tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58010652852444162132024-02-07T18:48:57.094-08:00David's Fic StreamerThe hub, the center, the apex, the pinnacle.TheWritersDenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906707226438261959noreply@blogger.comBlogger23125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5801065285244416213.post-77036122609604369392013-01-31T09:47:00.003-08:002013-01-31T11:02:25.134-08:00<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</xml><![endif]--><span style="font-family: "Cooper Black","serif"; font-size: 36.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <a href="http://bloggodavidannex.blogspot.ca/2013/01/normal-0-false-false-false-en-us-x-none.html">An Elegy for Mr. Bolex</a></span>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: "Courier Final Draft"; font-size: 18.0pt; line-height: 115%;">By
David Hunter</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">For the sixth grade at Hughes Public School we had
Miss Rowan for the year; that would have been sometime in 1982 if I
recall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was a wonderfully flighty
lady with a Scottish lilt and a penchant for storytelling, often reading aloud
to us at the end of the day from assorted books.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes she’d tell us Scottish folk tales
and legends, acting out the parts and doing the voices.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was the type of teacher you remember for
the rest of your life.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">At least until someone like Mr. Edgar Bolex shows
up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I’ll get to that.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Miss Rowan sat in front of the class one day,
sometime in December of that year, and told us she had to leave – she was going
into the hospital for a procedure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>That’s what she called it, a ‘procedure’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all gathered around her, gave her a giant
classroom hug, and she cried.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">She never came back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In fact, no one knows what happened to her,
whether she lived or died.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In those days
the school ‘authorities’ never shared such information with students.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s still one of the great mysteries of my
life.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Enter Mr. Bolex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A more diametrically opposite teacher to Miss Rowan could not exist. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After enjoying our former teacher’s grace and
warmth, where we were free to verbalize our thoughts, we were shocked when this
man, six foot two and standing with his hands on his hips like an army
sergeant, stared down at us through his glasses and ran through his list of
rules: No Talking, No Whispering, No Gum Chewing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also on the list: No Arm Movement, No
Turning Heads to Look at Other Students, No Speaking Unless Spoken To.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bathroom Breaks Two Times a Day at His
Disclosure, Once in the Morning,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and
Once in the Afternoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He would keep a
list in case someone went three times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He gave extensive homework assignments every
night, and if you didn’t finish them you’d have to get up in front of the class
and tell them why you didn’t finish and then he’d make you stand in the corner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you did it twice, he’d make the whole
class stand up for an hour reciting text from our books.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We never got to enjoy the spectacle of the
punishment of our fellow students because we ALL got punished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’ll say one thing; his was the quietest class at
Hughes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’d sit there listening to that
lonely clock tick, the muffled sounds of the other classrooms; laughing,
cheering, talking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We’d have our noses
buried in composition books.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If we
looked up for any reason, by God, Mr. Bolex wanted to know why.</span><br />
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The entire year went like this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He excluded us from class trips, outings, and
events.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We grew to hate our teacher. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I figured I was doing okay on most of my
assignments and tests (Mostly out of fear) but I never knew for sure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mr. Bolex never gave us our papers back, or
our marks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was just his way, I
suppose.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During Parent/Teacher night he
would disclose this information to our parents, but never us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I hate to admit it (and I never let on to my
fellow students, only grumbled along and commiserated) but in that Fascist
atmosphere I was actually learning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 48.0pt; line-height: 115%;">W</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">ho can tell me
the Elementary Principles of Composition?” Mr. Bolex stated, standing at the
front of the class shooting his steely gaze at us.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I know an Elementary Principle of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">De</i>-Composition – Flies!” whispered
Robbie Lane, behind me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was so quiet
that I barely heard it myself, but Mr. Balls, as he was becoming known, cocked
his head like a puppy upon hearing a strange noise. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mistake; those with sharp ears burst out laughing and
Mr. Ball’s head turned into a nice beet color.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He zeroed in on Robbie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Those ancient glasses must have contained a
radar chip or something. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Mr. Lane, would you approach the front of the
class?” he said. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Robbie looked surprised. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Right this minute.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Robbie extracted his ample body from his desk and
slithered the necessary distance to the blackboard where Mr. Balls was
standing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Now …” he began, “Please state for the class the
entire table of the Elementary Principles of Composition.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Robbie’s brow scrunched and he scratched his head. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I don’t know the …” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mr. Bolex’s face opened up in an exaggerated and
comical expression.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You could have
called it sarcasm, I guess.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had both
arms out; one hand clutching an old copy of “Elements of Style”. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Well! Mr. Lane does not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">know</i> the Elementary Principles of Composition!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mr. Lane has been sitting in this class for
nearly an entire school year and can’t name ONE – ELEMENTARY – PRINCIPLE<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>- OF - COMPOSITION! He said loudly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He punctuated his sentence just like that.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Here,” he said, handing him the book. “Turn to
page 10 and read it to me.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Robbie was flushed with embarrassment now, because
his reading was horrendous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We could
barely understand him, and when he mispronounced words snickers and giggles
drifted forward from the class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have
to admit, I smirked as well. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But Robbie only saw <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">me</i> smiling, almost like no one else was there and making fun of
him, like it was all my idea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He bore
down on me with a gaze so malevolent that his face looked like the face of a
fat-assed demon, and not a 12 year old kid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mr. Balls snatched the book away, satisfied.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He turned back to the class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“This boy,” he said, pointing with the book,
“Can’t even read.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yet he chooses to
make insolent remarks at my expense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A
fine road you’ve all chosen; to laugh at this slovenly creature and give him
merit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sit down Mr. Lane, and don’t
waste any more of my time.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">But Robbie never moved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His bottom lip was pooched out like he was
going to cry, but it was more from anger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mr. Bolex tilted his head and looked over his
bi-focals at the young insolent. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Is there a comprehension problem my boy? Sit
down.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Don’t you ever call me stupid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My father calls me stupid.” He said quietly. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mr. Bolex was un-mollified. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Mr. Lane, when you cease acting stupid,
you’ll be judged accordingly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now sit …” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">That’s when Robbie rushed him, screaming, calling
him a bastard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The whole class started
whooping and hollering, on their feet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He knocked old Mr. Balls down to the floor and was flailing his arms and
hitting him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bi-focals went sailing
across the wooden slats.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Seconds later he was back on his feet, restraining
Robbie by the scruff of his shirt. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He said only one thing before hauling Robbie out
to the Principal’s office, he said: “Dear boy, when there’s a large object
blocking your path, don’t go through it; find a way around it.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The next day in class we were quiet as church
mice.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Robbie came in, sulky face and
all, and went to his seat in the back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He made it a point to pass my desk, and I heard him say, quiet as the
wind: “You’re Dead, loser.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Despite this moment of stomach-flipping dread, we
were buoyed by the presence of Mr. Reed, the nice 5<sup>th</sup> grade
teacher.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He walked in and did a double
take at how quiet and composed we were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Mister Bolex is away for a few days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So I’ll be taking over his class till then.”
