Walk with Me

Here...take my hand. Come walk with me.
Let’s stroll along this wooded path.
Let’s fondle the leaves, let’s smell the ferns.

Your arm feels good around my waist.
Let’s get in step or we’ll bump our hips.
Let’s laugh, let’s giggle.

I love it when you point things out to me.
Let’s watch the squirrel.
Let’s see the rabbit.

Along the way we’ll stop to have a tender moment.
Let’s share a hug.
Let’s steal a kiss.

Over there...see that log?
Let’s take a seat.
Let’s have a rest.

Do you feel the shade?
Let’s let it cool our brow.
Let’s take it as our refreshment.

Come, sit close to me.
Let’s stay connected.
Let’s absorb each other.

Close your eyes, be still and quiet.
Let’s hear the birds.
Let’s listen to the limbs while they sway.

Allow your mind to drift away.
Let’s find a dream.
Let’s share some pleasure.

Turn to me, I’ll touch you there.
Let’s show our love.
Let’s take each other.

Here...take my hand. Come walk with me.

Lots of Us

During the noon break, I went into the lunch room to take part in a birthday celebration for a senior employee. There were approximately a dozen people in the room. I helped myself to a large piece of cake on my way to take a seat at one of the tables.

As I wolfed down the delicious German chocolate cake, I casually listened to fragments of the various conversations taking place around me. Some were talking about ice fishing---one woman proudly announced the large catch of Walleye her husband and young son had brought home the day before. Others were commenting on the snowmobiling conditions in the area. A man described the features of a new machine he intended to purchase during the coming weekend. Another person bitched about something a supervisor had said a few days ago. They were the typical mixed-company lunch room conversations.

At a lull in the conversations, a woman asked me what I had been doing recently with my spare time. She wanted to know if I had been ice fishing, snowmobiling, skiing...or what? Thinking about getting another piece of cake instead of thinking first about my response to the woman’s question, I said, “None of the above. For the past year or so, I’ve spent most of my free time at my writing.” It was a dumb thing to say.

“You’re writing?”---came the question of surprise from another woman. In addition were the chuckles from the men and giggles from the women. With a mouth full of cake, I mumbled, “Yeah.”

“You are writing a book?” The smiling first woman said. “Yeah,” I mumbled again.

Fortunately, the conversation turned away from me when the first woman declared, “I’ve always wanted to write a book. I have this wonderful romance story in mind that would make a fantastic book! It would make a great movie too!” A woman, silent until now, joined in to say basically the same. One of the men said he had a great story about Vietnam that he should write. And so the conversation continued among the dozen or so people in the room. I was content at that point to just finish eating my piece of cake.

Finished with the first piece, I decided against a second, politely excused myself and left the room to go back to my work. I stopped at the Men’s Room along the way to take a leak. While shaking the dew off my lily, I couldn’t help but to laugh. Not at my lily, but at the conversation that had occurred from the mention of writing a book.

Yesterday, I was visiting with one of the salesmen at the local Ford Dealership while I waited for my Built Tough, beat-to-shit Ford pickup to be serviced. The salesman said to me early in our conversation, “By the way, one of the gals you work with said something to me the other day about you supposedly writing something?” It is a small town! I looked around for a Men’s Room, but not seeing one handy replied, “Nah, nothing serious. Writing just keeps my hands and fingers out of trouble.” The salesman grinned, winked, and said, “Ya know, I’ve always been interested in writing a book. Let’s go over to my office and I’ll tell you about this great story I want to write.” Now, I politely asked him where the Men’s Room was and told him that if the Service Guys weren’t finished with my truck, I would be happy to come back to his office to hear all about it.”

As I shook the dew off my lily, I couldn’t help but laugh. Not at my lily, of course, but at how many “fellow writers” there are. Then I thanked the writing gods for my truck being ready to go.

Suddenly

Suddenly she was here.
Gently she came, like the warm breezes of a mid-summer’s morning.

Suddenly a dark shadow drifted in, like a cold fog of dreary gray.
It covered her heart and squelched her heating love.

Suddenly she was gone.
He had swept her away, like the frigid winds of a black mid-winter’s night.

"e-shit"

It appears to me the majority of the U.S. population is addicted to money, celebrity and electronics. Sucks, doesn’t it? I prefer sex and alcohol...and I save the drink for later, thank you.

A couple of mornings ago, while sitting on the john, I browsed through the February 2007 issue of Consumer Reports. I found there a short review on an electronic book reader, which prompts this post.

The Consumer Reports article is about the Sony Reader. The article says in part:

“The Sony Reader, $350, is the latest attempt to make the paperless book a best seller. Roughly the size of a trade paperback ...”

The article goes on to describe various features of the product.

This article piqued my interest because of the decision I will someday have to make regarding whether or not to query my writing to traditional print publishers or, e-publishers. Print-pub vs. e-pub has been a topic of discussion that I have seen many times here on the blogs. But, it was a fragment of the article ending sentence in CR that really grabbed my attention. The sentence fragment says:

“...and don’t mind paying a premium for something whose sequel might be better and cheaper.”

The magic word to me in the quote above? Sequel.

A couple of years ago, when I became a serious “wannabe” writer, I said to a friend, “Fuck e-pub, no way! If I write a good book, I want it to be published with ink and paper.” I think I lied. I am now coming to the conclusion that e-pub---for fiction anyway---will be where-it’s-at in the not too distant future...if not already.

And, I heard on the radio this morning that Michigan’s Governor is proposing a 50% cut in state funding to our libraries. That sucks too.

I Wonder Why

Tall; five-eleven. Long smooth muscled legs and firm buttocks of a swimmer. Snug faded jeans. Rubber boots trimmed in wool at the ankle. A brown leather jacket zipped to the center of her just slightly rounded belly. A burgundy sweater accented breasts that ride high and proud. A black cap---the logo said Smith & Wesson. A manner of confidence, of education. A model she might have been in her day…had she wanted to be. But the long dark-blonde hair, tinted silver now by time and the sun, says those days have come and gone.

She browsed shades of lip-gloss, eye shadow and blush in the ladies beauty aisle. Men walked near; most paused to take a second look. Some stopped to admire. Women came to her, to ask her opinion of colors for them. I didn’t wonder why.

She pointed at me with a tube of lipstick and motioned for me to come there. I smiled and honored her request. She smiled too, when I rubbed my hand across the back of her jeans and gave the cheeks of her butt a pat. A man behind me sighed with a groan. I didn’t wonder why.

In the small morning hours of the next day, she rolled over on her side to face me. She gently placed her hand on my chest; her long fingers combed through the hair. With sleep still fresh in her voice she said to me, “You thrash and you turn night after night. You wonder if you are ready to finish writing your book. I don’t wonder if you are. I know you are. Listen to me for a change…go and finish your book.”

Kenny Rogers said it for eternity in a song. He said, “She believes in me.”

I wonder why.