Wordsmith Holler

Original Pulp Fiction

Category: Scribbles

  • Scribble – June 26, 2019

    Scribble – June 26, 2019

    The Scribble Gremlin does not shut my website down until I am preparing to write. If I hit, New Post, it always takes me to a 503 Error when I’m ready to hit my stride.

    Okay, It almost never happens unless I attempt to sit down and write. Or maybe, I’m just sensitive.

    ~

    I took a walk today in the 105-degree afternoon with my handy portable water sprayer. I walked fast and yet still sprayed my face until all the water evaporated before I returned to my desk. I may need a side bottle. Or, be lazy and wait until it’s only 90-degrees outside.

    Many people hanging out at the Silver and Gold Pawn Shop. Chumlee must have been in the house.

    ~

    I fell into an old habit again and started telling rather than showing. I wandered around giving the backstory until I realized even I found this story boring. Always get right to the action!

    What would you rather read? Multiple paragraphs about why the main character summered in a particular place, enjoys cold iced tea, sometimes fishes, and oh, the sunsets sure are pretty this time of year. Or, would you rather the main character stick his hand into the rotting chest of a dead person?

    Just what I thought. The struggle is real folks. Real.

    ~

    I finished the first season of True Detective last night. An excellent example of having a theme and returning to it at the end. Great writing. Why did it take so long? There is only so much time in the evening and that is taken up by Lucifer (the show on Netflix).

    ~

    Found my old records hiding in a closet. Currently listening to Trick Pony, Nanci Griffith, and The Desert Rose Band.

    ~

    Off to write and design the July Employee Newsletter.

    Read more: Scribble – June 26, 2019
  • Scribble, June 21, 2019

    Scribble, June 21, 2019

    Are you dead?

    Uh, no.

    However, it seems so because I have written nothing random in a few months. It feels longer. Anyway, someone on Medium suggested I should turn back and post a few random thoughts on my blog.

    Good idea!

    I started writing my Scribbles to start the day. As you might recall, I’m a huge fan of Ernest Hemingway. In fact, I’m reading The Old Man and the Sea for the umpteenth time. He used to wake up, according to stories, put a blank sheet in the typewriter, and type anything he could think of. Sort of his way to purge out the alcohol and cobwebs.

    I started these Scribbles as my way of shrugging off cobwebs (I don’t drink anywhere as near as Hemingway) and to put in my 500 daily words.

    In the beginning, it was a struggle to come up with 500 words of anything creative. I often sat here at the screen thinking.

    Lately, I’ve been deep into writing another Jake Rutledge adventure and since I know nothing about alligator farming, I’m doing research. Actually, I have written much and need a feel for the bayou. I probably need a vacation! I’ll head out there when it’s not 100 degrees in 100 percent humidity.

    I am also working on another novelette about a retired sheriff who has to solve a murder at the zoo he now works at. And then there is my real job and the press releases I write.

    Fun stuff!

    I still don’t know who reads this, other than my critique partners and beta readers, and it doesn’t bother me much. I write for myself and for my job. Hopefully, someone is learning something or feeling my inspiration.

    Not that I don’t like feedback: you can always chime in with a comment! However, I’m content. Thanks for reading.

    Read more: Scribble, June 21, 2019
  • Scribble, Feb. 20, 2019

    Scribble, Feb. 20, 2019

    Tut, tut, it looks like snow. The last significant snowfall on the Las Vegas strip happened on Dec. 17, 2008, when nearly 4 inches fell. This winter (2019) it has snowed three times; a surprising spit of snow on Feb. 10 that left less than 1/2 an inch and then this past week, Feb. 17, when nearly 2 inches fell at my house. It snowed in January too.

    And it looks like snow again. Based on the prognosticators, we should see snowfall in the morning. They are predicting as much as 4 inches, which would equal that snowy day in 2008.