He said, and then sat down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He gave us
some light reading to do, some spelling exercises, and some math stuff.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Afterwards we had a discussion on the Nuclear
Arms Race, and Reagan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All was well, but
we dreaded the day that Mr. Bolex came back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Every morning we waited to see who would walk into the class, the jovial
Mr. Reed, or the sour Mr. Balls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">During those days I was running scared, of course,
trying to keep away from Robbie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t
know what he was waiting for – did he have a set schedule for when to beat the
shit out of me?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mostly he would just see
me from afar and scowl.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who knew that a
12 year old like Robbie could be studied in the art of psychological warfare? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">One day, he appeared in front of me on the way
home after class. He had stepped out from behind the northeast corner wall of
the school and there we were.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The building,
built in 1912, was 5 stories tall, and had lots of meandering angles.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were in a cul de sac of sorts, an odd
square in back of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perfect place for
an ambush.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There, no one could hear you
scream.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I tossed my bag at him and ran.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was a wiry little thing then, could run
fairly fast, but Robbie was fueled by rage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He caught me and hauled me down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I smacked my head on the concrete and saw stars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The last thing I remember was his fists and
his spit flying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I was a mess; and Mom wanted to call the police,
demanded to know who did it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My father
said the same, but I wouldn’t give up the name.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sometimes you gotta wonder about kids and their schoolyard code.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The next day we waited to see who would come
through the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We sat quietly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Robbie had passed my desk again, and again he
said, “See you after school, punk.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Come
on</span></i><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">,
I thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Isn’t there a statute of
limitations for this kinda stuff? My face was already a disaster – two black
eyes and a busted lip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Never mind my
aching ribs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to break the code and
snitch or I’d have no teeth left.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Mr. Bolex waltzed into the room, arms laden with
stacks of paper.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all deflated
audibly, like air being let out of a party balloon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Listen up, class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We have a lot of work to do!” he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The test was a killer; 6 pages long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>By the time the final bell rung my brain was fried.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">After the class filed out, I lingered at my desk
till everyone was gone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mr. Bolex was at
his desk buried in papers, marking furiously.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>After a while he looked up and saw I was still there. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“You may go now, Mr. Polansky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Class is over.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I gathered my books up and walked over to his
desk.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked over his glasses at
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“What on Earth happened to your
face, Polansky?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I told him about the ‘student’, how he had
cornered me and beat the hell out of me, and he was going to do it again
today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Well, the next time you decide to laugh at
someone, you’ll probably think twice, won’t you? You deserve everything you get
in this world.” he said, and went back to his work, leaving me standing there
with my eyes welling up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How did he know
about the laughing, about Robbie?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I left
him there, the old bastard, and realized that …</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">… I actually wished he was dead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The thought scared me, and I immediately took it
back, but the truth was, it was out there now, in the ether, swirling above my
head and headed for space. One thing about thoughts; you can’t really take them
back once you’ve thunk them. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I was walking along the sidewalk adjacent to the
school this time, hoping there were sets of eyes on me from inside the houses
along the street, and that someone would help me before I got my jaw
busted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Looking back over my shoulder
every now and again, head on a swivel, I hurried along.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a way to live, huh? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">There was a lane I pass through to get to my
street, a narrow corridor between some of the houses, and Robbie was standing
at the end of it, glowering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I cursed
myself for not realizing he would be there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This time I didn’t throw my bag at him, I didn’t
run. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mr. Ball’s words ran through my
head again, though; <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">‘My dear boy, If
there’s a large object in your way …’</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I saw you talking to Mr. Bolex, shit face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Did you rat on me?” he said. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“No, I didn’t.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Bullshit.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Bull <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">true</i>.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He got this confused look on his face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess he was conflicted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t give a shit about his conflictions;
I just wanted to get home with my teeth in place.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Why?” he said. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I shrugged. “Why make things worse?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And besides, I’m no snitch.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He considered this.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Okay.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We’re even then.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And then he turned to leave – and I called out to
him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To this day I don’t know why I did,
and I said, “I’ll help you with your reading, if you want.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one has to know.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Who says I need help reading, punk?” he said,
marching towards me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But he stopped a
foot or so away, still too close as far as I was concerned.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Come on, man, everybody knows.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let me help you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s no big deal.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Listen, just leave me alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And don’t let me catch you laughing at me
ever again, got it?” he said, poking me in the chest hard enough to make me
sway. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I got it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">During the last week of class in the academic year
of 1982-83 Mr. Bolex walked in with a stack of papers; our final test of the
year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were all nervous, expecting the
most arduous and difficult quiz ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
waited, eyes forward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He put the stack
on his desk and stood there behind his desk; he had his chin up in that
arrogant way of his, and his hands on his hips like the guy on the Captain
Morgan bottles, the ones my uncle used to drain.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Students, this is my last week in this fine
profession,” he began. He gently took off his glasses and touched the desk
reverently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I’ve been teaching since
1957, and I must say, you are a fine group.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It has been an honor teaching this class.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It could not have been easy for you, for I am
not an easy man, but remember these words by Booker T. Washington, ‘</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Nothing
ever comes to one that is worth having, except as a result of hard work.’” <br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
<br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" />
</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">We all exchanged looks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">“Now, let us get down to business.
Everyone - heads down for a few moments.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Let’s clear our thoughts.” He said, sitting back down behind his desk,
crossed his arms, and closed his eyes.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We did as we were told.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Long minutes passed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Robbie even fell asleep; I could hear his
muffled snoring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was lulled by the
distant sounds of the other classes and the traffic outside.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a half hour I looked up; Mr. Bolex was
sitting upright, arms crossed, eyes closed, just like before.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Psst – Robbie,” I said over my shoulder.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Huh? Wuh ya want, geek?” he stammered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were crease marks on his face and
eraser shavings on his chin.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Look.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Old
Mr. Balls fell asleep!” I whispered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
tried to be as careful as anything.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That
old geezer could hear a fly fart at 50 yards.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“No way! Let’s go see!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">My turn to say ‘No way’.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Are you crazy?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Maybe.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“If we let him sleep we don’t have to do the
test.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">By this time a murmur ran through the class,
giggles and whispers too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone was
looking at Mr. Bolex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ha ha, the old man
fell asleep.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I got up. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Jeez, are you deranged? He’ll kill you,” hissed
Heather Oncutt from the other side of the class. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“We need to do the test and we can’t start without
him,” I said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I made my way up to the
desk, kinda like the cowardly lion walking up to the great and powerful
Oz.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said softly, “Mr. Bolex? We’re
ready to do the test now.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">He must have been a heavy sleeper, because he
never moved, or flinched.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Didn’t even
bat an eyelash. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I reached over and picked up one of the test
papers from the pile.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone sat up
and watched me, and that murmur started again. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I started flipping through it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Every page was blank.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“What is it?” said Blake, the class nerd.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had huge glasses and wild white-blond
hair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked like a pint-sized Albert
Einstein. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“This must be a joke; there’s nothing here.” I
said. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The class gathered around the desk to come take a
look, forgetting old Mister Balls for the time being. If he woke up we’d be in
deep shit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Robbie, not to be
confused with Plato or Isaac Newton, said something that made everyone stop. He
had been staring at Mr. Bolex when everyone else was flipping through the
papers. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“I think he’s dead, guys.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We all gasped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A few girls started to cry, more out of fear than anything. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Look, he’s not breathing.” He said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all gathered closer to look.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Indeed, he wasn’t breathing. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“What do we do now?” said Blake.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Heather butted up ahead of the crowd, “Duh! We go
tell the principal! What’s wrong with you people?” she said. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Despite that, we all stared at him there behind
his desk, sitting upright, arms crossed, eyes closed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were strangely reflective. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This man had been the bane of our existence
since Christmas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He came and went with
the bell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A mystery.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A rumor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“He wasn’t so bad,” said Robbie. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“Yeah,” Said someone else. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And so, that’s how Mr. Bolex left us, in the only
manner he knew how; behind a desk and in front of a class. Heather, who always
took the initiative, went straight to the Principal’s office with the news like
Paul Revere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everyone else just filed out
to wait in the hall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was the last one
there, staring at him, with his little bow tie and his ghastly plaid cardigan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I remember looking at his desk, the stack of
test papers, the sheet with our grades; he had passed everyone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As for the blank test sheet, who knows? It
still boggles my mind 30 years later.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The rest was a blur; the teachers rushing in, the
paramedics arriving, our parents too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Quite a buzz, you might say. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
rest of the week Mr. Reed sat in with us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>We played games, read books.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then
the year ended and school was out. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
were like cons getting parole, truth be told.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I never knew what to make of Mr. Bolex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Still don’t.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But when I got older I understood one thing, that he was just plain
crazy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a man past his prime, who
was uncomfortable with the modern world, and who lived to make people’s lives
difficult.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And yet, I cannot help but
admire the man’s staunchness, his obtuse mind, and his rigidity regarding the
educating of children.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have tried to
gather up something of value, some divine reason why Mr. Bolex had existed and
was dropped into our midst in that year of 1982, and I’ll be damned if I can
think of one even now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe he was a
drill sergeant who missed the army.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Maybe he just liked to lord it over little kids.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Who knows? What I do know is, his insane work
ethic rubbed off on me – I made it all the way through teachers college and
started teaching, If only to erase the path of most resistance that he left
behind.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My classes love me; mostly
because I do things Mr. Bolex wouldn’t do, like communicate.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How’s that for a legacy? Old Mr. Bolex, what
a piece of work. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">And damn it all, even though I hated his guts
then, wished him dead even, I sure as hell do admire him now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe because I can finally laugh about it,
years removed from the whole debacle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because
he taught me how not to be a teacher, I suppose, in a way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">What a world, huh?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What a world. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
TheWritersDenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906707226438261959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5801065285244416213.post-91264954426730631202013-01-30T09:13:00.001-08:002013-01-30T09:28:05.230-08:00<span style="font-family: Chiller; font-size: 48.0pt;"> <a href="http://bloggodavidannex.blogspot.ca/2013/01/batz-in-belfry-by-david-hunter-c-ousin.html">Batz in the Belfry</a></span><br />
<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-family: Chiller; font-size: 28.0pt;">By David Hunter</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: Chiller; font-size: 22.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">C</span><span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">ousin Billy once told me a story about his days as an
exterminator down in Texas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, mostly,
he dealt with cockroaches, rats, spiders, that kinda thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Occasionally he’d have to fish a raccoon out
of the attic room, or flush bats out of someone’s barn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sometimes an animal got under the back porch
and died there and old Billy’d have to drag it out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had the stomach for it, mind you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothin’ fazed Billy Joe Warner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was a medic back in ‘Nam and he told me he
seen all manner of things that bugs can’t possibly compare to.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Except this one
time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He told me he seen guys flayed
alive with napalm in Kai San, guys lying half-dead with they guts hangin’ out
crying for their mamas, guys with skulls open to the sunshine for all to see -
but never seen anything like he did that night 30 years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">He got a call
about midnight from a family in nearby Wynch – a short drive west of Houston –
about a noise up in the attic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They was
all too scared to go up and look, and the daddy, who was new to Texas, didn’t
wanna leave the girls alone to go see, so he looked up the phone book number
for Cousin Billy’s Exterminator Service.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Billy was might pissed that he got woken up in the dead of the night
like that, mostly because he was still sauced from an evening of whiskey and he
hadn’t completely slept it off yet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
man on the phone said he thought there was an animal up there and would he come
over and look? Billy tried to tell him he’d come at first light, but something
in his stone heart told him to go, so got in his truck and headed off. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Well, when he got
there the whole lot of ‘em was standing out in front of the place, still in
their pajamas.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“What’s the
trouble?” said Billy, hauling his gear out of the pick-up truck and walking
over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The father, a tall drink of water
with glasses, stepped forward. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“I’m really glad
you could make it, Mr. Billy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We don’t
usually get this kind of thing back east.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Billy
grunted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Back east? Wherabouts?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Connecticut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was an insurance broker there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m Malcolm and this is my family,” He said,
looking back at them all huddled together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They all waved amiably. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Billy grunted
again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked around but all he could
see was whatever the front porch-light illuminated (A fifteen watt bulb, Billy
had assessed) which wasn’t much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Can’t
survive in Texas with a 15 watt bulb! He did see something glinting in the
moonlight off to the side on the front lawn. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Whut’s that?”
