Creative Writing

[Paul McDaniel]

_____I’m starting this forum for myself and for others who, like me, take pleasure in imaginative writing, in either or both the reading and writing of it.
_____One of the most enjoyable classes I ever attended was a college course in Creative Writing, where the teacher would divide the class into groups for discussion and critique. (Criticism—constructive and otherwise—flowed like river rapids after a rain, leaving not a few cut and bruised egos.)
_____He would also assign topics (a different one for each student) on which we were required to write using our imaginations only—no preparation, no research. (I have such a facility for making up facts that I would actually receive a reduced grade. For example, the sentence immediately preceding this one.)
_____So, here to start things off is a short fictional piece (I previously misposted elsewhere). It is not a story, but rather a sketch, a word picture (worth a thousand words?), a vignette (vin-yet) of my beloved, albeit fictional, little sister.


_____Sis

_____A long time ago (and far, far away) when I was just a small boy I had an even smaller sister, not one year old yet, able to waddle around in her big white shiny plastic diaper but not saying anything comprehensible. Her entire vocabulary consisted of throaty goo’s and gaa’s, a sort of gurgle, and a lip-smacking explosive exhale that came out as a Pa! sound, usually in pairs. Her entire contribution to family conversation was goo gaa gurgle Pa! Pa! and it was always welcome.
_____One evening as we were all parked around the dinner table, Sis strapped down in her high chair, which was itself snap-shackled to the table to prevent accidental fall-back, and enjoying the best meal Mom ever prepared (they were always the best meal she ever prepared) we were treated to a shock that left us, jaws dropped, looking at one another for confirmation.
_____The only part of the meal that Sis shared with the rest of us was the mashed potatoes. Though she seemed more intent on sculpting her portion than eating it, by sheer chance, or of its own accord, some of it made it into her mouth, judging from the misses lodged about her face and in her hair. The sculpture seemed to be that of a bear wrestling with another, invisible, bear. (Projecting even at that early age, I wondered if it weren’t wrestling with its conscience.)
_____Then, she gurgled, we all looked up and gave her our smiling approval, and she said quite unmistakably, “Tax reform for middle-income families goo gaa gurgle Pa! Pa!” then in a single motion swept up most of the hindquarters of her bear with her chubby little hand and deposited it into her chubby little mouth.
_____We could not believe our ears. The grown-ups began saying incomprehensible things themselves like, “Tax reform for middle-income families, indeed!” And “Who is this child?”
_____The bears never had a chance.
_____Years later, while I was off fighting tyranny (my first wife), we all kept in contact by a combination of snail-mail and rumors. Sis it seems had followed her infantile political instincts and, armed with some typing and filing skills, had become a poorly paid office assistant for one sleazy, opportunistic politician (redundancy intentional) after another. Mom said she supplemented her income by “clipping coupons.” I would have liked to see her do better.
_____Before we all left the nest, I had watched her grow from an overly animated, slippery ball of squealing delight to a serious, intelligent, and soft-spoken young lady. She was also very striking in appearance. Pretty, not beautiful in a Madison Avenue sense, but unique. She had Uncle Bert’s nose, which is to say, a shade too large, but fully compensated for by a dark sort of gothic look that arrested the eye. She could easily have made a better living modeling.
_____Once, at an all-too-rare family reunion, I suggested this to her as a way to save and get ahead of the livelihood curve. She looked me in the eyes and while maintaining a wry smile, said, “Goo gaa gurgle Pa! Pa!” meaning, as it always had, “You don’t have to worry about me.”

