Hello and Happy Friday,
I hope you got the chance to read and enjoyed the first part of 'Less Than'. I'm still working of the last half--you know I'm a slow re-writer--but it'll be done, ready, next we meet. I promise. So don't be mad, please come back to read it. It'll be worth it you'll see.
Keep the faith, writing helps.
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Friday, May 22, 2009
LESS THAN
When I’m reading—usually horror—I’ll come across this line: “He had only two weeks to live” it throws me because it’s usually preceded by the character being happy; the happiest they’ve ever been and then bam, dead. Unfortunately, I’ve found this to be true in real life. I’d seen those people who were happy living, unaware, then... gone. And in the newspapers I’d read about how they were just getting ready to go on their second honeymoon, start a new job, welcome their first child; how their families were in shock that their loved one--so wonderful-- had been just fine hours before.
For some of them this wasn’t true. Their lives weren’t fine but tragic and were pushing to lessen their time each day. How do I know? Because I know. My names Fletcher Grace. I’m not a fortune teller, a doctor, psychic or a serial killer; just an ordinary guy who owns a restaurant who know when someone is going to die. No I take it back, instead of die I know instead how long they have to live which could be the same thing; you decide. 6, 5 months, 43 years, 18 seconds; I know.
How do I of all people, a restaurateur, know when death is truly coming when no one on the planet is supposed to, yet I do; since I was twelve; to my horror. I’ve made myself believe it’s a kind of sixth sense, an aberrant trust dropped on me by accident, not fate and I’ve needed to believe this to keep going.
I was eight months into my twelfth birthday when I first saw what I call the ‘white paper’, appear, it was just there, over the head of my mother. We were sitting at the dining room table eating lunch and she was asking what I wanted to do for my birthday when suddenly the air above her head wiggled, began to waver and jiggle as if heat was coming out of her head.
When I’m reading—usually horror—I’ll come across this line: “He had only two weeks to live” it throws me because it’s usually preceded by the character being happy; the happiest they’ve ever been and then bam, dead. Unfortunately, I’ve found this to be true in real life. I’d seen those people who were happy living, unaware, then... gone. And in the newspapers I’d read about how they were just getting ready to go on their second honeymoon, start a new job, welcome their first child; how their families were in shock that their loved one--so wonderful-- had been just fine hours before.
For some of them this wasn’t true. Their lives weren’t fine but tragic and were pushing to lessen their time each day. How do I know? Because I know. My names Fletcher Grace. I’m not a fortune teller, a doctor, psychic or a serial killer; just an ordinary guy who owns a restaurant who know when someone is going to die. No I take it back, instead of die I know instead how long they have to live which could be the same thing; you decide. 6, 5 months, 43 years, 18 seconds; I know.
How do I of all people, a restaurateur, know when death is truly coming when no one on the planet is supposed to, yet I do; since I was twelve; to my horror. I’ve made myself believe it’s a kind of sixth sense, an aberrant trust dropped on me by accident, not fate and I’ve needed to believe this to keep going.
I was eight months into my twelfth birthday when I first saw what I call the ‘white paper’, appear, it was just there, over the head of my mother. We were sitting at the dining room table eating lunch and she was asking what I wanted to do for my birthday when suddenly the air above her head wiggled, began to waver and jiggle as if heat was coming out of her head.
I thought at first I was imagining it and rubbed at my eyes, blinked, but the air kept flapping, the sound like sheets blowing on a line and then it appeared, fuzzy, then deepening into a thin, clean white square of what looked like parchment paper, the edges curling a little and was the size of a banker’s box top. It swayed, black print forming on it and it was only years later I looked up the font of the numbers and found they were Modern No. 20.
Her number was 52. And it faded as slowly as it appeared.
I was surprised, puzzled, by the appearance and disappearance of the apparition, of the number but not afraid, at least not then. I was twelve and at that age life was a welcoming mystery I was just beginning to explore.
My mother though, took one look at my face and asked, “Fletcher, what is it? You’re white as a sheet?” I laughed. I told her I was fine but did wonder if I had a brain tumor or had a stroke but dismissed it like any kid would who believed they’d live forever.
I saw the 52 over her head a few more times that year and then never again. My mother was 34 then; she’s now 52 and has 34 years to live.
I was surprised, puzzled, by the appearance and disappearance of the apparition, of the number but not afraid, at least not then. I was twelve and at that age life was a welcoming mystery I was just beginning to explore.
My mother though, took one look at my face and asked, “Fletcher, what is it? You’re white as a sheet?” I laughed. I told her I was fine but did wonder if I had a brain tumor or had a stroke but dismissed it like any kid would who believed they’d live forever.
I saw the 52 over her head a few more times that year and then never again. My mother was 34 then; she’s now 52 and has 34 years to live.
