School was out for the day and I was watching corny teenage drama on TV when it started. While lying on the floor, hands behind my head, feet crossed, and laughing at a thirteen year old boy covered in popcorn; the TV first spoke to me for the first time.In a deep raspy voice it said, “Tonight your brother will die.”

At first, I didn’t do anything. I thought it was a mistake or somebody talking behind me or in the other room. But twenty minutes later it happened again.

“The knife in the kitchen will be crimson by morning,” said the same dark voice.

This time I sat up and turned around. My brother, laughing, was watching the TV from the couch behind me.
“Don’t Hal!” I snarled. “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not laughing at you stupid,” he answered through his giggles.

I looked at Cindy. “Did you do it?”

“Shut up loser,” she said, “I can’t hear.”

I frowned and turned back around. It took several minutes to brush it off but soon I was once again laughing with both of them at the completely unrealistic antics of the teenagers. Another twenty minutes and the tall nerdy boy with glasses tripped over the cute girl. He fell and the kids around him laughed, Hal and Cindy behind me laughed, and I laughed too. Then he looked directly at the camera and instead of the squeaky voice I was used to, I heard the dark sinister voice from earlier. Read the rest of this entry »

I finally (after many years of searching) found a copy of one of my favorite short stories; “St. Emmanuel the Good Martyr” by Miguel de Unamuno. To celebrate, I decided to write a short story themed with what my High School AP English teacher once said was ‘My Genre’ (existentialism, I am a skilled pessimist). So here you are; a super short existentialistic science fiction ditty.

* * *

Although the tape around his chest restricted a full breath of air, Charlie inhaled deeper than he had for years. It felt good; he felt good…finally.

But last night hadn’t been good. Although it wasn’t one of his worst nights, it was miserable for him and frustrating for his wife, Judy. His struggle was a two edge sword. Not only did he suffer from his own affliction but he exposed her to the aura of despair created by his agony. That guilt doubled the suffering.

Year after year, she stood by his side. She comforted during his low points. She encouraged during his despair. And, amazingly, she stayed with him. Much to his surprise, and sometimes to his disappointment, she tolerated his constant complaining. Maybe if she yelled at him for being such an idiot he wouldn’t have felt guilty. Maybe if she stormed out the door cussing and cursing the day she agreed to spend her life with an extreme pessimist he would actually feel better. But she never did. He continually complained about work and politics and she continually to console. Read the rest of this entry »

Introduction

Photography is an attempt to capture an image to make a point or remember/share a moment of time. This explains why a picture is worth a thousand words. A picture is more than a printed image. It can stir feeling and emotion. When you experience a moment of intense emotion and want to take a picture, what exactly are you trying to capture? Do you simply want to remember the sun went down on a particular day or do you want to remember a serene feeling of awe and beauty inspired by fiery red and orange sky? Is it the image or the feeling/emotion you are trying to capture? Even a simple snapshot of the kids for grandma is taken to share a personal connection. We want to remember or share feelings of love, hate, despise, sorrow, humor, awe, concern. If you mindlessly pull out a camera and press the button, you will grab the moment and you will most likely remember your emotion. But, if you want to maximize how well you can pass this on to others, you need to give some thought to the process. Call it Zen photography. This is accomplished by doing more than just pushing a button. It requires you to think about what you are feeling, identify what you want to capture, push the limits of your creativity, and understand the basic mechanics of photography.

The same picture taken in different ways can convey many different emotions. In fact, pictures might be worth a thousand words, a million words, or perhaps only a few hundred…depending on how it is taken. If you have a complex emotion or feeling to convey, make your picture say it. If you have a statement to make, make the camera create the image that makes your point. Chances are slim you’ll accomplish this with a thoughtless point and click. At the same time, you also do not need to spend hours planning every photograph. A quick moment to identify what you feel, consider methods on how to capture it, and then plan and execute a successful picture can have a huge impact on your final print. One well planned picture will say more than a barrage of snapshots.

To help you capture your ideal photograph, I’ll introduce you to the technical aspects of photography, discuss creativity, and finally, offer some ideas on connecting with your environment and subjects. Hopefully this will help you take better pictures, have more fun, and maybe even spark an interest to dig deeper into photography. Read the rest of this entry »

I was innocently searching for a lost credit card when I stumbled upon the letter in her dresser which awakened my slumbering suspicions. The letter was my pass to pursue deeper. Not incriminating evidence on its own, but strong enough that I felt justified to dig.