[dk]

Cool idea. :)

[Isaak Brodsky]

Term IV before the Mid-term

a crying game
a team player womanizer
playing ball-bearing love
romance pumping vigorous exclamations
in the loudly silenced wind
turmoil confusion
butter and jam showered
a discovery
an adventure running desperately
breathless dying leaves
in elm trees
and woodpeckers in maples
where I sat on stairs slippery
when wet women drink Listerine
cleanse Ivory towers clean
when chaste we chased away
their innocence until they fell
I did not know what to say
don’t worry be happy
when the Lord says to pay the rent
when famine pestilence
chance and trance induced us to labor
all day
flying like birds watching worms
wiggle out of the way down under
where a bridge whose dictator Napoleon
generally stayed hospitalized
and went to his grave
sick and tired
drooping eyelids and all
when the heavy weight of thoughts
trickled down

[Paul McDaniel]

Very well, Ian, if that’s the way it’s to be:

Teach

About four-eleven, sitting down,
I was brought up short by the whiteness of her eyes,
Struck dumb by her beauty,
Blind, with no pupils, save me.


They’re not even sure it’s a baby. - Eraserhead

[Isaak Brodsky]

absolutely fantastic

even the pace of it, wow!

love the purposeful contradiction too,

"brought up short..." and the alliteration in the last two lines

[Isaak Brodsky]

Apologies

Squinting eyes squeeze
black mascara streams
down powdered cheeks.
I thumb soften her
chin wrinkles
and dam her tears
mixing her many colors
with repeated kissing smears.
She sees herself and laughs.

[Asshat]

Apologies

Squinting eyes squeeze
black mascara streams
down powdered cheeks.
I thumb soften her
chin wrinkles
and dam her tears
mixing her many colors
with repeated kissing smears.
She sees herself and laughs.

Nice! Very vivid and full of imagry. "thumb-soften" perhaps would be easier on the brain? Or perhaps better yet, "thumbsoften?"

[Isaak Brodsky]

Yeah, you're right.

"thumbsoften" is better.

[Asshat]

Yeah, you're right.

"thumbsoften" is better.

I too had a blast in a Creative Writing course. It was as if for the first time in my life, and "English major" was telling me to break all of the grammer rules I had learned up to that point. A cause for celebration.

I figure if Poe, my hero of alliteration could make up new words, so could S. Clemmins and I. :)

[Paul McDaniel]

Nice to have you join us, Mr. Uminchu. Will you be sharing with us some creative effort any time soon? We hunger to hear you we do, Mr. Uminchu. Some words, perhaps, lined up like a regiment of French maids armed with Q-Tips, crying out in unison, “You missed a spot?”

Howbout an anecdote about Harold Wing’s little problem and how he solved it?

An epic poem about the capitulation at the Weinsaab Sanitarium? Hasn’t been written yet. (Those poor shy creatures with the luminous eyes, having nothing to eat but the tailings from the lunchmeat machine next door and nothing to drink but condensation. What are they really?)

A tongue-in-cheek review of the movie “Life, Death, and Indifference?”

“The Bizarre Rituals of the Fish Farmers of the Crystal Isles: a Woman’s Perspective.” We are waiting to read it, to devour it.

Just give us something! A piece of your soul! A small child, one born of inspiration and craft! Even a limerick will do. Anything at all! Make haste, but slowly. We are patient, but we want it finger-lickin’ good, sticky, hard to let go. It can bite back . . . a little. We’ll still eat it up.

“What I Did Over Summer Vacation” has long been a favorite of mine. The teacher’s, “No, you did not!” in front of the whole class always gave me the giggles for a week.

Anyway, I feel better. I think I’m going to be okay.



Sometimes an exercise in futility is still good exercise. – Paul McDaniel

[okisteve]

We had settled back in ******* and were raising a family after a 3-year taste of adventure in Afghanistan, where I had worked on an aid project. We had a close group of friends there and enjoyed the good life of expats, exploring the country, partying often, and now staying in touch as we dispersed to new countries and jobs. Although I had agreed to stay in California, I was never as committed to putting down roots as was my wife, and I envied our friends’ continued exotic peregrinations.

