A Lesson Before Writing

Have you ever said you were going to do something only to later regret it? I’m sure most people can relate to being in that position at one time or another. Well, I find myself there yet again, and like most times it’s because of my desire to help someone. I was hoping to turn you on to a good book when I promised the author, a local sister who boasts "best seller" status, that I would definitely read her story and to boot, I would promote it here. At the time, I was excited because this author has written nine novels and according to the word of a local bookstore owner, one of her self published titles sold over 60,000 copies. She's been on the Essence best seller list, so I just knew class was going to be in session when I cracked the book open. Never mind the fact that it was urban fiction -- not my favorite genre -- because I was sure with all those accolades that I was going to enjoy the book anyway. However, I'm sorry to say, that was not the case. I didn't make it past page thirty.

If you follow my blog regularly, you will remember in my 365 day challenge (I'm behind on my writing projects by the way - but not for long) that I also promised to read and review some writers. So that is what brings me here today. I'm keeping my word to the author, who will remain nameless for now, and I'm keeping my word to you, the viewer of my humble pages.

Before I get into this, let me first say the premise of the story was good. While I didn't read the entire book, my college age daughter and a co-worker that I let borrow the book did read it in it's entirety. My daughter said it was "typical" urban fiction, but I'm not sure what that meant since I don't read it and my co-workers said she liked the story (she said it was a good little nasty book) but she also agreed to some of the reasons why I didn't like it. So, why didn't I take to it? It's simple; It was poorly written. I know someone might be thinking, Rich is hating. Truthfully, I'm not. I'm actually disappointed that the book wasn't an all around treat as I expected, but it is a good model for some of the things I've been wanting to discuss about writing. So, before anyone gives me “the business” let me explain.

In the pages that I read, I realized that the author was prone to writing paragraphs that are mechanical in nature. As a reader, it was hard to engage in the story while accepting the delivery. Here’s an example of what I mean. In this excerpt, the female character is speaking; I have altered the names to maintain the anonymity of the book.

I turned on some soft music and went over to the small sofa in the far corner of the room. After taking a seat, I removed my peach linen stilettos and propped my feet up on the coffee table in front of me. I unbuttoned my white silk blouse and leaned back. Thinking deeply about what Marcus was up to, I put the bottle up to my lips and tilted it. I gulped down a few sips of Martel and put the bottle on the table in front of me. I then reached for my cell phone clipped to my skirt and dialed his number. Surprisingly, he answered.

Surprisingly, I made it to page thirty! I will say that the entire book is not written in this way, I skimmed some of the other sections, but there are enough instances that it would irritate the crap out of me. As a writer, you shouldn't have to describe every little thing to get your point across. That's my beef with the passage above and similar passages in the book.

The other thing that bothered me in the story was the poor use of descriptive language. There are times in the story when the author could simply use a different choice of words and it would have made for a world of difference. Alright, I know what you are thinking, “Maybe that is just her style. Writers should be free to have their own style, right?” Most definitely, but there should be some standards that we all should live by if we are going to call ourselves writers, let alone authors. Stephen King gives great tips in his book On Writing, if you decide you want to hear it from someone who's been in the game longer. The second half of his book deals exclusively with how to be a better writer.



But since he's not here, you can take it from me. Check out these sentences from the book.

As I got ready to hit the busy streets of St. Louis, I stood in the bathroom’s doorway with my white T-shirt and blue police officer pants on.

This is the sentence that revealed to the readers that the leading male character was a cop. It was also the sentence that made me realize this read was going to take a lot of energy. If you don’t know what’s wrong with the sentence I’ll just pray now that you are a reader and not a writer. In the meantime, try this next one on for size.

Thomas handcuffed him and read him his rights. After he lifted him from the floor, Thomas searched his pockets and shoved him in my direction.

“Marcus, take this bastard to the police car. I’m gon’ stay and talk to the young lady to see what happened.” (without reading the book, you probably wouldn't get this one, but the author kept referring to their patrol car or squad car as a police car and that just didn't bode well with me since it was two cops in the scene).

And this one:

I changed clothes, and since I didn’t want to drive my police (there it is again) car to Gabrielle’s house, I drove my white Dodge Ram truck with major horsepower that was already parked on the lot.

I don't think I need to speak to these examples more than I already have. Again, in the thirty pages I read, I kept encountering sentences like these so I just gave up on the book.

Now on the positive side, the author does at times find her stride and narrates well and creates good dialogue. However, on a whole, I think she may have rushed this effort out of the gate a bit too soon.