said Billy, nodding his chin in the direction instead of pointing.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">It took Malcolm a
few seconds to register, but he finally turned his head in the direction of
Billy’s chin.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He adjusted his glasses
and squinted. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Oh, that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s an aluminum shark cage.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Billy double
grunted this time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“No shit!” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“I was interested
in doing some shark photography back in Martha’s Vineyard so I had a friend
make it for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I never got to use it –
when the economy tanked I got laid off of work,” he said, shrugging.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Plus, I had second thoughts about it.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Stickin’ yourself in a cage and dumpin’
yourself in the water with sharks ain’t too smart anyhows,” Said Billy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked up and noticed something in the
attic window, glinted in the light of the full moon, something large flattened
against the glass.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Malcolm followed his
gaze and gasped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“What IS that?”
he said. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Billy pointed his
flashlight up to the window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Looks like
one big-ass bat, man,” said Billy, “Probably the noise you been hearing.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“A <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bat</i>? Wow!” One of the kids marveled. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“How’d it get in
there?” asked Malcolm. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Flew in the
window and the wind closed it up and trapped him.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Malcolm was
transfixed, his fear abating a little.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“I’ve never seen one before.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What
kind is it?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“</span><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Can’t
hardly tell from here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="color: black; mso-themecolor: text1;">You got to watch them, though.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If they get in your hair you’ll never get
them out,” said Billy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He put his spray
gun back in the truck, picked up the large vermin net with the long handle, and
a baseball bat, and marched up to the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Y’all stay out here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This’ll
only take a minute,” He called back.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">The house was
chaos; boxes everywhere, and it looked like they had just moved in that very
night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Cousin Billy made his way
through to the stairs a terrible sound stopped him in his tracks; it was a high
pitched screech coming from somewheres up in the attic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From what Billy told me, he never heard
nothin’ like it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not even a bobcat
screeched like that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Don’t you worry
none, I’m coming, you sumbitch,” he said. When he got half-way up the stairs he
turned back down and saw Malcolm. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“You might wanna
stay outside, Mr. Malcolm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This here bat
got kind of a bad attitude, if you get me.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“I thought you’d
need help.” Said Malcolm feebly, standing there in his robe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cousin Billy, even with his meager 8<sup>th</sup>
grade education, knew what was going on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The man didn’t want to look like a sissy in front of his family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Billy understood that better than anything.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">He motioned him
up the stairs, and passed down the bat.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;"> “If there’s any
trouble, you use that.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Malcolm took it
and held it in his hands as if it were an alien object.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“The big end’s
for hitting,” said Billy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Together they
proceeded up the stairs; a former Marine and a former accountant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That thing, whatever it was, screeched again
and Billy almost ran back down the stairs hisself, cept he was a Texas boy and
that meant you never turned back, even if it killed you, once you said you’d do
a thing, that is.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">They got to the
landing, the door mebbe four feet away. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“This is what we
gonna do,” Billy said quietly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Malcolm
was holding the bat above his head like he was gonna whomp someone right then
and there.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“I’ll go in and
catch the sucker.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You stay out here’n
back me up case he gets loose, y’hear?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Malcolm nodded
nervously, with the baseball bat still above his head.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Billy went over
to the door and tried the knob, but it was locked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Malcolm rushed down to the master bedroom and
returned with a set of keys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Through the
door they heard the thing bumping and scraping against the window. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Billy unlocked
the door and slowly opened it. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Now, I don’t
reckon I can talk intelligently about the Bat species or anything like that
there, but from what cousin Billy tole me this one was pretty smart, because
once that thing heard the tumblers turning it made a bee-line straight for the
door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Caught Billy by surprise, it did.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Malcolm took a
wild swing at the sunnuvabitch and hit the door frame just above Billy’s
scalp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You gotta hand it to that city
fellah though; he was a persistent cuss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He followed that Bat every which way, smashing up the place somethin’
terrible until he caught it at the bottom landing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When Billy got down there the thing was
deader’n a doornail, and Malcolm was sitting beside it struggling for
breath.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Got it,” he
managed to say between ragged gasps of air.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Yeah you
did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now alls you need is a new
decorator,” Said Billy, lighting up a cigarillo, looking back up at all the
holes in the stairwell walls. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Maybe you should
be in charge of the bat.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Huh uh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re doin jus fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hate to see you with any kind of firearm,
though.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">They inspected
the Bat lying dead at their feet, wings splayed in grotesque crookedness, blood
spattered.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Billy Whistled. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Never seen
nothin’ like it,” he said.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He pinched
the edge of a wing and lifted it. “Sumbitch must weigh 10 pounds at least.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Wingspan looks …”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">From somewhere
behind them a hideous mewling sound filled the air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cousin Billy tole me his hackles rose, and he
didn’t even know what a hackle <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">was</i>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“What was that?”