One afternoon while I was mowing my nasty backyard crop of bermudagrass and wistfully recalling how in Afghanistan I never had to lift a finger for such chores, the postman delivered a fat letter from one of those friends who were still working overseas. Chuck (as I will call him) had one of the most responsible jobs of us all, had been promoted and was now working in Bangladesh. As I turned the coarse paper envelope over in my hand, the sights, sounds and smells of Asia came flooding back. I read eagerly about work, family, and news of our other friends. He described life in Dhaka, then just recovering from civil war, in amusing detail. As I read on he related an event in the bazaars of Dhaka that astounded me. In those days a lot of discarded goods from the West ended up in poor countries, either by charitable contributions or through commercial channels. Bales of used clothing and other necessities were sent overseas and sold cheaply on the street and in the markets. I myself had bought warm winter clothing in the Kabul bazaar that had arrived there via some European army surplus dealer.

But Chuck had made a much more remarkable purchase. He was poking around some small shops that dealt in used odds and ends when he was beckoned by a wizened shopkeeper into a dusty stall of odds and ends, including a stack of old 45 rpm records in a corner. Being a rock’n’roll fan, he browsed and found a few oldies that weren’t too badly scratched, but as he was leaving he spied a bundle of discs that had an oddly familiar look to them. Examining it closely, he found the initials C.J. scratched in the centers. He had discovered his own record collection that he had given away after taping it ten years before! He wrote about this weird coincidence in such a fine style that I could practically see him, serious and bespectacled, stooped over in the cramped shop, marveling at his incredible find.

I stood transfixed over the cooling lawnmower as I reread the letter and wished I could be back in Asia, experiencing things that happen to those special people with open hearts and minds. Over the next few years any time the subject of coincidence and synchronicity arose (or among my new-age friends, parallel universes and cosmic predestination) I told about my friend who had found his own teenage record collection. Then in 1986 most of our old gang were back in the USA and gathered for a reunion at a resort in West Virginia. Over barbecue and booze, I mentioned to Chuck that his finding those records in Dhaka was the most amazing thing I had ever heard. He looked over at me in a strange way and grinned, “You mean you believed that story? I was just bored and fooling around when I wrote to you!” Something inside me crashed. We had all had our share of real-life adventures and I had never known Chuck to even exaggerate about anything he’d done. I never had had any reason to doubt that the story was true, or for that matter that Chuck was capable of doing something as offbase as fabricating a story like that with no particular purpose. In retrospect though, maybe what he did is even stranger than the “unbelievable” coincidences that ordinary people sometimes experience.

[Isaak Brodsky]

He wrote about this weird coincidence in such a fine style that I could practically see him, serious and bespectacled, stooped over in the cramped shop, marveling at his incredible find.

I stood transfixed over the cooling lawnmower as I reread the letter and wished I could be back in Asia, experiencing things that happen to those special people with open hearts and minds.

I just really like these lines - a very, very nice heightened sense of your writer's voice bleeds through.

[Asshat]

Some words, perhaps, lined up like a regiment of French maids armed with Q-Tips, crying out in unison, “You missed a spot?”

Sometimes an exercise in futility is still good exercise. – Paul McDaniel

My comments were to Ian, as his piece moved me. He did not miss a spot at all, but hit it dead-center. I tried to not suggest any changes, but like rereading past efforts, it is almost impossible to refrain.

And as I am sure you know, those that "do" can. Those who can not teach.

One sign of sure elitism, is a message from an individual who feels insecure enough to use the words "we."

To Ian, I appologize for my cleaning crew. They acted without orders.

[Isaak Brodsky]

To Ian, I appologize for my cleaning crew. They acted without orders.

LOL, no need for an apology!

I welcome this sort of chastising in all things scholastic and monastic.

I do agree that thumbsoften is much better brought together than separated.

[Isaak Brodsky]

Hanging Scabs or Chads?