Needless to say, I toiled with whether I should write this review, but I ended up compromising by not exposing the author or the title. At worst, reviews are pompous outpourings of our own self indulgent opinions about a particular work, but at best it is a pure objective examination of the work in question. You’ll never please everyone. In fact, by merely writing, you will offend someone. With that said, I still hope my comments will encourage those that write to push themselves to be the best they can. As far as the writer who is the beneficiary of this review, she is a real nice sister and it's likely that we'll run into each other again so I wanted to be kind. I’m not in her inner circle, but if by chance she reads this, I hope that she sees that my main goal is to inspire her to higher heights. Although, this may be a bitter pill for her to swallow since it is her ninth title. I suspect that when a writer manages to garner sales and attract a publisher who is able to broaden that writer’s distribution that it is hard to hear from those of us who have yet to fully walk in their shoes. But I would challenge any writer to never stop developing their talent in the craft. Take some writing classes; try a different editor – one that will push you. And read other good writers, which I'm sure would help this writer immensely since I read an interview posted on her website that stated she didn't read any of the well known writers. Instead she read a lot of the authors that are up and coming, writers that she have become acquainted with I'm sure. I know she was trying to cast a little light on her friends, but I think she should reconsider her position on which writers to read.

In the end, the bottom line is that writing takes work. It is one of those things that I have found that you truly have to love enough to do for free. It can’t be about some perceived fame or big paycheck that comes as a result of writing a book. If you think that way, you will learn, sooner or later, that it just doesn’t work that way.

Now that I've given my views, I'd like to hear from you, what are some of the things that draw you to a particular writer?

About the host:
Rich Fitzgerald is the author of the short story "One to Remember" featured in Love and Redemption (Bloggers' Delight Vol. 1), a collection of short stories by authors who blog. To read excerpts or to order a copy of the title, visit i-Lit. The book is also available on Amazon.

The Free Class

It seemed that only at the two extremes of society, the very top and the very bottom, could there be seen or felt any real freedom.

Very interesting point of view, I thought, while reading "A Father's Law", the recently released previously unpublished final story of literary pioneer Richard Wright. Through his character Rudolph "Ruddy" Turner, a black police captain during the 30's and 40's, Wright tackles issues surrounding both class and race, amongst other intricacies. When I came upon the aforementioned text I thought about it's validity and concluded that Wright had with great precision targeted the free class in America. The middle class as it seems was the only class at odds with it's existence. Scared to fall into the depths of the poor and ever striving to join the ranks of the "comfortable" as they lived a life characterized by both fear and struggle, but never freedom.

Pondering this some more, I was reminded of a guy a few years my senior who I have had occasion to employ over the past few years. I recalled how Clyde Rivers, not his real name, while happy to work for me, didn't seek employment regularly. Although a hard and focused worker when he engaged the practice of earning a living, he chose to work only when he deemed it absolutely necessary. When he had to pay a utility, a fine, or other legality that threatened his way of life. When he wasn't working, he was living life as he wished, moving freely about the urban jungle entertaining "tricks" and other government subsidized citizens. I often scratched my head at this, marveling at the loss potential of what appeared to be an otherwise intelligent brother. What had gone wrong? I wondered. Why did he fail to engage the same work ethic when not agreeing to my offer of service? Surely, it wasn't for lack of an opportunity. But now, after considering Wright's theory I see things differently and I'm left to wonder if it is I and those like myself "saddled" in the middle class that are worse off.

Current day politicians speak of a war on the middle class, words I considered as a method of pandering to gain the affections of most Americans, but now I think the thought bears considering. Is the middle class the only group of Americans in bondage? Poor people have accepted their position in life on some level. And while they may rail against the government at times with regard to policies, they accept their position as the way it is. The brighter of the group have gone as for as devising well thought out plans that allow them to watch their favorite television programs, indulge in illicit activity all while receiving their economic sustenance while I labor week in and week out to afford such trivial items as the 53" HDTV that I have my eye on. And I thought I was smart. It would appear, by Ruddy Turner's view, that I am but a slave seeking how to be free.


Purchase online - Richard Wright: A Father's Law



About the host:
Rich Fitzgerald is the author of the short story "One to Remember" featured in Love and Redemption (Bloggers' Delight Vol. 1), a collection of short stories by authors who blog. To read excerpts or to order a copy of the title, visit i-Lit. The book is also available on Amazon.

chance encounters 5

chance encounters pt. 1
chance encounters pt. 2
chance encounters pt. 3
chance encounters pt. 4

chance encounters 5

Since meeting Kayla I seemed to be unraveling like a braided cord under duress. Not only have I had eyes for her, but my overall defenses have been down. I’ve abandoned church altogether. I can’t stand being a hypocrite. I’ve also been overly responsive to other attractive women. So far restraint has allowed me to dodge the bullet of infidelity, but I sense myself spiraling towards the point of no return. It’s almost like I’m watching the actions of another man. Like it’s not me who’s doing any of this. I feel like I need to do something about it, but I feel helpless, like a sheep heading into slaughter.

***

Sometimes trouble is like a game of chicken. You find yourself face to face with it but for the simple fear of being called scared you avoid getting out of the way; you continue traveling head long into it knowing “this is a mistake.”