asked Malcolm, standing up with the bat over his head again.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Careful, son,”
said Billy eyeing the bat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He looked up
the staircase at the open door to the attic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“You got some kinda crawl space up there in the roof?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Malcolm
shrugged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I … I don’t know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We only bought the house last month.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Sounds like
maybe you got some kinda sick raccoon stuck up there.” said Billy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A lie; truth was, Billy had never heard a
sick raccoon make that kind of noise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But he didn’’t want to completely unhinge city Boy, if you get me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Billy motioned for Malcolm to follow him back
up the stairs and into the attic room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">It was dark, and
the light switch did nothing when Billy flicked it, so he shined his flashlight
at the ceiling and saw that the critter had smashed out the bulb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He turned back to Malcolm. “You wait in the
hall if you want.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You swingin’ a bat
around in the dark don’t thrill me much.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Whatever you
say, Billy.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">From above them,
in the roof presumably, came furious thrashing sounds, great wracks of noise,
and finally a bone-jarring crash that shook the house and rattled the window. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Mister Cousin
Billy, sir, I think I’ll take you up on that ‘waiting in the hall’ offer,” said
Malcolm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Billy put a hand on his
shoulder.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Hold up,
son.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Look, whatever’s up there, bobcat,
shrew, dragon, pissed off rhino, it don’t do no good to run away from it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We got to face it, whatever it is. Hell, I
got half a mind to go down and get my shotgun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>You cain’t leave me up in here by myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s against the code, man.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“The code?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Yeah, the
code.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Otherwise they take away your
man-card an you ain’t allowed at the big boy table no more, you getting’ the
drift yet? Once you start runnin’ away from stuff you become a scared rabbit
all your life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You getting’ the drift
yet?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“I think so.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Billy grunted his
approval.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He liked Malcolm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The city boy had potential.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Texas’ll
make him a man yet</i>, thought Billy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Maybe.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now you wait here in the doorway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m gonna see If I can’t find a way up there
into the crawl space.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">He left Malcolm
there to guard the doorway and entered the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All Malcolm saw was a disembodied light
moving erratically.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Billy walked slowly,
inspecting the room, and he started to hum a tune.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“…Oh don’t you go
swimmin’ with bow-legged wimmin … they’ll drive you to drink … they’ll drive
you ins-a-a-a-a-ne …” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Moments later
Billy was inside a nook, shining the light up at the ceiling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It bounced back down, putting him in sharp
relief from the reflection. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Found
something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A trapdoor.” He called.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Must be the way up.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Billy stopped his
movement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So did Malcolm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">There was a
sound.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“You hear that?”
whispered Malcolm. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Can’t help but,”
said Billy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">It was a
snuffling, raspy sound, coming from the crawl space.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like someone trying to breathe through a
clogged nose.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Billy left the
nook with his flashlight trained on the ceiling’s wooden beams until he
stopped.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He stood there for a moment,
staring up. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“What in the hell
…?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Malcolm started
to walk over when Billy let out a loud curse and dropped the flashlight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The room was plunged into darkness, and from
above a high-pitch squeal sent them both tumbling back into the hall where they
collapsed. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Lord a’ mighty,”
said Billy, unsheathing his buck knife out of instinct in lieu of gun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“There was …” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“What? What was
it?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“…There was
something looking at me through a hole in the ceiling …” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Something <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">looking</i> at you …? Said Malcolm, his own
hackles now fully arisen.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had already
decided to sell the house in that split second. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“An eye,” said
Billy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>From inside his vest he produced
a .57 Magnum.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was on his feet and
marching back into the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Look at <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">me</i> though a hole in the floor, you
sumbitch?” he yelled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His army boots
clomped as he made his way back over to the nook.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Malcolm heard loud cursing and noise in the
darkness as Billy tried to get up and open that trapdoor, and from somewhere
above the awful thrashing noises again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Dragging sounds: Billy managed to find a trunk and jam it into the nook
where he could finally reach the ceiling.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Well now, as soon
as old Cousin Billy opened that door, something came down at him, knocking him
clean off the trunk and onto the floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was clawing and biting at him and poor old Malcolm was beside hisself
with fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Next thing you know, Billy’s
on his feet with this thing caught in a bear-hug wheelin across the floor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Malcolm just ran down the stairs, and he
barely got out of the way when Billy come tumbling down behind him, with that
creature attached.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They was smashing up
everthing; walls, banisters, photos hung.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was hissing and screeching, and Billy was a-punchin away at it but it
done no good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">By some
happenstance, Billy, blinded by blood and rage, found hisself out the door off
the front porch where he gave the damn thing one last punch that seemed to stun
it, and he kicked it off where it went reelin’ back into that old shark cage of
Malcolm’s.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Billy, instincts as good as
anyone, applied his size 12 boot to the door and it locked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">By now Malcolm
had sequestered his family in their Volvo and was standing by the passenger
door with the baseball bat still held up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He staggered over to Billy who was crawling back to the porch steps,
face bloodied, but still able to pull out a cigarillo and light it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He sat there, finally getting a look at the
beast.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">The thing was not
of this earth; its skin was blackish green, it had large ears and large teeth
and pretty much eliminated any local species.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It also had large crooked wings that up to that moment had remained
folded up – but as it was trapped now them things spread out and touched each
end of the shark cage.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It sat staring at
Cousin Billy for the longest time before it leaped forward at the bars,
gnawing, gnashing, beatin’ its wings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Spit flew and teeth flashed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For
a moment old Billy was wondering if that thing would chew right through the
aluminum bars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Malcolm sat down
beside him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Billy …?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Yeah?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“What is that
thing?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Damn if I know.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">They sat there
for a bit while Billy smoked his cigarillo.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Malcolm’s wife came over an said she was takin’ the kids to a local
motel and that she wasn’t settin’ foot in that house ever again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The beast stopped its hissy fit long enough
to listen to all this as if it understood.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Mal’s wife hustled back to the car and they was off, leaving them two
fellahs a sittin’ there. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Now what?” said
Malcolm. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Billy
shrugged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Dunno.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could use a beer though.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“I mean, about
this … thing?” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Billy smiled
broadly, and mixed with his wild scruffy face and caked-on blood, made him look
a little nuts. His ear had almost been torn off.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“I have a feeling that this sucker’s days are
numbered.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Billy, your ear
… you probably need a doctor.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Nah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Just a scratch.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>About that beer though …”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">All the while
this thing thrashed and carried on, alternately hissing, barking like a dog,
screeching like a cat, as if it was trying out different ways to get Billy to
let it out of the cage, until it finally got tired or something and just stood
there with its claws wrapped around the bars and it’s little grotesque face
between them, staring.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was coming on
the blue hour, just before dawn.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“Stare all you
want, you sumbitch,” said Billy.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">They stayed that
way until daybreak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Malcolm had curled
up behind Billy on a welcome mat, cradling that Louisville Slugger like a Teddy
Bear, and the thing, well, it continued its staring contest with Billy, until
the first hint of the coming sun showed itself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They both turned to look east, cowboy and monster, where the sky was
becoming lighter, and the thing began its most furious rage – spewing,
thrashing, rattling the cage an almost tipping it over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Harsh barks and shrill screams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Malcolm woke up clutching the bat, eyes wide
and scared.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“What’s
happening?” he said sleepily. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“The sumbitch
don’t like sunlight, I reckon.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">The sun was on
its way, and now the thing decided to take giant runs at the cage door almost
like a linebacker tackling a dummy, and as the sun got closer it took to
throwing itself around the cage like a panicked budgie. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“My uncle tole me
he seen something like this once.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Dunno
if it was truth or bullshit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But he said
one day he was cleaning out the barn and up in the hayloft was a creature that
he’d never seen before, a creature with large wings and teeth like a bobcat and
claws like a lion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He shot it dead right
then and there, but when he drug it out to the barnyard, well …”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“What was it?”