Mother Congo
an energy sender
with pleasure to burn
those who return
a dozen half-dead stolen lovers
from Neptune’s many moons
separates
bits of data
for nature’s fat eaters
and spits in the eye
of men like Brad
Pitt flicking tender flakes
of masterpiece dolphin-safe
magnum tuna
from highly
spit-shined fingertips

Men like him
blonde headed and beef-caked
tend to
tamper too much
with psychic
love soul giants
who shed their skin-tight
lace undergarments like
stunning chrome replicas
of Coco Lee
holding a Softbank
cell phone sealed in cellophane
bedecked with skinny wired voices
and eyes taking center stage
with mint precision
looking on for cleavage and
other crevices

That is the sort of spontaneous
macular freezing
that spurned John McCain’s
handsome friend Marco
and Marco’s gay lover
who’d pasted fuzzy campaign slogans
on humpback whales
to buy back
jumbo platinum series pumps
with anti-lock Anne Klein footwear.

When all is quiet on the Mid-eastern front
when Prince William finally mounts
the grumpy swing
in the Quantico beauty jungle
of Def Jam love
and look on enamored
by the politics of contentment
the ghosts of Big Blue
will then lament
the days of past glory
and heed extant radio transmissions
from turn-of-the-century Japan
wanting to bite back
Hawaiian islands now
under the full control of
hot lava
that softens the stumps
of balding men
all
for the sake
of customer satisfaction

[ja_Patriot]

My comments were to Ian, as his piece moved me. He did not miss a spot at all, but hit it dead-center. I tried to not suggest any changes, but like rereading past efforts, it is almost impossible to refrain.

And as I am sure you know, those that "do" can. Those who can not teach.

One sign of sure elitism, is a message from an individual who feels insecure enough to use the words "we."

To Ian, I appologize for my cleaning crew. They acted without orders.


Right on the dot, Uminchu. The more common observation is with reference to oneself in the third person as a sign of insanity. But I agree with you. Reference to oneself in the first person plural as a sign of elitism is indeed more vague and polite, thus applicable, as in this case.

[okisteve]

Right on the dot, Uminchu. The more common observation is with reference to oneself in the third person as a sign of insanity. But I agree with you. Reference to oneself in the first person plural as a sign of elitism is indeed more vague and polite, thus applicable, as in this case.

Also sometimes known as "the royal We". BTW, does anyone else notice the high frequency with which Japanese refer to themselves by their own name?

[ja_Patriot]

Let me take a guess
on why you need to enlarge
your fonts in messaging.

You have difficulty
in reading and dealing with
the original size
on IE (Internet Explorer),
so you feel the message gets delivered better
with larger fonts.

If you install and use Firefox
instead of IE,
a useful shortcut
is "CTRL" and "+",
which increases the font size on screen,
automatically,
to the next size level
thus very convenient.

[okisteve]

The same control works in Explorer also.....

[Isaak Brodsky]

your guess is partly right.

i was an imagery analyst for
seven years in the military.

the quality of my vision
degraded to such a degree
that small fonts on computer
screens have posed a
significant hurdle for me.

additionally,
trebuchet is
aesthetically pleasing
to the eye,
so like a breast
enlargement or two,
it enhances the
viewing pleasure
of the looker on.

[ja_Patriot]

Dealt with numbers, digits,
charts, graphs, reports,
summaries, proformas,
all my life,
so I have a similar difficulty,
as it stands.

The Firefox feature
greatly enhances
my sensory organ,
the visual one,
that is,
although as precious
as the other.

Nullifies the need
for artificial enhancements,
to penetrate the depth
of viscous layers,
on the visual side,
that is.

[Asshat]

i was an imagery analyst for
seven years in the military.

I "tried out" for that job in the early 80's looking for quicker promotions. I passed all the aptitude parts, but it was the interview with the Mustang Captain- who had been an interrogator in 'Nam- left me feeling a bit scared.

Dude looked right through me and knew which buttons to push one-minute after meeting me. No thanks!

[Paul McDaniel]

Dear Senior Member Uminchu, (Hi, ja)

Please allow me this opportunity to apologize.