In retrospect, the software which activated the web camera sitting on the computer monitor whenever movement was detected may have been over the edge. But she was used to the webcam. It had sat innocently on top of the monitor in the bedroom for months. I didn’t even have to hide it. It was a cool idea but turned out to be useless. Even the audio capture which allowed me to hear her end of all telephone calls paled in comparison to the real pay dirt; access to her email account. This is where I learned everything…and the beginning of my downfall.

She’d recently changed her password; something I hadn’t checked for months. I set up the account for her (she’s not computer savvy) but now I was locked out. Getting her password required key logging software on her laptop…a program that sat quietly in the background and recorded every keystroke. Several days passed before I had a chance to copy the text file and remove the program. It was tough to be patient but I knew I had to play it cool. She couldn’t suspect anything.

All her friends knew I was being dumped, but she hadn’t told me. Her secret lover also knew. But, because my key logging software had divulged her password, now I also knew what was around the corner. It gave me a chance time to get some of the tears and anger out beforehand. Read the rest of this entry »

The sleek black train did not thunder down the tracks. It sped silently and secretly as it rushed to an unknown place. It had traveled long and far…and I stood in its path, clueless. Cold metal slammed against my back, flipping me onto my chest and plastering me against the front of the large engine. Through the windshield, I saw the conductor concentrating on the road ahead; trying to see around my body and through the bloody streaks on the glass. I slid up, smearing blood, until I flew into the air. Below, the train continued to rage ahead to an unknown destination.

I don’t know how much time passed. I woke to my body in a mangled contorted heap on hard ground. I didn’t move or open my eyes. I simply acknowledged the strange sensation of my arms and legs twisted into a mess. Cold mud cooled the right side of my face and I wondered if I was dead. I couldn’t imagine surviving such a horrible ordeal. Slowly, I opened my eyes. The light was dim and with my face pressed to the ground, all I saw were blades of grass and mud. I moved my fingers but it hurt. I closed my eyes again, deciding it was better to stay still. Perhaps it was also better not to see the damage to my body. I went back to sleep.

Time passed, although I don’t know how much, and I woke again and opened my eyes. The same blades of grass greeted me. This time I didn’t try to move my fingers. I didn’t move my eyes either. Instead, I stared blankly as I took long and deep breaths. The air was like a drug. With each breath my head felt lighter. My body floated as I continued to inhale deeply…and soon, I fell asleep. Read the rest of this entry »

Aubree lined her bike with the center line, tightened her grip, tucked her head, and let the hill pull her. She rolled over the first yellow dash and aimed for the next. As she gained speed, the yellow lines zipped underneath her. Within moments, they shot like arrows past; zip……zip…..zip….zip…zip..zip.zip. The wind pushed her hair back and even seemed to push the corners of her mouth into wide grin. The bushes along the road blurred into a green haze and she focused on a wooden ramp at the bottom of the hill. A quick queasy feeling in her stomach sent a wave of fear through her body and she considered putting on the brakes or swerving to the side. But the excited tingling in her stomach brushed it aside. In a way she couldn’t understand, she felt safe and stayed on course.The ramp lifted her front tire and aimed her towards the sky. Her body felt heavy as the bike suddenly lurched upwards but then light and free as the ramp launched her into the air. She closed her eyes and waited for the ground to catch her, for a bump…but nothing. She opened her eyes and looked down. The ground moved further away! The trees were below her. The street lights were below her. She looked out over the city and continued to climb higher into the sky. She let go of the handlebars and stuck out her arms as the wind pushed its way past her. “I’m flying…..I’m flying….I’m flying….I’m frying eggs!”

The wind stopped, her bike stopped, and she sat frozen in the air. Confused she looked at the handlebars in front of her. The green grips, the red posts…and a strange circular…

“…Frying eggs, come and eat.”

Aubree opened her eyes. She wasn’t on a bike. She wasn’t flying. She focused on her alarm clock: 7:05.

“Come on kids, come and eat breakfast.” Again the voice of her mother echoed up the stairs and into her room. Read the rest of this entry »

I am a writer
I have a talent for being objective and listening
I have a talent for feeling emotions and empathizing
I have a talent for understanding
I have a talent for organizing ideas and describing the senses

I can create heroes and villains
I can offer an escape to a mystical far away land
I can encourage or comfort
I can teach, question, and challenge
I can inspire and motivate
I can touch hearts,
or I can prick them

I know what people want to hear
I know what they don’t want to hear
I know there is a time for each

I will illuminate unseen worlds and introduce strangers
I will take people to dark and scary places
I will show them the pains and difficulties of the world
I will show them the beauty and sweetness of life
I will challenge ideas, thoughts, and beliefs
I will encourage the brotherhood of man

I will share my soul with the world
I am a writer.

