Lose Some, Win Some

"Man, I really like Vegas." - Elvis Presley

Once a year we meet our special group of friends in Las Vegas. While I’m there I make contributions to many one-armed bandits. Just doing my part to keep those bright lights in that city aglow! It’s the least I can do. So while the odds and past experiences tell me I will leave with less money than I start with—also known as losing—I thought I'd share a winning story.

A few weeks ago I learned that my short story, The Communiqué, was selected as the winning entry in the Winter Poetry and Short Story Competition sponsored by The Southwest Florida Women’s Digest. Needless to say, I’m very excited about winning, seeing a story of mine in their great publication, and walking away with a cash prize (which now makes up part of my Nevada investment fund). The story, limited to 500 words, appeared in their 6th Year Anniversary Fall/Winter 2009 Issue. With their permission, I’m reprinting it here. I hope you enjoy it.

The Communiqué

For inspiration John kept a copy of Hemingway’s For Whom the Bell Tolls on his desk next to his grandfather’s antique pen set. Though his grandfather had been dead for fifteen years, John still missed the soothing sound of his deep voice. He sighed as he ran his hand down the spine of his grandfather’s favorite book. The rush of memories turned John’s frown into a smile.

“That book isn’t suitable for a young boy,” John’s mother used to say.

“It’s literature,” his grandfather had argued. “It’s suitable for everyone. John’s brain will absorb the sounds of great prose. It’ll help him become an illustrious writer someday.”

His smile disappeared. I must be a big disappointment to you now, Grandpa.

John’s thoughts drifted from his grandfather’s gravelly voice to Sara’s angelic face. Engaged to Sara for three years, John worried she was losing her patience. Since college he’d sold a few short stories and articles but his earnings were meager. They wouldn’t come close to covering the needs of a family. How stupid I was to believe I’d ever be a bestselling author.

With that thought, he forced himself to focus on the application in front of him. I have to do this. It’s the only way.

Becoming an accountant at the firm Sara’s father owned didn’t appeal to him in the slightest; however, eating did. He removed the antique pen from its marble holder and began filling in the tedious blanks.

Halfway through the form, the pen began to leak. The ink spread like an incoming tide; the questions and his responses descended to the murky depths of a great black sea.

Horrified by the sight of the ruined application, he groaned, rubbed his forehead, and closed his eyes. What am I going to tell Sara’s father?

“That is the sadness that comes before the sell-out,” he heard a raspy voice say.

Recognizing the quote from Hemingway’s book, John opened his eyes and looked around. He was alone and yet he felt a presence. I’m imagining things.

“Don’t give up so easily on your dream, my boy.”

“Is that you, Grandpa?” John whispered.

The only reply was the puff of air he felt waft past his ear.

“It is you. I know it is.”

John wadded up the ruined application and tossed it into the trash. He cleaned up the ink and carefully placed the pen back onto the marble stand before turning on his computer.

“Chapter 1,” he typed, “Not one to believe in ghosts, Max first refused to acknowledge…”

His fingers were barely able to keep up with his ideas as his hands flew across the keyboard and words filled the screen. After a few minutes, John paused and read what he had written.

He smiled, glanced upward, and said, “Thanks Grandpa.”
***

Thank you for stopping by.

Tags: Elvis, Las Vegas, Women’s Digest, short story, Hemingway, For Whom the Bell Tolls, Nevada,

Bare Facts about Writers

“If God had meant us to walk around naked, he would never have invented the wicker chair.” –Erma Bombeck

I’m a bit embarrassed to admit that I was intrigued by the title of a blog that I recently ran across while searching for something totally unrelated. I couldn’t resist. I pointed my cursor and clicked on, The Naked Truth: Authors Who Write in the Buff. It may be more than you ever wanted to learn about some of the world’s famous authors, but I thought I’d share it with you because it made me laugh.

According to the article, Victor Hugo used nudity as a cure for writer’s block by having his servant take away all his clothes, leaving him with only pen and paper so he’d have nothing to do but write. Ernest Hemingway wrote standing up in the nude with his typewriter about waist height; D. H. Lawrence liked to climb trees in the nude before coming down to write; and Edmond Rostand wrote nude in the bathtub to keep from being interrupted by his friends. The only female on the list was Agatha Christie, who, it seems, liked to write anywhere in the nude.

For more details about these writers and several others I didn’t mention, you need to read the blog.

I can’t see myself taking up this rather unusual writing habit. Then again—the next time I encounter a supreme case of writer’s block…

How do you feel about baring it all in the pursuit of writing?

Thanks for stopping by.

Tags: Erma Bombeck, Victor Hugo, Hemingway, D. H. Lawrence, Rostand, Agatha Christie, writer's block