I do realize that your comment was to Ian and not to me (which I now see only makes my transgression that much more egregious) and I am so sorry to have addressed you directly before being spoken to. Please be assured, it will never happen again.

As for the phrase “You missed a spot,” that was just one more of my wholly inappropriate and lame attempts at what passes for humor in my twisted little excuse for a mind and was, again, wrongly addressed to you rather than to Ian.

Also, you’re quite right about my use of the word “we.” Although those who know me personally prefer “arrogant” to “elitism,” I suppose either will do. You see, I had assumed that Ian also might enjoy reading something of your work. I should have known better, but since the . . . operation . . . well . . . where was I?

Oh! Your comment about “Those who can not teach” had me stumped for a while, but then, in a rare flash of comprehension, I realized . . . you’re a teacher!

Are we all better now?

Ever your junior,
Paul McDaniel

Next up—
I have an idea for a short story . . . let me rephrase that . . . one of my ideas for a short story is about a reckless individual who scales Mt. Everest alone with insufficient skills, preparation, and clothing. He does so intentionally, however, because his quest is not the mountain but something else, something unbelievably bizarre. Now, the odd thing about this story is not the bizarre part itself, but that the bizarre part is actually true.

I will have to do some research about Everest, read a book about mountain climbing (I should know somewhat more than my character will. I’ve rock climbed, but the only rules I remember are Don’t put your hand where you can’t see. and Don’t pull yourself up with anything furry.)

‘Til then.


When someone tries to fail and fails, did they succeed or fail? —Paul McDaniel

Pearls before swine! —Pearl

[Asshat]

As for the phrase “You missed a spot,” that was just one more of my wholly inappropriate and lame attempts at what passes for humor in my twisted little excuse for a mind and was, again, wrongly addressed to you rather than to Ian.

Oh no, I enjoyed that paragraph and I realized that I was offering suggestions to Ian, as in retrospect, I realized that this was arrogant of me. (Something I am also referred to by those who know me)

And therein lays my joke about "those who can't teach" inasmuch as I was attempting to teach without offering my own soul for dissection. I am not an educator, however I do have a lot of experience in that field-from many aspects.

I have an idea for a short story . . . let me rephrase that . . . one of my ideas for a short story is about a reckless individual who scales Mt. Everest alone with insufficient skills, preparation, and clothing. He does so intentionally, however, because his quest is not the mountain but something else, something unbelievably bizarre. Now, the odd thing about this story is not the bizarre part itself, but that the bizarre part is actually true.

Didn't O'Henry do something similar about the Matterhorn? I do have some friends in Europe who climb, as well as some who spend most of their time sailing small boats among the ice bergs and glaciers of Ushuaia.

It is the reckless and the philanthropic who are the true heroes in this world, caring not to cast their pearls, nor where those dropped ones may lay. We swine are pigs too.

[ja_Patriot]

As things taper off for the year-end, we learn to appreciate those subtle droplets of wit which had unfortunately sprouted unseen, under the shadow of confrontational circumstances.

I must say thanks for initiating a bright spot in this forum, Paul.

[ja_Patriot]

These pieces aren't ready, but here's one.

____


The Man Who Got Ready.

When RFL tendered his bid for the biggest deal of his life, a representative from one of the investment banking firms handling the buy-out auction called RFL’s office and said," We have received from your group an offer to buy Beatrice International for $950 million. We have a small problem – nobody knows who the hell you are!"

Well, the world of high finance got to know him soon enough.

Reginald F. Lewis was one of the wealthiest African-Americans who ever lived and at one time was included in Forbes' 400 Richest Americans. Not bad for a guy who grew up in a working class neighborhood in East Baltimore, who was often broke, who challenged and willed himself to succeed, and who is the only person of record who ever got admitted to Harvard Law School without ever applying.

