And, one more time... let's do it!
(too lazy to edit a double post)
Cellini's Autobio, didja read it? An amazingly readable read for such an oldie. Thinking now of Vasari's fingrnails... reminds me, it does, of Gus, somehow...
Gus you are great! A whiz of a storyteller. I enjoyed it immensely!
Maybe you could keep the saga of "Bob and Pat" going- I wouldn't doubt it. I took license
with the facts (somewhat) as I was told them--- and I think you took them and RAN
(I kinda feel bad for your character, though, living in a box----
and, uh...I don't know what was going on in '34
Keep up your writing Gus. You are "Entertainment Personified!!"
Well, now I am waiting to see if my cowriters are game (or even gamey). Then we have to settle the details at that time, whether on this thread or another.
I'm up for being involved in writing the history of gus....I am torn between two titles: "Tales From the Swamp, the Gus Saga," or "Saint Gustav: The Capybara Within."
A Day no Pigs Would Die and Written on the Wind are already taken.
That's an interesting tale, Jackie. The young man in particular was well drwan, and the surprise twist was very welcome.
Thank you Edgar,
I am anxiously awaiting the reading of more of yours, Cav's and others.
I can show you a few pages I was working on last night.
EXTREMELY intriguing, Edgar. I hope the rest will not take too long.
It is very involved and hard to keep apace, I know, but I never lost interest for a moment...
Anxious to read the ending now.
I meant that the body of the work is in sore need of revision in many areas. But you have essentially seen the whole story. Sorry if you expected more.
I saw the number 5- just sort of dangling there like another chapter.
Edgar, I wanted ASSURANCES that the courageous woman and her children GOT AWAY!!
(i mean, really! It is a stirring story!
It's the nature of many short stories to leave the reader to ponder possible outcomes. Have youread du Maurier's The Birds. It's a few pages long. Her tale ends right when it becomes a cause for concern that the birds are gathering in a threatening manner. It was up to Hitchcock and a screenwriter or two to make it what it was on film.
I can't help smiling at Jackie for the same sentimentality I have when reading.
I want it always to have a "happy" ending
This is a GOOD short story Edgar. Creates imagination for the reader as to events- stirs anger, hope, surprise--- a host of feelings.
Of course we keep telling you that you are a good writer!
Your stories are good too, Jackie- I like your style.
I think the time is right for me to introduce a little romance to this thread. The following story was written by my alter ego, Vilhelm Flugheim. It is based on a true story; the tale of my first encounter with my beloved Gertrude. It will probably cause you to weep, and for this I ask you forgiveness. But hopefully the tears will dry and you will sigh as you think of the passion which unfolded in the barn on that fateful day.
by Vilhelm Flugheim
It wasn't the most pleasant job. I was lying in mud underneath my manure spreader, fixing a broken chain. I tightened the bolt gingerly; causing the slightest movement would cause bits of manure to break free from the bed and drop into my eyes, or worse, my mouth. Several times I had spit out the foul-tasting material.
Finally, the job was complete. I grabbed the underside of the manure spreader and quickly pulled myself free from the hellish cramped quarters which had confined me for the better part of an hour.
My head bumped something. Something soft and pudgy. An ankle. I looked up to see two enormous white legs climbing upward into what appeared to be and enormous polka dot tent.
I rolled to the side and looked up to see Gertrude, the plump waitress from "Rocky's Diner" staring down at me. She was holding an apple pie. And smiling.
"Hello, Vilhelm," she said, "I saw you working on your manure spreader when I was leaving work, so I ran back to the restaurant and grabbed you an apple pie. I cooked it myself."
I was stunned. I could tell by the look in her eye that she was attracted to me. I had never noticed that before. Oh sure, I had noticed her alright, waltzing around the restaurant with platters of food, laughing, joking with the customers, her flesh jiggling on the underside of her arms as she whisked through the double doors into the kitchen. But I had never, in my wildest dreams, thought that I may one day have the opportunity to bed down this plump creature in the polka dot dress.
I stood up and said, "Why thank you, Gertrude, I am a bit hungry."
Gazing into each others eyes for an eternity we both had the sensation of drowning in the other's soul. It was an electric moment. Eventually the spell was broken and we began the long walk toward the picnic table.
We ate the pie with our arms interlocked, feeding each other as we gazed dreamily, knowing that soon we would be in the throes of passion. Soon the polka dot dress would be draped over one of the stalls in the haybarn and the horses and cows would fidget nervously as the strange guttural sounds emanated from the haypile in the corner.
But for now we fed each other. And our desire burned like a slow fire in a peat bog.