100 Words - Lego Life

Life's experiences are like Lego blocks. The longer you live and the more you do the more blocks you collect. Some people wind up with enough pieces to build elaborate castles, others so few that they can build nothing beyond a small brick wall. Then there's me. After half a century I have lots of pieces but they are those weird little pieces that come with the specialty building sets that don't translate well to other purposes. Pretty much everything I build looks like what they thought space ships would look like in the eighteen-hundreds, but occasionally they're race cars.

Review: THE SOUND OF MURDER by Rex Stout

This is one of those rare non-Nero Wolfe mysteries. It is the one and only appearance of Alphabet Hicks. After reading the book you'll know why this was the only one. Despite it's many flaws it got me to thinking about Stout's creative process.

The premise relies on whether or not a voice on a recording is proof or not. What I believe posed a problem for Stout was that Nero Wolfe would have dismissed the evidence without even needing to listen to it. The other problem was that the villain in the story would have been spotted by Archie almost immediately as the square peg in the round society of the rich folks, despite the distraction of the lovely damsel in distress.

Stout needed a new detective. Someone who existed outside New York's elite society. Someone intelligent but inexperienced at detective work. So he created Hicks. So far, so good. Hicks is a nice start on a character though not as sympathetic or endearing as Stout's other creations.

The problem comes not from the characters, but from their presentation to us. Stout seems uncomfortable with the omniscient point-of-view and commits the crime of omission in several places. Archie as narrator is a much more satisfying experience.

While the book is a must-read for Stout fans, if this was your first Stout book it would not encourage you to read more of his works. Which would be unfortunate.

Phrases are not stories

A hint of white cotton hiding in the shadows of her thighs.

 I wish I could write like that. Well, I did write that, but it's just a sentence hanging in the void. There is no context. It's just an image in search of a scene in search of a story. A non sequitur longing for a sequence. An orphan dreaming of a parent's hug.

 Seeing the words of an image, turning a phrase, this isn't writing. Writing is taking these bits and pieces that come your way and weaving them together to form the whole. This is where I am currently failing. The images come fast and furious. They overwhelm and some of them are good and beautiful but they are images and phrases living on virtual 3x5 cards in my mind lacking the thumbtacks and twine to give them life.

Bike Rage

It happened to me. Again. This van on Stanyan street decided that I shouldn't be able to take up a whole lane, even though I was going above the speed limit and there was another, completely empty lane right next to me. He pulled up next to me, not past me, and pulled over on me. I had to brake hard to avoid being pushed into the parked cars. This has happened before and will happen again.

It's funny because when I'm behind the wheel of a car I take offense at nothing. It all just rolls off my back, or perhaps wheels. When I'm riding my bike however I take every offense as personal and I yell and bang on fenders and act pretty much like a total ass. Maybe it's the adrenaline and heart pumping away. Maybe it's because on the bike I'm much more exposed to the dangers going on around me.

Whatever the reason, I need to learn to let it go. Reacting the way I do does nobody any good. The people who do these things are either completely clueless or total assholes. Yelling at them will not help. As for me, why let these jerks ruin my day? I ride for exercise and relaxation. Anger assists neither.

No promises, but I'll try.

100 Words - Butter

"Yeah, that's right, butter!" Marvin was not happy with the service his waitress was providing. This was not an unusual situation. Marvin was unhappy with almost everything in his life. If it wasn't for the reruns of The Wonder Years his life would be completely unbearable.

"Yeah, that's right, butter!" Carol had to summon all her discipline not to break her look of disinterest. First to restrain the urge to laugh out loud then to suppress the guilt of deriving so much joy from torturing the angry man.

Marvin left no tip. Carol retrieved the butter from its hiding place.

100 Words - Unknown

Piles of music unfolding in sheets of rhythm. Memories spent tree-lined drives at colleges of envy. Sitting in the jeep not wanting to go, not wanting to stay. Afraid of another late night rejection. Need meets fear torn by silence. A long ride home on roads built for dogs. Children throwing flowers and cookies in the path of the heroes they'll never know. The famous unknown, an unknown legend, famed in song, story and fable, passing through the shadows, never the spotlight. The trees give way to fields of brown grass, then a lake, then a hill, finally the ocean.

Random thoughts for a new age

Embrace the crossroads.

Every ocean exists in every rain drop but that won't save the rhubarb – Alfred Saint Jerome

Those are waves. These are babies. That is hair. This is sand. - Myunee Buscheck "12/17"

Wandering the woods in search of metal tents, warm beer and dark lullabies.

Welcome to my soul. Please deposit 35 cents for another four minutes.