asked Malcolm.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“He called it a
Texas Harpy,” said Billy, finishing another cigarillo and tossing it on the
ground. “I always figured he was full of shit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sorry ‘bout that, Unc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And here I
thought you was just a miserable lyin’ drunk.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">When the first
beam of sunlight hit the floor of the cage, the ‘Texas Harpy’ stopped all
movement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It gave up, I believe, or it
knew that it’d been bested by Billy, so it just stared at him through the bars
with that mean little face and its long claws and it’s orange teeth, until the
sun come up and it burst into flames and issued forth a hitherto unheard of
screech like Billy had never heard before, like it was giving birth to hell
itself, until it disintegrated into a pile of ash that the gentle morning
breeze blew out across the way and into the morning air.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Malcolm produced
a couple of beers and handed one to Billy. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">“By the way, I
only accept cash, son,” he said, taking a generous gulp. “I’ll write you a receipt if you like.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">That was Billy’s
last job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 20.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Epilogue</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">Nobody was ever
able to verify Billy’s story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That
Malcolm fellah and his family went back east to Connecticut without looking
back and no one ever heard from them again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They only sent a moving company to pick up their belongings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As for Billy hisself, he passed on 10 years
later, a shell of the man he was – frail and sick.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Half his face was paralyzed by infection and
doctors couldn’t help him, since all they heard him tell was he was bit by a
Texas Harpy, and of course that only made him sound crazy as a bag of
hammers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the end, he fell asleep on
the front porch of his ranch one day and never woke up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "Bookman Old Style","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-themecolor: text1;">He often tole me
he didn’t know if he imagined the whole thing, or it really happened, or
whether he dreamed it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Either way,
the Harpy got him in the end, I believe, by biting him on the ear and sending
lord knows what into his bloodstream.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Yes, I believe his story.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was
Cousin Billy and I loved him like hell an I believed everthing he ever said,
even when he said he was bit by a hideous winged creature that poisoned him 30
years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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love and war, after all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Even in Texas.</span></div>
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TheWritersDenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906707226438261959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5801065285244416213.post-51892675308063499872013-01-30T09:05:00.001-08:002013-01-30T09:05:22.138-08:00<div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://bloggodavid.blogspot.ca/2013/01/footprints-by-david-hunter-normal-0.html"><span style="color: #d9d9d9; font-family: "Cooper Black","serif"; font-size: 48.0pt; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 217;">FOOTPRINTS</span></a></div>
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<span style="color: #d9d9d9; font-family: "Cooper Black","serif"; font-size: 18.0pt; mso-themecolor: background1; mso-themeshade: 217;">By David Hunter</span></div>
<a href="http://damsonlane.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/01/Footsteps-in-the-snow.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" id="irc_mi" src="http://damsonlane.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/01/Footsteps-in-the-snow.jpg" style="margin-top: 47px;" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
Dave stood on the front porch of his little cabin wearing only his robe
and a pair of slippers, staring out at the set of footprints in the
snow stretching from his front door. They trailed off down his path and
into the woods surrounding his property.<br />
<br />
He had no idea how they got there. He hadn’t been out in days (Due to
the storm, Dave decided the world could do without his presence for the
duration, so he proceeded to get blotto on wine) and this being rural
Alaska, he never got visitors. The strange part was, the prints went
out, instead of coming in. As if someone had left his place but hadn’t
really come in the first place.<br />
<br />
He quickly went back in (locked the door) and got dressed. He grabbed a baseball bat. <br />
<br />
He followed the prints by walking in them, surprised that they were the
same size as his own boots. The guy musta stole a pair of my Kodiaks,
he thought. He followed them into the woods, down a few switchback
trails, down an old logging road and out into a large clearing. They
led out into the middle of it, and stopped. <br />
<br />
“What the ..?” <br />
<br />
Dave’s eyesight was a little blurry from three days of Johnny Walker (He
only stopped drinking because he ran out) but he could clearly see the
pristine condition of the untrammeled glen; an unbroken panorama of
snow. Only he and the lone footprints were present and accounted for. <br />
<br />
Backtracking through the prints, he headed back to the cabin where he
decided that he was hallucinating about the entire thing, that’s all,
and besides, it had started snowing again; time to get to the general
store in Sleetmute and stock up; Priorities. <br />
<br />
Well Old Bill Giddons who ran the store said they’d run out of Johnny
Walker and would he be interested in some Chinese Cooking Wine? Dave
feigned insult, but bought two bottles anyway, slapping a sawbuck on the
counter.<br />
<br />
“Bill, you ever have any trouble with footprints?” he asked absently. <br />
<br />
“Huhn?” grunted Bill.<br />
<br />
“Never mind,” said Dave. He scooped up his bottles and left.<br />
<br />
The snow had turned heavy and he barely got his truck up the switchback
to his cabin. He saw that the newly fallen snow had obliterated the
tracks, and a sheet of flat white lay in front of his place. As if they
had never been there. <br />
<br />
Instead of walking up to the porch, he sidetracked around to the back and entered there. <br />
<br />
Instead of sleeping, he sat up all night drinking his Chinese Cooking
Wine and staring out the front window as the snow fell, and fell. And
fell. <br />
<br />
He woke up sometime later, not knowing what time it was, but seeing that
it was at least sometime before dawn. One bottle of the cooking wine
was empty, sprawled on the floor, and the other was still in his hand,
unopened. <br />
<br />
He sprang to the door, opened it. The cold air fluttered into his untied robe and he braced against it. <br />
<br />
This time the prints started from his window, down the steps, and
disappeared behind the house. Dave, furious, grabbed the Remington
Rifle leaning beside the door, put his boots on, and marched outside,
stomping along the steps, obliterating them. <br />
<br />
They led around the house, through an old trail behind his cabin,
through a small copse of trees, across a bridge, and over to an
embankment of the Crosshead river, a small tributary. He saw the prints
continue down the frozen water and out of sight. <br />
Dave slid down onto the ice and followed. Damn the torpedoes! <br />
<br />
He cocked the rifle as he followed the prints around a bend in the river, where, to his chagrin, they stopped. <br />
<br />
“What is this?” yelled Dave to no one on particular. In desperation, he
leveled his gun to where the footprints terminated and fired, yelling
something incoherent. <br />
The ice cracked underneath his feet and down he went, his skin pierced
with millions of tiny cold needles. He gasped, but held onto his gun
somehow. <br />
<br />
Whether he was in his death throes, or he was still drunk, what he saw
was this: a man about his age, suspended in the water in front of him, a
look of surprise on his face. He swam away into the murk and that was
the last Dave saw of him. In fact, it was the last thing Dave ever saw.<br />
<br />
<br />
TheWritersDenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906707226438261959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5801065285244416213.post-9763315114740456172011-09-17T19:08:00.000-07:002011-09-17T19:08:30.482-07:00<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="http://davidhuntershaw.blogspot.com/2011/09/10-writing-tips-from-phyllis.html"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Phyllis A. Whitney || In Her Own words</b></span></a><b><br />
</b></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKyIz1MRC2slI8nXCPIx27W7DUSfaI1t3T8UOLVXOZ6hJlBDBZRB1OMnSnxPD0dEfp3JBeXuVxq6433NHN-v76rk7Nm_fjJod2gYjuzjK4Da5AiwXrbeaO5v2m0sbrvXavmeHdsXvcdtQ/s1600/whitney1-781683.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKyIz1MRC2slI8nXCPIx27W7DUSfaI1t3T8UOLVXOZ6hJlBDBZRB1OMnSnxPD0dEfp3JBeXuVxq6433NHN-v76rk7Nm_fjJod2gYjuzjK4Da5AiwXrbeaO5v2m0sbrvXavmeHdsXvcdtQ/s400/whitney1-781683.jpg" width="307" /></a></div><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><span>"... Like any other artist you must learn your craft—then you can add all the genius you like ..." </span></span><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/151920.Phyllis_A_Whitney"><br />
</a>TheWritersDenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906707226438261959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5801065285244416213.post-13747551847657726072011-04-09T07:21:00.000-07:002011-04-09T07:21:01.291-07:00<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>In His Own Words || David Mamet</b></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGWfFPA8EoVapa350Jjn0UIGL2GokapwNH9X67HRuyra75qZTt6PlexWSAYB6P3OlGcMH3sTMPvHfbYcwapZW6i69R_W4F5JeW234dHA0EW6M7IrecpZaMAXd4mzpGOx5fEVQf2Sqcl1An/s1600/cuar01_proust_mamet0805.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGWfFPA8EoVapa350Jjn0UIGL2GokapwNH9X67HRuyra75qZTt6PlexWSAYB6P3OlGcMH3sTMPvHfbYcwapZW6i69R_W4F5JeW234dHA0EW6M7IrecpZaMAXd4mzpGOx5fEVQf2Sqcl1An/s400/cuar01_proust_mamet0805.jpg" width="285" /></a></div><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">"Every scene should be able to answer three questions: 'Who wants what from whom? What happens if they don't get it? Why now?'"</span> </span><br />
