in the road, directly in front of 321 Cherry St., in the little suburb just outside the big city of Chicago and opened the letter.
It was addressed to him, the return address did not declare a name, only an address. He didn't recognize it.
He slid his finger carefully up the inside lip of the white #10, careful not to get a paper cut, and peeled open the flap.
The immense surprise, he felt, was still lodged in his memory and as he recalled the moment, even sitting on this bench in the one hundred plus degree heat of the desert, his pulse began to race once more.

It was a check. Inside of that nondescript envelope was a check. Not just an ordinary little check, like the one you get from tour insurance company for safe driving, but a big check. A check in the amount of $25,000.

He looked around as if he thought someone was watching him. Someone that might take it from him.
He removed a short letter from inside the envelope.
------------------------
Dear Mr. Nelson,

Please find the enclosed check for $25,000.
We here at Wilson and Downey appreciate your involvement in improving the world of veterinary medicine. As per your contract this check covers your participating interests.
Once again we thank you,

Sincerely,
John Downey
President/CEO

----------------------
His heart leaped into his throat. He had forgotten all about this. Quite frankly he didn't think anything would ever come of it.

What would he tell Mary? They had been struggling for so long now. He blamed it on his business and she never thought different.
“It will get better” he would tell her, “Just wait and see.”

He stuffed the envelope inside his jacket and raced into the house.

A few minutes later he was back in the Hummer and headed down the street. 321 Cherry Lane was nothing but a random house in his rear view mirror.

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Mary's number. She should be on her lunch break by now.

“Hello.”

“Hey Mary, it's me. Listen, something's come up and I have to leave town for a day.”

“What do you mean you have to leave town for a day? What could be that important? When are you leaving?”

“I completely forgot I have to attend a conference about that new procedure I was helping develop. You remember the one for Wilson and Downey? The new laparoscopic procedure for spaying female dogs?" he spat out the words as if it was a normal day to day conversation and not an elaborate lie he was concocting on the spot.

"Well, when is it and why don't you wait until I get off work and I'll go with you", she stammered and he could hear the hurt in her voice. It was like she already knew she wouldn't be going, but she was going to try anyways.

“I can't Babe, the last flight leaves in 45 minutes and I am already on the way to the airport.”

He felt a twinge of guilt, but it passed just as quickly as it came.

“Listen, I gotta go, I'm gonna get in an accident if I don't pay attention, traffic is awful. I will call you when I get there, love Ya, gotta go, bye.”

And just like that he hung up. He didn't want to wait for the rebuttal or the tears, which he knew would be coming. Short and sweet. He would bring back a large portion of that check and tell her it was from the conference. They could get caught up on some of their bills and just maybe they wouldn't come and take his Hummer away.

He arrived at the airport with plenty of time as the flight didn't leave for an hour yet. He would cash the check later. He had a guy in Vegas for that.

Walking up to the counter, he sat his small duffel on the weigh scale machine next to the self-check kiosk.

“How can I help you?” a tall thin woman in khaki slacks and a navy blue blazer asked him. A southwest emblem was pinned to her lapel.

"I need a ticket on the 2:40 flight to Vegas, please. Coach seating will be fine.