...first, and of most importance, just another of those special moments of fatherhood worth sharing. While sliding into our shoes en route to a quick run to Walmart, my twelve year old, him of utter innocence, (if not ignorance) asks, "Hey Dad, is it mean to call someone a douche-bag?" From across the room, the sixteen year old releases a sound similar to the croak of an irritable bullfrog, leading to an all out burst of laughter. I maintained my composure. "Um...well, have you already called someone a douche-bag?" "Well, not yet, but almost. And I keep hearing it at school." "Hmm...maybe try and avoid using it if you can." "Is it worse than calling someone a moron, or a dumb ass?" "Well, calling someone a dumb ass will get you grounded, but so will douche-bag. I'm not fond of moron either, but in a pinch, I guess that would be the favorable choice if the moment calls for it. But I'm hoping it doesn't, don't you?" The twelve year old considers this while looping his laces. I manage to shush the teenager with a scowl. Then, "Yeah, but it can be tough at recess." "Okay, I understand." ...such lasting memories ;) Just a few quick updates...I've been lured into the Tweeter. ( Yeah, yeah, I know what it's really called.) Track me down @elliot_grace My latest tweet, you ask? Earlier this evening I shared my current read, "Remembering You," by Robynne Rand. You may not recognize the name, but you'll surely feel at home when you visit that Piedmont Writer from Carolina Blue ;) And you can check out Remembering You here... http://www.amazon.com/Remembering-You-a-novel-ebook/dp/B0083IDAU8/ref=pd_rhf_gw_p_t_1_FVB1 As for my newest release, hop over to, The Fall, here... http://www.amazon.com/The-Fall-ebook/dp/B00AZBIM68/ref=pd_rhf_gw_p_t_2_3AF5 It's a heart stopper that one can gobble up during an evening by the fire. It's new to the race, and desperate for some reviews, be them good or bad. After all, for us writers, it's all about boasting a thick skin ;) El
...A rising sun the color of an ocean's pearl casts and eerie glow upon an awakening coastline. Jessica watches as thinning tendrils of fog form a veil to the east, rising to meet the sun, only to smolder and vanish in the heat. The whispering rainfall that had caused her teeth to chatter, her flesh to bristle with goose bumps, calms to an occasional drip. And through the gray, pinholes of light begin warming the metal under her fingers. "Beautiful," Jessica marvels, her gaze finding a rainbow arching over the streets of Goose Creek, several miles to the north. Vehicles begin streaming over the bridge, their vibrations causing her hold on the guardrail to falter. Throbbing muscles deny her any chance of adjusting her dangling position. She'd lost her footing on the bottom rail minutes earlier. Her legs now dangled and swayed above the river. Pulling herself to safety would be impossible now. "That's okay," she stammers, answering her own thoughts. "It's better this way. Better for everyone..."
...it was on this day, sixteen years ago, that my oldest son, Dylan, was born. He arrived on the coldest day of the year, having fought the inevitable to more than a week past his due date. Roughly through the mid-way point of what would become a sixteen hour delivery for his soon to be mother, I decided on a costly mistake, by leaving the hospital in order to rush home and let the dog out for a quick bathroom break. It was during my return to the maternity ward, a mile or so from the entrance, when the car decided it was simply too cold to cooperate any longer, and blew its water pump. In 1997 I did not own a cell phone. And so, determined not to miss out on the birth of my son, I braved the frigid temps, and ran the final mile to the hospital...arriving in plenty of time to thaw out, contact the family mechanic, and catch my first born's grand entrance. That son of mine would go on to become the starting tailback on the gridiron, the saxophone player in the high school band, and a 4.0 student in the class room. That son of mine would also be the one to dig up a long forgotten manuscript, dating back several years prior to 1997, and find it, (in his words, the most entertaining short story he'd ever read.) "Dad, this story's gotta be shared! Are you gonna do something about this, or should I?" ...or something like that. And so I thought about that old story, entitled The Fall. I thought about a boy named Johnny, who spends an evening on the run, trekking across town in order to save the girl of his dreams from making a terrible mistake. I thought back to that cold day in '97, racing to the hospital, my face burnt from a windchill temp below zero, in order to see the birth of my son, and found the irony too perfect to pass up. Afterall, there are no coincidences ;) And so, to my son, on his sixteenth birthday, I've dedicated to him, The Fall, available now on Amazon Kindle. For a mere $.99, you can see what all the fuss is about. http://www.amazon.com/The-Fall-ebook/dp/B00AZBIM68/ref=pd_rhf_gw_p_t_1_BANV Happy Birthday, Dylan ;) El
...have you ever listened to a song and thought, "Wow, could I ever hammer out the perfect scene with that tune drumming in the background!" That's what this righteous jam does for me. I listen to the beat, like a countdown to "The Fall's" unveiling, and think, "Yep, it's comin'. It's comin'..." Enjoy ;) El
The Fall... ...stepping onto a band of light at the threshold of the bathroom, Johnny craned forward, spotted the man from the driveway leaning into the tub. Followed the man's gaze and found Jessica crumpled into a shivering ball of arms and legs, a damp towel shielding her body. He released a gasp, hesitating at the entrance a moment too long. She caught sight of his shadow, followed it to the source, her expression running a gamut of emotion, from shock, to relief, to horror, as Johnny managed a blink of his eyes. And as he stood there, little more than an arm's length from his girlfriend's father, Johnny thought, okay Jessie, I'll do this for you. He said, "Jessie." Her father turned with a start, offered a grunt, eyes widening. A set of chafed lips opened, an expression that Johnny recognized as fear, passing over the man's face. There and gone in an instant, as if carried on an ocean's breeze. Then he lowered his brow. Grizzled cheeks gathered around a clenched jaw. Burly fingers, stained the color of rust, closed to form a pair of clubs, wavering upon the end of each arm. And from his mouth came a warning, painfully gargled as if some of the rust from his hand had somehow made it to the lining of his throat. "Get outta my house." Johnny managed to find his voice, said, "Jessie, it's gonna be okay." Bracing one hand on the bathroom wall to steady himself, the other remaining closed to a fist, Jessica's father lifted a boot toward the hall. Johnny stepped across the threshold, hastening a glance at his girlfriend, still huddled upon the floor of the tub. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, a pair of trembling arms embracing them. Their eyes met, and a word formed on Johnny's lips. "Run." Just a teaser...a little something to think about as we approach this week's mid-section ;) Thanks for reading. El