<a class="authorName" href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/7711.David_Mamet"></a>TheWritersDenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906707226438261959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5801065285244416213.post-86566364212220144402011-04-05T00:42:00.000-07:002011-04-05T00:42:53.062-07:00<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>William Golding || In His Own Words</b></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5y-GjfkCnYM9E6u6joTXPWQHtqcYlBAKH73PWGY37iXYrvoxPoNhrEB0tDEhu4S2HP_PtbGiTw8xMnvSBwzyVdoAMuM3xhjhQlPGiROqqYx8e9DXLpP3QexzbQfVR123iKU1wCj7bBirT/s1600/AWG.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5y-GjfkCnYM9E6u6joTXPWQHtqcYlBAKH73PWGY37iXYrvoxPoNhrEB0tDEhu4S2HP_PtbGiTw8xMnvSBwzyVdoAMuM3xhjhQlPGiROqqYx8e9DXLpP3QexzbQfVR123iKU1wCj7bBirT/s400/AWG.jpg" width="282" /></a></div><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span class="body" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">"The writer probably knows what he meant when he wrote a book, but he should immediately forget what he meant when he's written it."</span></i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><i><span class="body" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span></i></span><i><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">~ William Golding</span></span></span></i> <span class="bodybold"> <a href="http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/w/williamgol158815.html"><br />
</a> </span> <br />
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</div>TheWritersDenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906707226438261959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5801065285244416213.post-33337389307516813602011-03-29T20:14:00.000-07:002011-03-29T20:14:54.743-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhan0v1C0QrYNwLK3t6ALd3GsVVVkFvo9U516_OB9eq1NiV41QMjRl-DYD8stfPyf03oC2VaafOT7jw_WabQn2pnmIs08Rf7v180nruTB0B7KYX31scYXbtXR4QKV-9KOuBpjYYnUB2gkLF/s1600/-jack-kerouac-black-and-white-word-portrait-smock-art.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhan0v1C0QrYNwLK3t6ALd3GsVVVkFvo9U516_OB9eq1NiV41QMjRl-DYD8stfPyf03oC2VaafOT7jw_WabQn2pnmIs08Rf7v180nruTB0B7KYX31scYXbtXR4QKV-9KOuBpjYYnUB2gkLF/s400/-jack-kerouac-black-and-white-word-portrait-smock-art.jpg" width="282" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-large;"><b>"If you don't say what you want, what's the sense of writing?" </b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;"><b> - Jack Kerouac<br />
<br />
<a class="authorName" href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/1742.Jack_Kerouac"></a></b></span><a class="authorName" href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/1742.Jack_Kerouac"></a><span class="bodybold"><a href="http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/c/chuckjones253523.html"></a> </span> <br />
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</div>TheWritersDenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906707226438261959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5801065285244416213.post-71602864602855786912011-03-26T08:39:00.000-07:002011-03-26T08:39:53.523-07:00<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Edward Abbey || In His Own Words</b></span></div><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-size: x-large;">"</span>The best thing about graduating from the university was that I finally had time to sit on a log and read a good book.<span style="font-size: x-large;">" </span></i></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ujfo8xMk5J493COCASFYcrn5o-GGuTT-lLRfmsZuAclxO11Fj_PGlDGQ_iT_kdvUraPOPbEOjlgqhRRkVvf7cl5QPwwZ6saRLaKww0G7I7fboGLsbIWqpqiZeas4COFy2W5OkRhTzup1/s1600/abbey_tv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4ujfo8xMk5J493COCASFYcrn5o-GGuTT-lLRfmsZuAclxO11Fj_PGlDGQ_iT_kdvUraPOPbEOjlgqhRRkVvf7cl5QPwwZ6saRLaKww0G7I7fboGLsbIWqpqiZeas4COFy2W5OkRhTzup1/s640/abbey_tv.jpg" width="424" /></a></div><br />
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<a class="authorName" href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/37218.Edward_Abbey"></a>TheWritersDenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906707226438261959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5801065285244416213.post-88663396495351529692011-02-28T17:28:00.000-08:002011-02-28T17:28:08.005-08:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Frank McCourt || In his Own Words</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7CApSiNKqg5dNR3Mmj03aVnlBqeEeT7CeJZsmChzypcnwCr_X1yvUR5yyNt1yLyiiwubOZu2QXx47bNG-WrezTgWh_XeoM4DioQhGknq7suvXlFdPbFUb7qw2qmDFYJV3-Bbuoz8q4S5r/s1600/angelas-ashes-author-frank-mccourt-9219.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7CApSiNKqg5dNR3Mmj03aVnlBqeEeT7CeJZsmChzypcnwCr_X1yvUR5yyNt1yLyiiwubOZu2QXx47bNG-WrezTgWh_XeoM4DioQhGknq7suvXlFdPbFUb7qw2qmDFYJV3-Bbuoz8q4S5r/s400/angelas-ashes-author-frank-mccourt-9219.jpg" width="295" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">"There are so many ways of saying Hi. Hiss it, trill it, bark it, sing it, bellow it, laugh it, cough it. A simple stroll in the hallway calls for paragraphs, sentences in your head, decisions galore." </span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><i><b> — <a class="authorName" href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/3347.Frank_McCourt">Frank McCourt</a></b></i></span><a class="authorName" href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/3347.Frank_McCourt"></a>TheWritersDenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906707226438261959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5801065285244416213.post-52046542193179960112011-02-14T19:28:00.000-08:002011-02-14T19:29:05.706-08:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://wikiden.blogspot.com/2011/02/carl-sagan-in-his-own-words-normal-0.html"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Carl Sagan || In His Own Words</b></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXs8y9ISTkj2buW7NwrY6d2IFGU0hWLC3UgMLyMDBXpPon8j7jY8nojCsV-Ci-uftdhZ3-F-3Ay3veZZRZNX7eqQGEZZPNBLKnbk5Xv1SjIQyn1IXhfYSSegda9LKe2tDo07KPUSPljnu0/s1600/2009-11-01-Carl+Sagan+Trading+Card.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXs8y9ISTkj2buW7NwrY6d2IFGU0hWLC3UgMLyMDBXpPon8j7jY8nojCsV-Ci-uftdhZ3-F-3Ay3veZZRZNX7eqQGEZZPNBLKnbk5Xv1SjIQyn1IXhfYSSegda9LKe2tDo07KPUSPljnu0/s400/2009-11-01-Carl+Sagan+Trading+Card.jpg" width="322" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><m:smallfrac m:val="off"> <m:dispdef> <m:lmargin m:val="0"> <m:rmargin m:val="0"> <m:defjc m:val="centerGroup"> <m:wrapindent m:val="1440"> <m:intlim m:val="subSup"> <m:narylim m:val="undOvr"> </m:narylim></m:intlim> </m:wrapindent><span style="font-family: "MS Mincho"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">❝</span><b><i><span class="body" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">In order to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe.</span></i></b> <m:smallfrac m:val="off"> <m:dispdef> <m:lmargin m:val="0"> <m:rmargin m:val="0"> <m:defjc m:val="centerGroup"> <m:wrapindent m:val="1440"> <m:intlim m:val="subSup"> <m:narylim m:val="undOvr"> </m:narylim></m:intlim> </m:wrapindent><span style="font-family: "MS Mincho"; font-size: 16pt; line-height: 115%;">❞</span><b><i><span class="body" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> ~ Carl Sagan</span><span class="bodybold" style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><a href="http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/quotes/c/carlsagan137409.html"></a> </span></i></b> </m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac>TheWritersDenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906707226438261959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5801065285244416213.post-41860880878202983052011-02-08T19:34:00.000-08:002011-02-08T19:34:35.695-08:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Zadie Smith || In Her Own Words</b></span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7eu-Sh_jlg4yAXjRGdQ0VBZzP3vlXJsh0TuYk5lDZNnbCTQ9XUUhJLgzVbjU5qzQ0ME948eRLI2zv4lKLcp09XLwwqZUYfaMv_-Fa1nXbXfA5xpgW64oiTin_BXiLQYD12Lei3o_yLc_n/s1600/Zadie+Smith.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7eu-Sh_jlg4yAXjRGdQ0VBZzP3vlXJsh0TuYk5lDZNnbCTQ9XUUhJLgzVbjU5qzQ0ME948eRLI2zv4lKLcp09XLwwqZUYfaMv_-Fa1nXbXfA5xpgW64oiTin_BXiLQYD12Lei3o_yLc_n/s400/Zadie+Smith.jpg" width="301" /></a></div><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><b><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">"The ideal reader cannot sleep when holding the writer he was meant to be with."</span> <br />
— <a class="authorNameRegular" href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/2522.Zadie_Smith">Zadie Smith</a></b></span><br />
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</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"The past is always tense, the future perfect." — Zadie Smith</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"The very reason I write is so that I might not sleepwalk through my entire life."</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">— Zadie Smith </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"The future's another country, man... And I still ain't got a passport. "</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">— Zadie Smith</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"When I write I am trying to express my way of being in the world. This is primarily a process of elimination: once you have removed all the dead language, the second-hand dogma, the truths that are not your own but other people's, the mottoes, the slogans, the out-and-out lies of your nation, the myths of your historical moment - once you have removed all that warps experience into a shape you do not recognize and do not believe in - what you are left with is something approximating the truth of your own conception." — Zadie Smith</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"Pulchritude--beauty where you would least suspect it, hidden in a word that looked like it should signify a belch or a skin infection." — Zadie Smith</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"He was bookish, she was not; he was theoretical, she political. She called a rose a rose. He called it an accumulation of cultural and biological constructions circulating around the mutually attracting binary poles of nature/artifice." — Zadie Smith </span></div>TheWritersDenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906707226438261959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5801065285244416213.post-8716748021925308452011-01-17T10:03:00.000-08:002011-01-17T10:05:20.003-08:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://wikiden.blogspot.com/2011/01/martin-luther-king-in-his-own-words-o-n.html"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Martin Luther King || In His Own Words</span></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4jPXayNYoGSlKNwfYJ8LadHTD38RJQLNxUUAZdPJq2CH_It9OXuh_7bjCY5Oer-QZX6iNVrPl6ke0XZt4DU6rBsf7UY6IHqkWEYbX75uS1xm9ZVqI8UfM_CIyWQY7HnXMMoBVD2d_Lq77/s1600/rosaparks6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="321" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4jPXayNYoGSlKNwfYJ8LadHTD38RJQLNxUUAZdPJq2CH_It9OXuh_7bjCY5Oer-QZX6iNVrPl6ke0XZt4DU6rBsf7UY6IHqkWEYbX75uS1xm9ZVqI8UfM_CIyWQY7HnXMMoBVD2d_Lq77/s400/rosaparks6.jpg" width="470" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span><b><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span></b></span><br />