My thoughts kept coming around to that very conclusion while I took the twenty-minute drive to Kayla’s. I reasoned that I had already sinned in my mind, so carrying it out wouldn’t be a big deal. I’d just repent afterwards. It’s what everybody did.

***

As I made my way down the L shaped stairs toward her bedroom, I tried calming my nerves by taking a sip of the drink she had prepared for us. Grand Marnier and Orange Juice. The same drink we sipped on the night we met. She remembered. I liked that about her. She paid attention to me. Remembered things I told her in conversations and made me feel like what was going on in my life mattered. With Sheila I was just somebody to pay the bills, take out the trash, keep the cars clean and whatever other “man” stuff she had for me to do. We had become each other’s answer to duty. But it wasn’t like that with Kayla. The more I thought about it the firmer my decision became. I could do this. Hell, I deserved this! Besides, I was tired of putting up with Sheila’s benevolent vaginal offerings.

I knocked. A voice came from the opposite side, “Come in.” I should have taken another sip of my drink, because I wasn’t ready for the image that was waiting for me. There she was -- bent at the waist, legs straight, red thong smiling, as she strapped on her black heels while standing next to what appeared to be a pole.

“You got to be kidding me….a stripper pole,” I said clearly not hiding the surprise in my voice.
“I figured it would be fun.” She said with a smile “A way to take the tension out of the evening. I borrowed it from one of my girlfriends. You know Robin, the one I told you about with all the men. She takes a pole dancing class. I sat in on it a couple of times and learned a few moves.”

“Boy, I can’t wait to see those.”

“Well, I tell you what, you take a seat by the door there, enjoy your drink and let me do the rest.”

As she walked to the other side of the room my eyes helplessly followed. I hadn’t even undressed and this was better than anything Sheila and I had ever done. When we had sex it was good, but it was pretty well orchestrated, never a surprise. I could always tell when she was ready to have sex simply by the way she dressed for bed. We rarely did it when I wanted to. She controlled everything, just sucked the spontaneity right out of our sex life, which made this evening more of a treat.

“Well, you sure threw me off with the jazz you had playing.”

“I didn’t want you to think you were coming up in here to get raped. Although, I can’t wait to see what’s underneath all that clothing you have on.”

“That’s not a problem at all. As a matter of fact, I can lose some of it right now.”

“I have a better idea. Why don’t you let me start the music, dance a little for you and unwrap my present myself.”

That said she clicked the remote in her hand. The familiar chords of a keyboard begin to play as Prince’s Diamond and Pearls started our first act of the evening. I leaned back in my chair, took a sip and begin to drink Kayla in slowly. Her calculated movements towards me caused me to stiffen. I repositioned myself just in time for her to come and straddle my leg.

***

Button… Zipper… Pull…. Hot kisses. I’m buzzed. In between sets, we got blunted while I gave her some of my own foreplay. In return, baby girl has been swirling, spinning, sliding, nibbling and licking me into a frenzied heat. Somehow I’ve only managed to lose my shirt. “Not yet,” she keeps saying, her nakedness testing me as she grinds her body against mine amid the intoxicating sounds of pleasure. “I want to taste you.” She finally whispers. So eager to please, I begin removing my remaining clothing. With my strength finally free of restraint she takes me in her hand while looking down admiringly at her new prized possession. I smile knowing I’ve made good on my boasting, but the look in her eyes begins to change. I can’t quite make it out. Somehow delight has turned to horror. My awareness doesn’t fully set in until I feel the unforgiving metal pressed against the back of my ear. I hear the hammer pull back and set into place. “Make one false move and I’ll kill you dead,” came a voice smelling of cigarettes and two-day-old drunkenness. “Now get on over there on that bed….the both of you. I bet you didn’t think I’d find you did you Mae Francis?”

“Julius!? How the hell did you get in here?”

“You know this guy?” I said trying to figure out how I just went from screwing to getting seemingly screwed. This guy Julius didn’t seem like her type at all, and why was he calling her Mae Francis.

“Does she know me? How the hell you think she gone forget me, I’m her husband.”

“Her husband!” I said in disbelief, then turning my head to Kayla or whatever her name was I said, “ I thought you said you weren’t married.”

“No….I said….a husband is something I’ve never wanted.”

“Well look a here…..Mister Lover Man just found out you ain’t nothing but a lying ass ho. So you don’t want me eh? Is that why I caught you with your filthy hands around another man’s Johnson! I should of killed you when I had the chance. Now you got this son of a bitch in here, so I guess I got to kill the both of ya.”

“Umm, hey uhhh….This sounds like a private matter, I ain’t got nothing to do with this.” I didn’t want to leave old girl hanging, but this was some of her twisted chickens coming home to roost.

