I found the story, "My Son, Chris," while cleaning things up.
I had never bothered to post it. Isn't that odd...?
Anyway, that may up the number of stories i post to a half-dozen, before hanging up the quill.
I've also found one I can't locate on this site, though I was certain I'd posted it.
<ramble>
I know, I know, I promised to post new stuff this year.
Let me explain by way of metaphor:
Back around 1974, a year-and-a-half or so after the release of Seventh Sojourn, we legion of fans of the Moody Blues were getting antsy for another album. Surely, in that much time, they'd recorded SOMETHING new.
Right?
Well, it was twenty years before the internet became anything like a going concern, but a nasty rumour began making the rounds. According to this sour little tale, the MBs had indeed recorded another record; and then, upon reflection, decided it was just more of the same.
And so they erased the tapes.
We were outraged. That music belonged to us, their fans!
(Of course, there was probably nothing to that fairy-story. I've tried several times through the years to find a real accounting of what happened.
Around that time, most of the MBs recorded solo works, and eventually released Caught Live + 5, which was pretty much what the title suggests.
So, there were five new MB songs to enjoy, and that was enough, because the late-sixties/early-seventies era was about to give way to the relatively soulless mid-70s pre-disco wasteland.)
Anyway, back on topic:
Even if the story was true, the music belonged to them, not to us. If they wanted to nuke it, that was their right.
Now, I have no such conceit about the demand for my writing. Nevertheless, as I look over my stash of unpublished stories -- completed and partial -- I just don't like what I see, and for three reasons:
1. Too many of the stories are too much like variations on others
2. My recent style has turned too dark and terse
3. I just have no enthusiasm to complete what I've started
In total, I have half-a-dozen stories almost finished; thirty or so in development; and a few dozen sketches.
(Now, I also have a few dozen written ten to twenty years ago. They are amateurish, not well thought-out, and just generally embarrassing. They will remain on lockdown.)
The muse has abandoned me, seemingly for good.
I've decided to try to finish three of them by the end of 2014, consign the rest to the bitbucket, and then hang up the pen.
This doesn't mean I'll never write again. Just doesn't seem likely.
I appreciate all the support over the last half-dozen years.
</ramble>
I know, I promised to post again by the end of March.
Didn't happen.
My muse has abandoned me, at least for now.
Since last I wrote, I have recovered from the loss of my mother, and then very nearly lost my father, thanks to a very chemically-inconvenienced MBenz driver (SUV, of all things), who slammed into the left rear quarter-panel of the Buick Park Avenue I had hoped to inherit.
(Sorry, no offense, but it was a NICE car, roughly on par with my once-and-beloved Grand Marquis.)
So Pa is okay, the car is toast, and he has a newish-used Buick LaCrosse.
They don't make 'em like the Grand Marquis, the New Yorker, and the Park Avenue anymore. Fuckin' shame. Those were CARS.
Anyway, I have several stories almost ready, that seem to resist my attempts to finish them. I've found an appreciative reader who has offered to preview them, beta-test if you will. Just waiting for the muse to pay me some attention.
Hell, maybe she's pissed because I'm working on a filmed documentary, Wilmington On Fire. I'm providing technical guidance and suggestions. This one, troops, might be Oscar material.
Back to work...
Two weeks ago, my mother slipped the surly bonds of Earth, reached out and touched the face of God.
Thank you, President Reagan, my hero, for using those words.
My father has begun to forgive himself for feeling relief at not carrying that burden any longer.
He forsook all others,loved, honored and cherished his wife, and set an example for the three of of us who sprang from their love,
I am now at peace, and ready to begin writing again.
Hello, everyone -
I just got a nice email from someone who noted it has been jt over two years since my last post.
Well, if you read my last post, this will make a little sense:
I've buried an uncle -- well, helped bury him -- and, on three separate occasions, thought I'd be accompanying my mother to the gravesite.
My best friend in the world is my wife; as it should be, I suppose, but the man who was TRULY my greatest friend, EVER, died just over a year ago.
I'm still not over it. I may NEVER be over it.
I find things I want to discuss with him every day.
In addition, my wife has had to relocate to Charleston, WV, for work. She comes home every couple of weeks for a weekend, and we do what we can to make up for lost time. Still, one can only sit around the house so much...
Throughout all this, I've written a few things. A dozen stories or so, in various stages of development, in fact.
I just don't have the muse in my ear to finish them. Not right now.
I'm making plans to re-start. I can't mourn forever, and wifey has found a way to spend a week working from home every month.
I will hereby promise to release what I consider to be my magnum opus before the end of March. Much sooner, I hope.
Many thanx to my readers.