<i><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">"</span></span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">O</span></span><span style="font-size: large;">n some positions, Cowardice asks the question, "Is it safe?" Expediency asks the question, "Is it political?" And Vanity comes along and asks the question, "Is it popular?" But Conscience asks the question "Is it right?" And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor political, nor popular, but he must do it because Conscience tells him it is right." </span></i></div><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">— <a class="authorNameRegular" href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/23924.Martin_Luther_King_Jr_">Martin Luther King Jr.</a></span>TheWritersDenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906707226438261959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5801065285244416213.post-35879227490323350942011-01-13T20:20:00.000-08:002011-01-13T20:20:03.098-08:00<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><a href="http://bit.ly/eNLBsL"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Stephen King || In His Own Words</b></span></a></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"> <a href="http://bit.ly/eNLBsL">Quotes on Writing and Other Things</a></span></div><br />
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<m:smallfrac m:val="off"><m:dispdef><m:lmargin m:val="0"><m:rmargin m:val="0"><m:defjc m:val="centerGroup"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="entry-content"><span style="font-family: "MS Mincho"; line-height: 115%;">❝</span></span></span><span style="font-size: large;">Talent is a wonderful thing, but it won't carry a quitter.<span class="entry-content"><span style="font-family: "MS Mincho"; line-height: 115%;">❞</span><span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"> </span><b><span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif"; line-height: 115%;"> </span></b></span></span></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac><br />
<m:smallfrac m:val="off"><m:dispdef><m:lmargin m:val="0"><m:rmargin m:val="0"><m:defjc m:val="centerGroup"><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="entry-content"><b><span style="font-family: "Cambria Math","serif"; line-height: 115%;">~</span></b></span></span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">Stephen King </span></m:defjc></m:rmargin></m:lmargin></m:dispdef></m:smallfrac><br />
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<a class="authorNameRegular" href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/3389.Stephen_King"></a>TheWritersDenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906707226438261959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5801065285244416213.post-32329179216415657452011-01-09T10:49:00.000-08:002011-01-09T10:50:20.018-08:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://wikiden.blogspot.com/2011/01/william-faulkner-in-his-own-words-read.html"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">William Faulkner || In His Own Words </b></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEm1CC4g6m012-8R24D9lZ5aTWgRWlw81oOzaZpU3DnFUqncruiPjh6i0Hxr-h8xLg00SsWDqw0AyflhosjyuVqbFhkTV0eHoqZrvw0uYfqAe3fOXgwRYr6oTZGyode9AS30D75BHajjyd/s1600/faulkner_in_paris_l.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEm1CC4g6m012-8R24D9lZ5aTWgRWlw81oOzaZpU3DnFUqncruiPjh6i0Hxr-h8xLg00SsWDqw0AyflhosjyuVqbFhkTV0eHoqZrvw0uYfqAe3fOXgwRYr6oTZGyode9AS30D75BHajjyd/s320/faulkner_in_paris_l.jpg" width="248" /></a></div><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><i style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">❝ Read, read, read. Read everything - trash, classics, good and bad, and see how they do it. Just like a carpenter who works as an apprentice and studies the master. Read! You'll absorb it. Then write.❞ </i></span><br />
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</div><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: large;">༺༻ William Faulkner</span>TheWritersDenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906707226438261959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5801065285244416213.post-26968609326120516122011-01-06T11:24:00.000-08:002011-01-06T11:25:15.248-08:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://wikiden.blogspot.com/2011/01/evening-with-ray-bradbury-2001-science.html"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>An Evening With Ray Bradbury || 2001</b></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><i>Science fiction author Ray Bradbury regales his audience with stories about his life and love of writing in "Telling the Truth," the keynote address of The Sixth Annual Writer's Symposium by the Sea, sponsored by Point Loma Nazarene University. Series: Writer's Symposium By The Sea ...</i><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><object height="405" width="470"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/_W-r7ABrMYU?fs=1&hl=en_US&border=1"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/_W-r7ABrMYU?fs=1&hl=en_US&border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="470" height="405"></embed></object></div>TheWritersDenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906707226438261959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5801065285244416213.post-15716288254743649222011-01-03T20:05:00.000-08:002011-01-03T20:08:03.281-08:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://wikiden.blogspot.com/2011/01/tuesdays-with-morrie-man-himself-this.html"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Tuesdays With Morrie || The Man Himself</b></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">This was the subject of Mitch Albom's best-selling book 'Tuesdays With Morrie', Professor Morrie Schwartz, former sociology teacher at Brandeis University. Here in an interview with Ted Koppel Morrie shares his lessons on life, in his final class.</span></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/dcnL2o385Gw?fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/dcnL2o385Gw?fs=1&hl=en_US&color1=0xe1600f&color2=0xfebd01" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object></div>TheWritersDenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906707226438261959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5801065285244416213.post-3004237798807595522011-01-02T17:42:00.000-08:002011-01-02T17:59:52.405-08:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">E.B. White || In His Own Words</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">"...Delay is natural to a writer. I walk around, straightening pictures on the wall, rugs on the floor - as though not until everything in the world is lined up and perfectly true could anybody reasonable expect me to set a word down on paper ..." </span></i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><i><span style="font-size: large;">- E. B. White</span></i></div><br />
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<div style="color: #cc0000; font-family: Times,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span><a href="http://bit.ly/ggnBw1"><span style="font-size: large;">Currently posted: </span><span style="font-size: large;">'The Shut Up And Write' Official User Manual</span></a></div>TheWritersDenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906707226438261959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5801065285244416213.post-45708178581844493772011-01-01T12:10:00.000-08:002011-01-01T12:10:07.298-08:00<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://davidhuntershaw.blogspot.com/2011/01/bare-bones-writing-dig-it-lost-blog.html"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Bare Bones Writing – Dig It!</b></span></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">The Lost Blog Post</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>This was a post I was supposed to put up at the Writer's Den in late November, explaining my futile and strange writing process while attempting National Novel Writing Month. At the time it sounded rather whiny and excuse-laden (typical David!) but upon re-reading it I find that it's quite interesting: it illustrates the inner workings of a writer In Media Res; in the midst of the chaos we call 'Writing'. So enjoy my first blog post of</i> <i>2011, a little thing called ... Bare Bones Writing.</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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"...But still I keep writing, leaving a trail of badly composed (or decomposed) phrases and half realized scenes ..."<br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> T</b></span>hree weeks ago I was cajoled into taking part in National Novel Writing Month, not because I was shamed into it, but because I saw how much fun everyone was having in the grand attempt to get a book written in 30 days.</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><br />
Did I say fun? Ha!<br />
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Sure, the word count starts off at a manageable clip: 1666 words a day. But when you miss a day, that total climbs by 58 words, then 118, and so on. There’s really no time to mess around. When you start missing two or three days, well, it gets ugly, but the prospect of a marathon session of 10,000 words always seems to soothe the blasted soul and scuppers the guilt for a while.<br />
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Until you miss another day, and another. And, who wants to slug out 10,000 words under such pressure? <br />
