Some new material coming from some additional writers, including a young contributor (I hope). More to come. In the meantime, thanks to those who have looked at the writing here so far, according to the page view count. Your constructive comments will be appreciated, too!

The Writer's Block
...Or, Other People's Stories, Part 2...

I'm pleased to at last share the following opening paragraphs from two friends' works-in-progress. Both are novels, and by writers committed to their craft--even more impressively, in the face of other full-time jobs.

I hope to add more opening scenes and pages from others--feel free to send any opening pages to me anyone may have, if you're inclined to share. This stems, as I mentioned in an earlier post, from the number of people who have confided in me their own interest in writing, once I "came clean" about the writing I've done for years, often without showing anyone else.

We all have a story to tell, and my hope is that this is the right time and place to share some of those stories.

The first work is from Matt, who originally comes from Florida and writes with a riveting urban intensity about friends and relationships and how complicated this can all be. His excerpt is from the unfinished The Wingman.

Deb's opening paragraphs are to a complex story she's been shaping for some time, one that promises readers a rich and unexpected journey to places far removed from their daily lives and ordinary experiences. Her working title is In the Cards.

Feel free to read and enjoy these openings, to comment and encourage their authors, and again, if you're inclined, to share through Comments any of your own brief introductory material you may want to share as well.

Others have already expressed a desire to have some of their material appear here, too, and I hope to have more online soon.

But for now, enjoy these excerpts from In the Cards and The Wingman.

The Wingman

By Matthew Fair

Copyright (c) 2014 by Matthew Fair

 

Chapter 1       

The Player

 Wingman Motto: “Taking one for the team, so my buddy can live the dream…”

Standing at six foot and four inches, DK always attracted attention.  He was used to being mistaken for an NBA, NFL, or MLB star.  He just had that “star” look.  His skin was paper bag brown and he possessed a body that looked as if it was chiseled from granite by Leonardo Da Vinci himself.  He kept his head shaved and nails manicured.  He was handsome and he knew it. Man, did he know it! DK played college football at the nearby university and made a name for himself.  He was fierce and relentless at linebacker.  The team followed him blindly and with good reason.  He willed them to win the big games.  He made plays in the “clutch”: last second interceptions, goal line game saving tackles, game saving quarterback sacks.  He was labeled as “The One.”  After his stellar college career, he was drafted into the NFL.  While he was successful in the NFL, his career was short lived. He suffered a career ending knee injury after his third season.  The surgeons did their best, but the knee would never hold up under another season. DK walked away from the game with his money saved and his dignity intact. He opened his own private bodyguard agency. “All Out Security” was his “baby” and it opened all types of doors for him.  He rubbed elbows with dignitaries, movie stars, singers and models.  His small business even had its own limo and driver, but best of all, the business brought in women…lots of women.

      Wayman was six foot one and built like a sprinter/basketball player.  He was easy to miss unless you got close. His face was “familiar” and handsome. He was always mistaken as a cousin or high school friend to complete strangers. He kept his hair in a low fade cut and didn’t shave unless he had to. His chosen wardrobe was jeans and sweat pants and a t-shirt that was one or two sizes too big, the opposite of DK’s.  He played football at the same college with DK.  He was the free safety on the defense that DK starred on.  Wayman was known as the “The Last Man Standing”. If DK missed a tackle, it was Wayman that stopped the play from turning into a touchdown. If the ball was thrown deep, he was always there breaking up the big play or sending the wide receiver to the side line injured. One coach called him one of the hardest hitting some bitches to ever wear the jersey. He never celebrated or called attention to himself. He was a Spartan warrior. He loved being a piece of machinery in the engine known as a team. His hard hitting style was his undoing.  After the fourth concussion in the final game of his senior year, the team doctors banned him from ever playing the game again.  The NFL heard of this and declared him “damaged goods.” He hung around with DK after college. He took care of the little things for him while he played and buried himself in the playbook and studied film. The bills were paid, expensive clothes were dry cleaned and the car was well maintained because of Wayman.  When DK’s NFL career was over, Wayman helped him with “All Out Security.” He drove the limo and kept the appointment book.  Wayman had two other jobs too.  He delivered documents around town for one of his younger brother’s fledgling delivery service and waited tables at his other brother’s deli.  He was the friend everyone would love to have or be.  He was also DK’s wingman.      

 

 

In the Cards

By Deb Eisloeffel

The sharp sound would have jolted Rose from a dead sleep, if she hadn’t already been awake. If she had been sleeping, she might have blinked, unfamiliar with her surroundings, until the outline of a curtained window coalesced from the darkness into a recognizable form. Her window, her curtains, she would have realized. Still at home, in her own room.