    It doesn’t snow here too often. Last year, the daily high temperature for Feb. was 79-degrees. This year we have been lucky to get above 49-degrees. Sure, it’s not the Snowmageddon the Eastern Sierra has seen in Feb. – some 500 inches of snow – it is a sizable amount of snow days for Sin City.

    ~

    Still writing non-fiction. Today, worked on a letter for National Judicial Outreach Week and a press release on judicial selection.

    Read more: Scribble, Feb. 20, 2019
  • Scribble, Feb. 19, 2019

    Scribble, Feb. 19, 2019

    I write every day. Everything except fiction. I keep meaning to climb back into my handyman adventure yet I am spent. Too much non-fiction to write and not enough time.

    If I write fiction when I want to in the morning hours, I feel guilty about not writing the non-fiction I have to get finished by the end of the day. So I set aside the fiction until I no longer wish to write. I have to find a happy balance or pretend the afternoon is morning.

    ~

    Went whale watching off the coast of San Diego. Saw two whales, which broke the water four times each. I have a tiny photo of a whale’s tail going under the surface.

    One of the most relaxing cruises I have taken. In fact, I could see this being a monthly excursion where I stare off at the ocean and, while never finding a whale, feeling better and more refreshed.

    Too expensive though for a monthly cruise. Will have to look for a boat or a rich skipper uncle.

    ~

    Saw this quote at the Ronald Reagan Library: “There is no limit to what a man can do or where he can go if he doesn’t mind who gets the credit.” I love this!

    ~

    Trying a standing desk. The verdict is still out. I am too used to laying back in the chair to think. Now, I must rock from side-to-side and shift my weight. I think I enjoy sitting.

    Read more: Scribble, Feb. 19, 2019
  • Four or Five Moments

    Four or Five Moments

    Working with a live wire is similar to being a superhero. As Colossus tells Deadpool, “Four or five moments—that’s all it takes to be a hero,” or becoming a tinder-ash figure standing with a wire in your hand.

    Electricity flows around and through us ever charging our psyches and firing our synapses. However, a 120-volt jolt of sudden electricity will toss you across the room. In the corner, you whimper and think about your near brush with death.

    As a child, I shoved the bare wire ends of a 12-volt lamp into a 120-volt outlet. The wires fit into the holes, so why not?

    Aside from the pop of the bulb, the smell of an electrical arc splitting oxygen atoms into ozone, and the rapid flight across the room, I learned alternating and direct current are very different.

    This was moment four of at least five other moments of learning and results near death. I am surprised I lived to be 54.

    Read more: Four or Five Moments
  • Scribbles, March 14, 2018

    Scribbles, March 14, 2018

    I forgot it was pie day.

    When I was 8, we visited my grandmother’s ranch for a big reunion. All of the cousins were there. In the middle of a table a huge strawberry pie took center stage surrounded by apple, cherry, and pumpkin pies. The strawberry one made my mouth water. My cousin wanted me to eat the pumpkin and suggested a pact. We could eat the pumpkin first, then the strawberry. I relented and took a slice of pumpkin. It was good but I still imagined biting into one of those big strawberries. I finished my pumpkin slice and went back to the pie table. The strawberry pie was gone! Everyone else had taken a slice. To this day, strawberry pie seems magical.

    ~

    You usta could

    I never failed to find the most unusual item at the dollar store. Walking the isles would always display something I needed. And I always seemed to find what I needed.

    No more.

    Now when you go to the store, you find rows of the same stuff sold by different people. Variety stores no longer showcase variety.

    Take this item.

    You’d think it would be with the combs. Nope. Or the hair products. Nope. The only place I found it without walking miles was Amazon. The new variety store is located in Seattle and two clicks from my desk.

    ~

    Old Children

    Ever notice how the old childhood dynamic returns when you meet up with your family? If you spent your childhood tormented by your brother, likely the torment will continue at the family picnic. Memories of the sibling squables return, then the resentment, then the strange outburst about how he always finds a way to torment you whenever he is around. Then the silence as mom and dad try to put everyone back into a happy state.