“Ohhh, you got everything to do with this Mister Lover Man. You and every filthy low life that’s running around just like you.” His blood shot eyes pierced me, no, stabbed me with the guilt that was impossible to deny. Our nakedness a testament to his every word. “The nerve of you sleeping with a married woman….my woman.”

“But I didn’t know she was married,” I pleaded.

“That still doesn’t excuse you because you’re married too.” He caught the look in my eyes having found me out. “Thought I didn’t know that, didn’t you? I saw you slipping your ring off in the car before you ran up in here. You shoulda drove your ass home to your own wife, now you got to pay too.”

I tried to find the words that would get me out of this mess. Something that would help me to get safely back home to Sheila, but nothing was coming to me.

“Don’t do this, I’ll do whatever you want,” Kayla said standing, trying to appeal to him sexually. In one swift motion he raises his left hand and backhands her to the floor, spilling some of the contents of the bottle he was holding.

“Get your filthy hands off of me. I can’t stand the sight of you. I’m so mad with you I don’t know what to do. Got me looking for your ass for over a year now. You shoulda thought about that before you left.” Kayla laid on the floor crying; pleading to Julius between sobs for him not to do this. The fear and trembling in her voice let me know that he was capable of murder.

In that moment I recalled the scriptures in Proverbs that talked about the wrath of a man finding his wife with a lover. This had to be a bad dream. I wanted someone to shake me and wake me up, but it was real. I had messed up bad this time. God tried to reach me, but my flesh got the best of me. I should have never dialed her number. Should have followed my first mind to keep going. Should have left well enough alone. As I sat there contemplating my fate during the seconds that seemed like minutes, Julius took another drink out of the bumpy bottle of Seagrams Gin he held in his left hand. He turned it up. I watched him watch me as he took gulp after gulp as if it were water. I thought of rushing him to try and wrestle that gun from his hand, but I sat motionless. Frightened by the thought of what Kayla’s tears knew all too well. I watched as Julius raised his gun hand and pointed it towards me, I closed my eyes and waited for him to squeeze.



This will conclude the blog edition of chance encounters. I think I will work on this some more and turn it into a novella, possibly rewrite some of what's already written and fill in the gaps a bit. But consider this a first free look. I hope you enjoyed it. As time permits, maybe I will create another blovella. Feel free to comment or ask any questions you have regarding the story. Thanks for stopping by.

chance encounters 4

chance encounters pt. 4 - weekly addition to the ongoing blovella (blog novella) -- If you haven't read the previous editions, please take the time to catch up - this story moves around a bit.

chance encounters pt. 1
chance encounters pt. 2
chance encounters pt. 3

And now the continuation of chance encounters......

Lying to myself had become this customary game that I played; a game that I dabbled in the way a toddler watched cartoons - small frames of make believe that could be viewed over and over and over again. It seemed harmless enough. My way of getting a needed break from reality. All too often, reality came through like surround sound being emitted from a sixty-inch Digital Light Processing monitor with the volume on forty. Animation was better; lighter and more digestible. That’s what I needed right now; a bit less volume and a lot more animation. I hated this feeling of guilt that was upon me. And despite the merlot colored cushioning, the pew I was sitting on was taking a bite out of my buttocks. But it felt a lot better than the spiritual beating I was getting. Church with Sheila was no fun today. Everyone seemed to be into the message except for me. Pastor’s smooth baritone was coming through way too loud and clear.

“Son. Daughter. God sees you. He knows your pain, and he knows your struggles. He knows the state of your relationships, but he’s waiting on you to hand it over to him. He’s waiting on you to get tired of trying to work things out for yourself. The bible says in first Peter that we should cast all our cares on him because he cares for us. So let me ask you a question. When someone is taking care of you do you expect to have to do the work yourself? Of course not. So what God is saying is that we should trade in our ability to solve our problems for his ability.” He pauses. Collects his “wells” and “amens” before continuing. Gathers his handkerchief into his right hand and wipes the spittle from the corners of his mouth. Looks seemingly directly at me, points his finger and says, “You aren’t strong enough to stop sinning on your own.” I did an internal leap back. Looked out of my peripheral to see if anyone else noticed that, especially Sheila. He turns to the left. “That’s why you keep shacking with Johnny.” Then to the right, “That’s why you still chasing Susie.” Then back to the center, “That’s why you still getting high.” He wipes his mouth again, “But if you turn it over to Jesus, he will give you strength. The bible says you can do all things through Christ who strengthen you. Do you believe it?” Yes’s reverberated around the sanctuary, “Do you believe it?” I finally let out a “Yes Lord!” to keep from looking guilty, “then let go of your past and let God do a new work in you.”

So like I was saying, I like to play this game. In the game, this is where I drift away from Technicolor and into the land of Hanna Barbera. The place where I magically sweep everything under the rug. Convince myself that my little bit of dirt doesn’t matter. That he wasn’t really talking to me, because I ain’t even done nothing yet. Still, Kayla is on my mind more than she should be. She’s become my new drug of choice. And if I could light up now, I would.