This is my short story that I’ve tried over the years to get published as a children’s picture book. I imagine the pages the left side of the book are always the first tree and the right side the second. At the end of the story, I have provided information on how this story is a metaphor for self esteem and also includes parenting philosophy.

*** 

As the morning light chased away the darkness, a young Gardner sat on a quiet hillside gazing down into a valley.

Her visit today was special. In a pouch she carried two small seeds. They came from an apple tree that had given fruit and cool shade to her family for many years.

The Gardner searched the hillside and found a safe place for two little trees. She made two shallow holes in the soil. From her canteen, she poured some water into each hole to help the seeds start growing.

She imagined tiny seeds as large apple trees. “My dear little seeds, now is your chance to grow and experience the world,” she told them. Read the rest of this entry »

The corners of Terry’s lips are tight and turned down, but he doesn’t notice. Frozen like the mannequin watching his back, he stares as dancing red taillights inch their way out of the city. Most people crowd under the awning to hide from the rain, but not Terry. He stands near the road to optimize his chance in the upcoming race for a seat on the bus. Three busses, but not the 514, splash past and belch out a moan while stopping at the curb; spraying him with a muddy mist that covers his coat with tiny brown spots. They suck in a load of passengers and moan again while crawling out to join the dance.A sharp pain shoots from the center of his right eye to the middle of his skull. Reflexively, he drops his gaze downward while placing his thumb on one temple and forefinger on the other. He closes his eyes and squeezes until the pain begins to fade. He notices that his jaw is clenched with such force that it could support his weight as he dangled precariously on the end of a rope high above the ground. He attempts to relax his clamped teeth by squeezing tighter with his fist. As the pain continues to subside, his jaw relaxes. He breaths deep and exhales while releasing his grip. Slowly, he lifts his eyelids. The floodgate opens and the world pours back in to his stream of conscious. He preferred the headache.

The 514 belches past, splashing him, and stops a few yards away. For a moment he has a clear path to the rear door. He wants to hurry but doesn’t want to look foolish. His awkward hustled step accomplishes neither. The crowd surges forward and he is lost in a sea of commuters. With his face inches away from the back of a dark blue raincoat, he begins a tiny-two-step shuffle towards the bus door. He’ll make the bus, but will he be sitting or standing for the next eighty-minutes? He dreads standing. A seat on the bus can erase an entire day of telling the mouthpiece of a telephone that it does not have enough insurance. He reaches the doorway, steps up, and looks right; to the front of the bus. No empty seats. Even the aisle is crowded with standing passengers. His eyes widen and his chest pounds. In the back of his head, an image of his boss is laughing. He needed and expected a seat today. He begins walking left while jerking around his head which creates a smeared, blurry image of the bus interior. As the distorted image clears and his focus returns, an empty seat in the back emerges. In a rush of giant stumbling steps, he claims it. Thank God, he’ll be sitting. Read the rest of this entry »

“I was Jesus.”Josh was surprised; it was the first time he heard Toby speak. Actually, Toby probably wasn’t his name. Two months ago, a dirty brown coat supporting a ratted mess of long brown twisted hair appeared in an alley Josh walked past every day. Josh named him Toby. He always sat with his knees folded up inside his coat and his arms wrapped around them. His head leaned forward and rested on his knees. Two weeks ago, Josh had left an apple next to him. For the past week, he’d left something every day.

Toby lifted his head. His hair and beard were horribly neglected and covered all but his eyes and forehead.

“That’s right, I was Jesus.”

His voice was low and soothing, like the DJ of an easy-listening radio station. He had captivating soft blue eyes which held Josh as he stared. He felt safe and comfortable. As he stared past the blue rings into the dark pupils of this stranger, his chest pounded. He then saw flashes of light and he found himself standing on a beach as cool water lapped against his feet. The sky went dark and he looked up to find himself standing in a dusty city as buildings crumbled around him. Screams and gunfire ripped at his ears. With a blink, he was now standing in a small hut where a young woman breastfed a newborn baby in the dim light. Another scene, then another; each shorter and moving faster the previous. Soon, he could no longer make out details as flashes of lights danced around him and sounds of people laughing and screaming surrounded him. He breathed fast and hard. Where was he? What was happening? Overwhelmed and scared, he screamed and the images faded. He saw blue eyes of Toby holding him hostage. His arms and legs tingled. He tried to open his mouth but was only able to crack his lips. Toby then dropped his head and severed the link. Read the rest of this entry »