    No matter what the 50-year-old becomes 5 again and the old patterns return. Old children become babies lashing out, screaming, and pouting. Then the picnic ends and the memories tucked away to be brought out again another time. Everyone warmly hugs each other; tormentor and tormented. All is forgiven until the next picnic.

    Read more: Scribbles, March 14, 2018
  • A Day of Rest

    A Day of Rest

    Day 131: 5 Minute Freewrite: Tuesday – Prompt: solitude

    Prompt by @mariannewest. Words by @wordymouth.

    She walked passing only a few other couples on their way down.

    She smiled, waved, and appropriately nodded. Not too bad for a Tuesday. There could be more people on the trail.

    In the canopy, the limbs bustled together in a shallow breeze. At her level, the ground, rocks, and ferns stayed perfectly still. Everything was so green. She listened for a sound. Hearing none, she made some noise grinding off a rock with her boot.

    Off trail, a large Douglas Pine lay on its side covering the last melt of snow and ice. A Carpenter ant wandered the bare surface climbing over the beetle tracks exposed in the wood by erosion. It carried a bit of seed over the pine. She waited for it to pass over the side, then sat down on the wood.

    She looked across the forest floor to the far side of the canyon where a waterfall fell into a green pool. She breathed in slowly. Then she breathed out. The cathedral of solitude gave her rest.

    Thanks for reading. Leave me a comment.

     

    Read more: A Day of Rest
  • I Wonder

    At the moment, only my light switch in the bathroom comes to mind. Did I turn it off?

    Which leads me to think about Switch, a super secret data farm in the desert hosting all the knowledge saved by some of the biggest data companies in the world. So big, Switch needs its own power grid.

    Which leads my back to the light switch. Boy, I hope I turned that off. However, it powers LED lights so the cost of electricity should be nill.

    Which leads my back to Switch and all the power those computers must need to keep cool and running. A friend took a tour inside and he said it was cleaner than my bathroom.

    Which takes me back to the bathroom switch and, it’s no use thinking about it.

    My friend said Switch is guarded by former Israeli Mossad officers who treat you like some sort of spy and make you submit to a hand search before you can go inside.

    Which makes me wonder if they use switches to punish bad actors.

    Which leads me to another story better told away from the kids.

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    Read more: I Wonder
  • The Tree – Twitter Story

    The gnarled tree and twisted limbs blocked his way. He hesitated. Too late. The shadow enveloped his soul and sucked away his breath. He withered becoming gnarled too.

    Read more: The Tree – Twitter Story
  • Iron Skillet Chicken

    We traveled to Lakeview, Oregon to look at a car auction when I was nine-years-old. I remember being told not to raise my hand during the action because my dad didn’t really want to buy an antique car. And of course, I raised my hand causing all sorts of commotion. I was outbid and everything went back to normal. I still see my mom’s surprised face and feeling sheepish.

    After the auction, we went by the Chinese restaurant by mom liked. However, for some reason they must have been crowded because we drove by without going in. I was very hungry and figured we weren’t going to eat for another hour. I was worried!

    I used to try and use my thoughts from the back seat to get my dad do things. I would scrunch up my face and think about they thing I wanted him do. I was so busy projecting my mind, I don’t know if others noticed. Mom’s been dead for a long time, so I have no way to ask her and dad, was too busy driving to notice.

    Anyway, my mind power must have worked because we stopped at a diner with a hung skillet on the roof. It looked like a promising place. Inside, they were all eating fried chicken, biscuits, corn cobs, and mashed potatoes. What a sight! We ordered and I waited for the chicken to cook. The kitchen became dark; a cook had let the iron skillet get too hot and the oil burned. When he dropped the chicken down, it popped in the oil, and quickly seared the juices inside.

    I was over the top excited about this meal. And it didn’t disappoint. We left the restaurant and barely a mile down the road I was sleeping and dreaming about that meal.

    Read more: Iron Skillet Chicken