I want to live right. For real. You believe me don't you? You just don't understand my situation (another lie that came full circle). You see, I only married Sheila cause she got pregnant. Told myself I was in love. Too bad it was just the love of wanting to be a father. I wanted to be a real daddy. Not like these dudes on the street. I was going to be with the mother of my child. Raise my kid in a loving environment. Come home everyday and be a shining example. I needed to prove to myself that I was better than the man who gave birth to me. Problem was...that didn’t translate into love for Sheila. I overlooked the fact that I needed more than an axe to grind to keep me on the right path. But if you lie well enough and long enough you can convince yourself of anything. So, I faced “deep like” and "good sex" at the altar and said I was doing the right thing. Two months later she lost the baby. Five years later here I am trying to live right and be a good Christian Husband to a fruitless woman while playing “I can be friends” with a woman who moves me with just the sound of her voice. Boy! I loved the way she talked. If there was ever a voice meant for impropriety, hers was it.

Pastor was giving an altar call as my my mind crawled out of La La Land, “Is there anybody who needs prayer?” I checked for Sheila, her eyes were glued on Pastor. I wanted to run up there and slide into home and hear the Lord say "SAFE", but I just sat and watched. “God can deliver you from the hand of the enemy,” came Pastor’s voice. I wondered if he was talking to me.

chance encounter 3

Chance Encounters pt 3

Kayla Davenport

It was never my intention to be anything more than a friend, but somewhere along the way temptation slithered it's way into our connection. All it took was one loose comment and there I was contemplating what it would be like to feel myself being touched by those big warm hands of Kyle's. Maybe things were going too good. So good that I let my guard down. That was easy to do with him. kyle had a knack for making me feel at ease. He had a trusting way about himself that allowed me to share my secrets with him. Kyle knew all about my past loves, even the crazy ones. But he never judged me, never made me feel like I was the one to blame. No matter what I shared with him he always made me feel whole. Helped me to be able to laugh at myself. Made me feel like it was ok to be me. Made me feel like he was lucky to have me in his life. Men like that weren't easy to find. But I liked having him around. I even thought I could handle being his friend, but I guess I wasn't prepared for the way his presence pushed buttons I didn't know existed.

***

"You're going to think I'm a freak. I tell you all of my business."

"No I won't. Stop tripping. It's not like you don't know stuff about me, " Kyle said.

Kyle and I could talk about anything. Even conversations about sex never seemed to get in the way. But friends or not some things were better left unsaid, because saying them planted seeds and it's hard to say what could spring up.

"What had happend was..."

"Come on, spit it out."

"Alright, I broke up with him because he had a small penis."

"Dang! You are a freak."

"See! I told you."

"Girl, I'm just kidding. I'm not tripping off that. Better to break up with him than cheat on him, because you know a man can't take knowing his woman cheated."

"See, you think like me. I was trying to spare his feelings. Trying to do him a favor. Because I would have definitely cheated on him. I mean he was a nice guy and all, but I like my man to have some weight on him."

"Dang! I'm glad I don't have that problem. If anything I used to have to make sure the sisters weren't trying to get with me just to get some of this Dexter Saint Jacque. You know how y'all like to run your mouths."

Hmph, he got it like that.

"It sounds like you are the one running your mouth. Typical man, always trying to brag about what you got."

"Whatever, I'm not bragging, I'm just speaking the truth. Just be lucky we're friends or you'd be finding out just how addictive I really am."

"Yeah, Yeah, whatever, you don't want none of this."

***

the next day

"What you doing?" Kyle asked.

"Trying to keep from calling Roderick."

"The guilty pleasure strikes again." We both chuckled at that comment. I had been with Roderick for the last couple of months and it was strictly a sex thang. I needed to get over him, but that was easier said than done.

"I know! I mean it's not like we have that much in common but boy does he know how to scratch my itch."

"Well, you know how to get over that right?" Kyle queried.

"No, how's that?"

"You find a suitable replacement in someone you have more in common with. No use in wasting good sex on someone who you don't really enjoy being around, " he responded.

Maybe it was at that moment. Or maybe the moment had occured some time ago, but for some reason I wanted that someone to be Kyle. I wanted him to ruffle my feathers. Wanted him to shake my tail and see what came loose. He was the perfect guy for it too. He had become one of my best buddies and I didn't have to worry about him getting too clingy. Now if I could just get over his being married.

chance encounters 2

Since QPQL (male, female) occurs on Mondays, and Life, Love, Dancing occurs on Tuesdays, then you can look for Chance Encounters on Wednesdays - that allows us to spread the love while generating some new ideas.