           The sound came again, snapping her attention to the clock, which announced 1:22 a.m. The numbers had not changed since she last looked at it. She could now hear a soft murmur of voices accompanying the fluttering rattle. Bibi and Cassie. Who else? She liked Cassie, but Rose had known from the beginning that letting her stay would be a bad idea. It was hard enough to get to sleep before the big day. The added distraction of a sleepover simply made it worse.

          With a loud sigh that descended to a soft growl, Rose flipped the covers back and swung her legs from the bed. She could yell from here, but that would have less impact. Besides, she was curious about the noise. She padded down the hall, her way lit by a playful kitten nightlight, and tapped Bibi’s closed door. Without waiting for an answer, she pushed it open.

           Three candles flickered on a low table in the middle of the room, softly illuminating the space. Bibi and her best friend Cassie, sitting cross-legged on the floor opposite one another, froze and looked up in alarm. Cassie held a fanned deck of cards in offering to Bibi, who was ready to pluck one from the spread. In her other hand she clutched two more.

Other People's Stories

What makes a writer? Beyond sales figures and rankings on best-seller lists, what other measures can we realistically consider?

Recently an article in a nice little neighborhood publication revealed that I'm a "secret" writer myself. One of the greatest discoveries after friends and neighors learned this was the number of people who came up to me to say they liked to write, too, and many of them had started stories of their own. Their biggest problem after that was finishing their story, something I think most writers can understand, closely followed by a reluctance to share their work, either for fear of criticism or simply because they didn't know of any appropriate outlet.

By revealing I liked to write, too, I became a first-step outlet for several writing friends, something I found exciting. One friend even gave me a notebook beautifully filled in long-hand, written in pencil, and which he confided was one of at least dozens of notebooks he'd filled with writing, without showing anyone else. I felt honored, and a bit like an explorer given a secret map to an undiscovered new world.

This particular friend works a job with irregular hours, and often, alone in the dead of night, his pen (or pencil) became an outlet and confidant. Another, much younger friend, of middle school age, shared that she likes to write, too, but has trouble finding the right way to end her stories.

The outpouring of people who have so much to communicate was amazing and rewarding. It's astounding to think of all the stories that are out there, remaining untold for a variety of reasons from lack of confidence to the absence of a supportive community of story-tellers to offer their encouragement.

Without attempting anything so lofty as to provide all of that to other writers, I'd simply like to give a glimpse of some of these "other people's stories" here, to encourage, perhaps, and to inspire others to overcome their own personal challenges and to give voice to to their own writing.

My hope in the coming days is to share some opening passages of friends' unfinished stories. To bring them to light, if only in this small way, and to give others the chance to learn from and to encourage their peer "secret" writers out there, all around us.

Thanks for reading, and stay tuned...

I just wanted to mention a really great experience from last week...went to a reading at a nice local coffee shop to celebrate publication of the new, spring edition of The Lincoln Underground. Contributors to the issue read at Crescent Moon in Lincoln, Nebraska's Haymarket, and Editor Amy Keller and Consulting Editor Jeff Martinson put together a really nice publication that gives disparate voices a chance to be heard.

They meet there regularly for open reading mic' nights, mostly on Monday's, and I'd have to say, I'm going to try to attend more of these. 

Amy and Jeff, thank you!

My first message in a bottle...

The blank page! A true source of wonder.

This is my first foray into blogging, as you can probably tell. I started this because I don't think you can ever have a big enough community to discuss the writing that matters to you. Any and all writing that matters to you.

Though now well into the middle stage of life, I started writing as soon as I was able, and never had the good sense to stop until I'd earned three English degrees, and had my dissertation published on Nebraska's Willa Cather, back in the mid-1990's.

After putting the pen down for some time after that, and under the influence of a Barnes and Noble Nook, and of all the good, intriguing, and extremely affordable popular fiction out there, a couple of years ago I started writing my own stories once again. I posted the first of my short novels on barnesandnoble.com, and now also have this first novel as well as a newer one on amazon.com.

But as rewarding as writing can be, it's no guarantee of a community. A community that might read your fiction, but which also reads Stephen King and Barbara Kingsolver and Ralph Waldo Emerson and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow and Sue Monk Kidd.

As time allows, I hope to put more messages in bottles, and to open others from anyone who'd like to throw their own message in too. Given my own generational background in somewhat traditional American lit, some of my own tastes might run a bit to the "retro," in the interests of disclosure.

But if we're to believe Ecclesiastes, "a living dog is better than a dead lion." So, here's to looking ahead as well as back, and to hearing from everyone who enjoys opening a good book, whether that "book" comes between two hard covers or with a power switch.

Thanks for reading.