***The last pages next week, I hope you want to read the rest.
If you have any questions or comments feel free to contact me at:matwrite1@aol.com, I’ll love to hear from you.
Until next time God willing,
Lori
If you have any questions or comments feel free to contact me at:matwrite1@aol.com, I’ll love to hear from you.
Until next time God willing,
Lori
Monday, May 18, 2009
Hello and Happy Monday,
I just wanted to touch base with you because I didn't get to on Friday. Still, I know-- still-- working on the story but I'll have a finished product on Friday and I hope you care that I will.
Take care,
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing.
I just wanted to touch base with you because I didn't get to on Friday. Still, I know-- still-- working on the story but I'll have a finished product on Friday and I hope you care that I will.
Take care,
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing.
Friday, May 08, 2009
Hello and Happy Friday,
It is happy because I’m doing okay and my family is fine and despite the facts I haven’t finished the short story I said I'd complete and because I found out on Monday I would be laid off from my current job on June 30, 2009. It sounds “oh no” but its not the end because I can apply for new positions with the new organization and if I get one of them, I will just transaction to the new organization after the 30th. So my co-workers and I are scrambling to make sure our resumes and cover letters are ready and discussing the upcoming interviews while trying not to worry over how our salaries will look (every one thinking next to poverty level) and if we don’t get a position how we’ll make it on unemployment and what year we may get another job.
So with this going on I began to wonder how or do other writers write during major life upheavals? I’ve come to the conclusion it's possible to write while the other side of your life is running around screaming the world is ending. For me, I may not write more but I do write some and I do so for the escape factor. Once I start to write about Owen or the short story, I fall into their world and at that moment—maybe thirty minutes, an hour—nothing intrudes and it’s all about the writing and creating their world for those few precious moments. This weekend I have to work on my job stuff and try and not let it negatively color my time with my family, my children though it will of course be in the back—forefront—of my mind. Yet, I’m going to try and counter that negativity by doing what I enjoy and believe I do best, write, fall into the worlds I’m trying to create and then do the best I can with the challenges many of us are facing these days. Adding a few prayers will help too.
Write, it helps more than you know
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing.
It is happy because I’m doing okay and my family is fine and despite the facts I haven’t finished the short story I said I'd complete and because I found out on Monday I would be laid off from my current job on June 30, 2009. It sounds “oh no” but its not the end because I can apply for new positions with the new organization and if I get one of them, I will just transaction to the new organization after the 30th. So my co-workers and I are scrambling to make sure our resumes and cover letters are ready and discussing the upcoming interviews while trying not to worry over how our salaries will look (every one thinking next to poverty level) and if we don’t get a position how we’ll make it on unemployment and what year we may get another job.
So with this going on I began to wonder how or do other writers write during major life upheavals? I’ve come to the conclusion it's possible to write while the other side of your life is running around screaming the world is ending. For me, I may not write more but I do write some and I do so for the escape factor. Once I start to write about Owen or the short story, I fall into their world and at that moment—maybe thirty minutes, an hour—nothing intrudes and it’s all about the writing and creating their world for those few precious moments. This weekend I have to work on my job stuff and try and not let it negatively color my time with my family, my children though it will of course be in the back—forefront—of my mind. Yet, I’m going to try and counter that negativity by doing what I enjoy and believe I do best, write, fall into the worlds I’m trying to create and then do the best I can with the challenges many of us are facing these days. Adding a few prayers will help too.
Write, it helps more than you know
If you have any comments or suggestions I have a new e-mail address at: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing.
Friday, May 01, 2009
Hello, Happy Friday and I'm still working on story,
I’m still writing the story I told you about last week—rewriting, which is what it’s about. I’m doing the hard part of cutting off limbs as I call it, painful, debilitating, off putting, confusing and so on. I want it to be a short story and not over crowded with junk, unnecessaries and only the beauty of story to be read and that’s difficult for me. I find trouble putting time into the story because I don’t want to take it lightly or make it light but give it heart and soul like all writing I want to do well.
So I’m still reworking the story, rewriting and so far I’m okay with it, I just have to keep reaching for it’s heart.
If you have any comments or suggestions please e-mail me at my new address: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing
I’m still writing the story I told you about last week—rewriting, which is what it’s about. I’m doing the hard part of cutting off limbs as I call it, painful, debilitating, off putting, confusing and so on. I want it to be a short story and not over crowded with junk, unnecessaries and only the beauty of story to be read and that’s difficult for me. I find trouble putting time into the story because I don’t want to take it lightly or make it light but give it heart and soul like all writing I want to do well.
So I’m still reworking the story, rewriting and so far I’m okay with it, I just have to keep reaching for it’s heart.
If you have any comments or suggestions please e-mail me at my new address: mathewsla@hotmail.com
Until next time, God willing
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