So without further ado.

chance encounters, take 2

I was as nervous as a trick coming up short with the day's earnings. My heart was beating so fast I couldn't enjoy the music that was supposed to be relaxing me. Not a good sign. It was a sure indication that I was lying to myself. I was intentionally going to do dirt and nothing I told myself made me feel better.

Ok, if she doesn't make a move, you stay cool.....That won't work. She's already expecting me to get some. I shouldn't have ever started flirting with her. I knew this would happen. I was tripping from jump. Now, if I don't go through with it, I'll look like a punk.....Wait....Maybe she'll respect that I'm trying to do the right thing....Nahh, she don't care about that, she just wants to kick it. She could care less about my living with Sheila.....she's been cool with that from jump....Slow down...this is an easy basket; a free throw. Get it together Kyle....you can do this.

I needed to call her. She asked me to ring once I got close. I recalled the directions I had memorized in my head. I'm visual like that; I followed the drive as she spouted the directions. Take I-70 South as if you are headed to Soulard, take the 7th street exit, make a left, go one block to Park and make a right. Drive until you reach Dolman. I recalled her saying something about not going past the China-man. If I did I'd gone too far. She wasn't sure if the sign was there or not, there was a lot of construction taking place in the neighborhood so it could be easy to miss. But once I got to Dolman, I was to make a left, go one block to Carroll, make another left and it would be the second building on the left, 1619, unit A.

The light had finally changed, I made the left onto 7th. I was close. Her number was programmed. I took extra care to embed her number inconspicuously with the initials KD. If Sheila happened to run across it, she'd think it was one of my boys I played ball with, she'd never expect it to be, Kayla Davenport.

"What's up, it's me...Kyle. I should be there in a minute. I'm sitting at the light at Tucker and Park."

"Great, the door is unlocked. Just knock twice and come on in, you'll find me. See you in a minute."

***

Kayla lived in a nice neighborhood -- Lafayette Square. It was far from the cheap seats, but not exactly front row. Sheila and I had driven through the neighborhood a time or two when we were looking for a place of our own. The price tags were out of our reach, but it was nice to ride by and dream about what would be one day. I loved the Victorian Style homes that lined the streets. Towering, slender buildings with tall fancy doors. Most of the houses had been decorated as painted ladies giving them quite the flair fantastic. Tonight, the way the full moon and the landscape lights were shining, it gave the buildings the look of majesty.

Our neighborhood wasn't that special. Sheila and I lived in North County; Dellwood to be exact. Just your average brick ranch starter homes with one car garages. There was no charm to speak of and at this moment our house seemed to be a million miles away.

As I pulled to a stop in front of her condo I glanced around before getting out. An obvious response considering I didn't want to be found out. Stop tripping. Just get on in there, no one is watching you. It's cool. Knock twice and come on in. I'll find her she says.

As I cracked the door open slowly, I looked for signs of life. "Hellooo, " I spoke into the dimly lit jazz filled room. As I stepped slowly into her place closing the door behind me, I noticed there was an easel with a folder perched on it. I read my name then opened it to reveal its contents. Take the stairs down, first door to the left. Bring the glasses on the counter.

I liked her place. Although the recessed lighting was dimmed, I was still able to make out the details. Ten foot ceilings, loft style condo, stainless steel appliances, nice furnishings and exposed brick along the entire right wall. Very nice. Definitely, my kind of place.

chance encounters

Just a bit of an experiment. I hope you find it enjoyable.


Chance Encounters

She looks like a Veronica; a heart ache waiting to happen. At least that's what I convinced myself of when I threw her business card out the window as I turned the corner that breezy night. Blow away. Blow away far from me.

I just made her acquaintance and I was already having difficulty managing the memory of our seventy eight minute encounter. Not that she was super model fine or anything, but I was sure that we could have had some good times together. We had a vibe that was immediately rhythmic; like musical notes strung together against a nice bass line, the kind you enjoy in a dimly lit club, the kind that you couldn't help but bob your head to. Her confidence was all the sexy she needed. I liked that. It didn't matter if she wasn't the finest lady in attendance, she sold me on who she was. Had me pulling her into my conscious like a slow drag on a cigarette. With every sentence I took another puff. I didn't want to exhale. I wanted to hold on to the feeling as long as possible...inhale, hold, now breathe.

She was digging me too. I knew it. Her eyes betrayed her innocence one too many times. Caught her checking me out. All of me. She even took the time to notice and comment on things. Things I was too distracted to remember about my evenings preparation, like color combinations and clean scented cologne. But that wasn't what did it. It was her presentation. She was so smooth. I wanted her to choose me. I was no longer in the drivers seat. Game had been shifted. No wonder she was in sales, had me ready to buy whatever she was offering. And it didn't hurt that she seemed well versed in man. Even taught me a thing or two about cigars. As it turned out, my complimentary stogy was a Dominican, grown from Cuban seeds. Not nearly as good as a Cuban and it smelled noticeably louder. She even recommended that if I wanted a real cigar I should try an Argentina brand.