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This is what happens when you start to ponder the incoherent mess being dictated on the pages of your novel ...<a href="http://davidhuntershaw.blogspot.com/2011/01/bare-bones-writing-dig-it-lost-blog.html" style="color: #cc0000;"><b style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">CONT. -></b></a>TheWritersDenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906707226438261959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5801065285244416213.post-82678707004879010782010-12-31T11:12:00.000-08:002010-12-31T11:27:34.280-08:00<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; font-size: x-large;"><b> <a href="http://davidhuntershaw.blogspot.com/2010/12/last-blog-post-2010-year-end-address.html">The Last Blog Post || 2010</a></b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Year End Address || David Hunter</span></div><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b>A</b></span>t the end of my first decade on this planet, when 1979 turned over to 1980, I remember being frightened by the number. It represented the unknown, and for a little kid the unknown was awfully scary. When the 80’s ended I was more concerned at how strange the number 1990 looked. And in 1999 …<br />
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Well, you get the picture.<br />
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I’m nostalgic by nature; I used to get sentimental watching final episodes of old TV shows (The best was M*A*S*H, but the saddest was The Wonder Years …) and watching a new year turn over always gave me that weird feeling, that sensation of being hurled into unknown territory, after all, the New Year is unscripted, an unknown quality. What lies beyond December 31st, 2010? Who knows.<br />
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It’s all in the mind of course; there’s no cataclysmic changes set to occur on January 1st, 2011, but the very date suggests change, catharsis, new meanings, new resolves, new feelings, new directions; and when the winds of change take hold people tend to go with the flow. In other words, <i>people</i> will change things, not a date on a calendar. But oh what those changes bring!<br />
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Because it’s not just a new year, but a new decade, and if you look back, you’ll find that the turn of a decade brings about great changes (See 1950: Rock ‘n Roll, 1960: Hippies, long hair, Psychedelia, 1970: Disco, Earth-tones and Heavy Metal, 1980: New Wave, MTV, Rap …etc, etc ... and with that in mind, I guess there's nothing we can do but ride the wave of this coming decade, and see where it takes us.<br />
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<b><i>One resolution I have made, and try always to keep, is this: To rise above the little things. ~ John Burroughs<br />
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So here’s to the people we left behind, the old ideas, the old ideologies, the old words, the old fads, crazes and trends, the old clothes, the old music, the old movies, the old TV shows, the old books, the old tragedies, calamities and disasters ... but not the old friends: those we keep, along with our hope for a better world.<br />
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It’s a new decade; let’s make something new of it, okay?<br />
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Happy New Year, from David Hunter and the Writer’s Den.<br />
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<span style="font-size: medium;"><b>Le Buzz on David Hunter</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><br />
I’ve been growing rather static on the blog front, so I decided to try and improve the Writer’s Den with a few changes. Mostly, the changes consist of writing more content (and more writing is always a good thing …) and adding more features. One of those features is a new Dashboard called <a href="http://wikiden.blogspot.com/">Wiki-Den</a>, intended as a hub for all my activity: links to stories, articles, Writing Resources and other things. It’s a ‘Wiki’ because it’s short and quick information for the time-challenged peruser. And lord knows we’re all a little time-challenged …<br />
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I want to thank all of the Den’s readers, you made this blog possible; I know it’s been wildly inconsistent and there have been long stretches between posts, but I hope to rectify that in the New Year (Hope!) and I wish you all the best. Be blessed, and take care. May we meet again soon.<br />
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Time to go: It’s almost 2011, and there’s a party waiting.</div>TheWritersDenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906707226438261959noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5801065285244416213.post-27936386519713467852010-12-30T17:18:00.000-08:002010-12-30T17:18:40.150-08:00<h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: large;">Retro Den Presents: </span></span></span></h3><h3 class="post-title entry-title" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://davidhuntershaw.blogspot.com/2009/10/writers-life-bohemian-manifesto.html"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The Writer’s Life: A Bohemian Manifesto </span></span></a></h3><div class="post-header"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMc1UHTC4rI3Txtq5NX6328nUq6lyDlJSpy0rBkMoNZwuZ9BosWzAztWepn1RtgCQ5MHN30SMLDDWXkaAEROkEfrlWc1SbYD-zB9HQi9hhjjZUTOUidgi1NPB9TrbYbO8LXQOAiCJQLJ1_/s1600/writer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMc1UHTC4rI3Txtq5NX6328nUq6lyDlJSpy0rBkMoNZwuZ9BosWzAztWepn1RtgCQ5MHN30SMLDDWXkaAEROkEfrlWc1SbYD-zB9HQi9hhjjZUTOUidgi1NPB9TrbYbO8LXQOAiCJQLJ1_/s320/writer.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;">"... The writing has taken over. I feel like a true bohemian lately ..."</span></i><br />
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<span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Y</b></span>ou wouldn’t believe how I’ve been living lately; food has been a low priority. So has housekeeping; there are articles, magazines, newspaper clippings and related dementia strewn across my work area. Seems my books have been multiplying like rabbits too (although I have twelve thousand books, I still felt compelled to buy Stephen King’s Detective novel The Colorado Kid for two bucks at a yard sale) When I do eat I take impatient spoon-full’s of food, chew hastily and return to my computer; I’ve been subsisting on PB & J sandwiches and tea. The writing has taken over. I feel like a true bohemian lately.</div><br />
<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">It’s the book of course, isn’t it always? And the blogs, like this one. I think about them all day, then I come home and think about them some more, then whenever the synapses are firing correctly I dive in and try to get something down on the page before my famously wiggy short-term memory kicks in and wipes the slate clean. Sometimes I stew over an idea (usually at 5 AM or thereabouts) and get all excited and start wandering in circles, coffee in hand, searching for a pen or something to scribble a note on<span style="font-size: small;"> ... <a href="http://davidhuntershaw.blogspot.com/2009/10/writers-life-bohemian-manifesto.html"><b>Cont -></b></a></span></div>TheWritersDenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906707226438261959noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5801065285244416213.post-89547569867642881072010-12-29T20:26:00.000-08:002010-12-29T20:40:50.610-08:00<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;"><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="http://wikiden.blogspot.com/2010/12/loren-eiseley-in-his-own-words.html"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Loren Eiseley || In His Own Words</b></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMRdvwkRBeE9cFbWF0wWH1RxOjzh3c39G_-4UM9oz-dPEG71CoUQaSVfh2AiWyBoqQCow6vlaUt6A9OdYGA7V7xO_VX9GmcH4xa1PWqL8XArX_Tji3RrI_2P9zwnqR3ZTiT2Uby4KYQLQ/s1600/ALORENEISELEYABOL2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMRdvwkRBeE9cFbWF0wWH1RxOjzh3c39G_-4UM9oz-dPEG71CoUQaSVfh2AiWyBoqQCow6vlaUt6A9OdYGA7V7xO_VX9GmcH4xa1PWqL8XArX_Tji3RrI_2P9zwnqR3ZTiT2Uby4KYQLQ/s1600/ALORENEISELEYABOL2.jpg" /></a></div><br />
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<i><span style="font-size: large;"><span class="body">"... Man is always marveling at what he has blown apart, never at what the universe has put together, and this is his limitation ..." </span></span></i><br />
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</a> </span><i><b><span style="font-size: small;">- Loren Eiseley</span></b></i><br />
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<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">"</span><span style="font-size: x-large;">W</span>hile wandering a deserted beach at dawn, stagnant in my work, I saw a man in the distance bending and throwing as he walked the endless stretch toward me. As he came near, I could see that he was throwing starfish, abandoned on the sand by the tide, back into the sea. When he was close enough I asked him why he was working so hard at this strange task. He said that the sun would dry the starfish and they would die. I said to him that I thought he was foolish. there were thousands of starfish on miles and miles of beach. One man alone could never make a difference. He smiled as he picked up the next starfish. Hurling it far into the sea he said, "It makes a difference for this one." I abandoned my writing and spent the morning throwing starfish."</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">— Loren Eiseley</span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><br />
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<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"One does not meet oneself until one catches the reflection from an eye other than human." </span></div><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">— <a class="authorNameRegular" href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/56782.Loren_Eiseley">Loren Eiseley</a></span></div><br />
<div style="float: left; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-right: 2%; width: 83%;"><div class="quoteText"><span style="font-size: small;">"To have dragons one must have change; that is the first principle of dragon lore." — <a class="authorNameRegular" href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/quotes/56782.Loren_Eiseley">Loren Eiseley</a></span> </div></div><div style="float: left; font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; margin-right: 2%; width: 83%;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><br />
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</div>TheWritersDenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11906707226438261959noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5801065285244416213.post-47741455588197114932010-12-29T12:33:00.000-08:002010-12-29T12:33:14.233-08:00<div style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-large;"><b>Harlan Ellison: Pay the Writer!</b></span></div><br />
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