It was little stuff like that. Stuff that let me know that she was smart and fun. She seemed carefree, the type of girl who didn't make a fuss. Didn't provide a lot of drama. You know, Fun Girl. Always a good time to be had. As I continued to swallow her beguiling words sans the chewing I heard my conscious tell me no. What do you mean no? If I've ever seen a 'go' in my life, this one was it. She was the perfect woman to keep in ones pocket. "Marriage is something I've never wanted," she stated so matter of fact. Those words caught me by surprise. Pushed me on my heels despite the fact that I was sitting. Oh, it's like that, I thought. I wondered if she was a freak. The kind of girl that would invite me over knowing full well what she had in store. She didn't look the part, but those are the best kind, the unassuming ones.

"So what about love? Do you ever fall in love?" I questioned.
"Sure, I've fallen in love many times."
"So what happened. You didn't love them enough to want to marry them."
"Like I said, that's not what I want."
"What about them? What about what they want?"
"I tell them up front that I'm not interested in marriage, but I guess at some point I become a challenge. Like they are going to show me something about myself that I don't already know."

I chuckled. She reminded me of myself. That's what I told women. "I only want to have fun, nothing serious." But my warnings fell on deaf ears, just like her words had done on the men in her past. Talking to her became clairvoyant. I realized that I was looking in the mirror. I never knew my image could be so chilling. I was even slightly annoyed by the callousness of it all. Too bad it wasn't enough to sway the attraction I felt for her. She was vanity personified. She had me overcome with the possibility of dating me. Now wouldn't that be interesting.

So there I sat behind the drivers seat of my ride trying to convince myself that I could handle just being friends. Who was I fooling. Just seeing her name typed in black ink was causing me uneasiness. Kayla Davenport. Each time I read it I was placed back into that space with her. Seated at our outdoor table, activity all around us as we laughed and talked about the other patrons of the speak easy. I was seated just to her left. The perfect location for taking in her good side. No way I could fall for this girl. She was a heart ache waiting to happen. I looked at the card again, my buzz made me pull it in a little closer. Her cell number. It was there too. Not this girl , I heard myself say. Just toss the number. That's just what I'll do. I was sure of it. As I turned the corner, I tossed it. Made sure my speed was high enough to make it blow away. Blow away far from me. I turn up the music to try and drown the thoughts pressing against my conscious. I reach for my cell, press the numbers.

"Hello," she said. I dialed it right, I thought as my heartbeat regained it's normal pace. I can just be her friend, I'm sure of it.

Sneak Peek

I've always had a love for the pen, but never really ventured into the land of the scribe, at least not professionally. My first love was actually drawing, which I stumbled upon at the age of 8. I continued with that up into my early teens, but as I got older it fell to the way side. As I grew into a young adult, I ended up falling in love with the paper chase. However, as life would have it, my running shoes are beginning to wear out and I've decided to concentrate on the things that really bring me joy and satisfaction and writing is one of those things. I'm currently working on several different writing projects, but this is the one I'm enjoying the most. Mainly because it's light and fun. Check out this excerpt and tell me what you think. I hope you like it. I do. I'm withholding the name of the book for now. As I get it completed, I will share more information with the masses.

Chapter X
Back In Stride Again

Lyndsey had to admit, it felt good to be out. She even decided to let the top down on her red Toyota Solara convertible. The full moon was coming into focus so she wanted to let the ambience of the night soak into the cars cabin. Having Miles Davis’ Tutu album playing in the background didn’t hurt the cause either. She was going to have a good time, she could just feel it; the magic of the night was flowing all through her.
As she made her approach into downtown, she could see the Arch lit up from the base. The metallic structure giving the illusion that as it rose into the sky that it became engulfed by the enormity of the darkness. It was a pretty site, she thought as she took the Pine Street exit and made her way to Market Street.

Driving down Market at night gave the feeling of walking down an isle, because it seemingly ushered you to your destination. It had the perfect balance of Architecture, Nature and Art. She could hear the excitement from the Cardinals game as she passed the Marriott. The new ball park was just a block to the left on the other side of the Marriott Tower, but the lights and the spirit of the home team had seemingly made its way onto the surrounding streets. There were people walking around Kiener Plaza, the park like setting that played host to the pre-game hoopla, in their Cardinals gear still enjoying the excitement of the night despite the fact that they were obviously outside the realm of the ballpark festivities. It didn’t matter, they were still having fun. Lyndsey headed further down Market and as she made her way across Tucker Boulevard, Miles Davis’ Backyard Ritual began to play. It was the perfect song for a night like this. She bobbed her head back and forth, checked the clock on the dash and decidedly drove a little slower in order to get the full effect. The city sure looked nice. This was definitely one of the nicer stretches of downtown, she thought. As she drove past Union Station, she couldn’t help but notice that the fountains across the street were all aglow with classic Greek figures set in a Nautical setting. Just as she was taking in the beauty, the music and the moment, her phone rang. She noticed the number, it was her girlfriend Felicia. They had been friends ever since their college days. She turned down the music and tapped the button on her Bluetooth.

“Hi Felicia” Lyndsey said. You could hear the smile in her voice.

“Hey Girl! Where are you? The club is starting to fill up and I’m trying to give you first crack at some of these fine brothers up in here. You need to hurry up before I change my mind,” Felicia said half jokingly.

“Girl you’re so crazy! I’ll be there soon. I’m turning onto Jefferson right now and approaching Olive. I’m almost there.” Lyndsey said , with the residue of the chuckle still in her voice.

“O.K., I’ll order you a shot of Patron with a twist of Lime. See you in a minute.”

They both hung up. Lyndsey turned the music back up. Track six was playing by now. She wasn’t in the mood for that so she skipped to the final track, Full Nelson, a funkier tune that caused her to do a little bounce in her seat. It was time to get more into party mode.

When she walked into the club she immediately began looking for Felicia’s familiar face as she scanned the room. As she looked to the right, she saw her hand waving wildly into the air from a booth that appeared to be in some sort of VIP section. That figures, she thought, Felicia knew everybody. Being in Advertising with one of the major urban stations, Majic 104.9, allowed her access to all the city’s hot spots. Her position catapulted her into the circle of the local black glitterati.

“Hey Girl! It’s so good to see you,” Lyndsey said as she embraced her girlfriend.

“Girl, it’s good to see you too. I’m so glad you decided to come out. I’ve been telling you that you needed to get out so you could get over what’s his face”

“Yeah, I know” Lyndsey said following a sigh. “But I needed a little time. I can’t just jump back out there like you can.”

“What do you mean, like I can”, Felicia said defensively but with a smile.

“Nothing girl! Stop tripping. It’s just that you seem fine with dating a new guy within days of ending a relationship. I need weeks, sometimes months, but definitely not days. Besides, I really cared about James, but I’m not putting up with a man who puts his hands on me, period! I mean, after all the bullshit Kevin put me through after five years of marriage, I just don’t have the time for any drama. Life is too short for that!”

“I know that’s right! Here, take a sip of this Patron, and by the end of the night all your drama will be washed away. Enough of all this serious talk, it’s dragging me down. We’re here to have some fun,” chided Felicia.

Lyndsey knew her friend Felicia had good intentions, but in her mind Felicia was a borderline whore. She wasn’t going to be getting too drunk. If not for them being friends for so many years, she probably wouldn’t hang out with her much at all. Felicia was a real cute girl, but she gave it up too quickly. When she didn’t give it up right away, she was willing to give a guy head, figuring she’d maintain some of her self respect by not giving him the booty so fast. How the heck she came up with that logic was something Lyndsey just didn’t get. So rather than make her friend feel small, she usually stayed out of the clubs with her, but tonight was different. She was trying to get her swagger back and she had long wanted to check out the Jazz Loft. The club’s decorum was plain, mainly dark except for the huge flat screen on the east wall. There was a musician playing some jazz pieces on his saxophone on the stage, which was located across the room from the TV. He was currently covering Everett Harp’s song, “There’s Still Hope”, an uplifting melodic tune that she recognized from her personal collection. Lyndsey was totally engrossed in her thoughts as the music played, closing her eyes and bobbing her head from time to time. She never noticed the attention she was getting until the waitress approached with two drinks for her and Felicia. “Compliments of the gentlemen at the bar,” she said as she set her serving tray on the ladies’ table. The waitress turned in the direction of two guys standing at the bar, to signal which guys she was referring to. The guy at the edge of the bar was about 5’ 10”, athletic build, teeth spreading from ear to ear, with his gold tooth clearly visible due to the light shining from above the bar. His partner was about 6’3”, a fairly good looking guy, but the cowboy hat and cigar he was sporting did him in. Lyndsey and Felicia looked at each other, and as if on cue, both responded “their joking, right!” Lyndsey reached into her purse and retrieved a $5 bill, asked the waitress, “could you tell the gentleman thank you, but we’re fine with the drinks we have.” “Sure,” she replied. She understood exactly how they felt. It was always the guys who had the least chance of getting some play that approached first. It never failed. I guess they figured if they struck first, it would buy them some brownie points or something.

As the evening progressed, the music evolved into some of the popular R&B, and the clientele was beginning to increase in numbers. It was actually a little too crowded for Lyndsey’s taste, but she wasn’t complaining, she was enjoying the conversation with Felicia, who despite her freak like tendencies was really smart and provocative.

Copyright Richard F. Dix, 2006 - All Rights Reserved

That's if for now, the rest you will have to get later.