No reason for any of them to have ever heard of the man. He wasn’t born in Hyannis Port or the Hamptons in East L.I., but in time he managed to have himself firmly established as an icon and permanent fixture at NYC’s Harvard Club and other circles of power.

RFL’s initial attempts to purchase companies would uniformly fail, not for lack of effort, but for a host of reasons that RFL crystallized into one. "I WAS NOT READY," he had then concluded, and characteristically he would come down hard on himself. Those early failures resulted in numbing depression and self-doubt the likes of which the supremely confident man had never encountered.

(As in this business), RFL was intimately involved with the origination, negotiation and closing of transactions. He was keen on networking, and was constantly reading and learning on the job, even after having established a successful Wall Street legal practice.

It will not be difficult to vicariously celebrate the closing of a billion-dollar takeover of an international conglomerate by someone who may be arguably considered as being “one of us”. After all, it was RFL and a partner, against the likes of Citicorp with their battalions of lawyers and accountants, fiercely battling for the Beatrice mega-deal.

But, apart from financial success, if one delves deeply enough into RFL’s saga and life, one will find a rich portrayal of hard, stark reality with its share of triumphs and setbacks, and an affirmation of what many of us learn later in life – that success is never automatic; that inevitably we will suffer our defeats and pay our dues before fully tasting victory; that we need to recognize what is ultimately important – family, children, and doing work we can enjoy doing; and that the key to overcoming odds, surmounting obstacles, and winning the game is the inculcation within ourselves of discipline and good work ethic, resourcefulness, tenacity – and preparation.

I WAS NOT READY. “If you’re not ready, all right then, get ready. Get ready!”, RFL often told himself.

Reginald F. Lewis got ready indeed – and got it done.

_____

(Chapt. draft excerpt - ja)

[Isaak Brodsky]

I "tried out" for that job in the early 80's looking for quicker promotions. I passed all the aptitude parts, but it was the interview with the Mustang Captain- who had been an interrogator in 'Nam- left me feeling a bit scared.

(I escaped in '94 from the field just when the imagery started going digital.)

Sorry for not keeping up with this thread. I promise to weigh in soon. Been dealing with a tragedy that has recently befallen a great friend of mine.

[Paul McDaniel]

Just checking in. My story “Skin Temperature” has a ways to go (another week mebbe). It has started writing itself now. I like when that happens.

But first, a poem. (One should not come to a party empty-handed, eh?) But let me say up front, this poem has no merit but one: it is true, it is a true poem.

Spokes

Immobilized by the color of the light,
She turned her head,
And spoke to me,
Not with coarse words,
But with the language of the eyes,
Eloquence,
And longing,
Blinked,
Then pedaled away.

Sorry ‘bout dat, what?

An ambitious project, ja.
I take it to be non-fiction, a biography? Book length? Something to publish?

Enjoyed O. Henry. I don’t remember a mountaineering story, only one called The Snow Man, took place in Colorado. Mine has to take place on or in the vicinity of Everest, little chance of unintentional plagiarism.

Say, as long as I’m logged on, why don’t I go ahead and post on this thread, they having no where else to go, Paul McDaniel’s Useful Writing Tips? I don’t know! So . . .


Paul McDaniel’s USEFUL WRITING TIPS

COMPOSING
—Consider the “fish form,” head, body, and tail. A well-arranged and balanced opener, body, and conclusion naturally make for pleasurable reading. This can be applied to a whole work, to each chapter (such that each could stand on its own) and even to individual paragraphs to good effect.
—Also, give much attention to titles, and to opening and closing lines as well as paragraphs. You want to grab the readers’ attention and give them a satisfying ends-tied-up closing.
—Outlines and timelines: particularly useful where timing and sequence are factors.
—Rules of grammar: not to be broken randomly (that merely makes it seem like you just don’t know grammar) but A-OK when it contributes to colouring and characterization. (I recommend a copy of Strunk and White be always within reach.)
—Read aloud to establish a poetry-like flow and rhythm.
—Pay attention to the flavor and feel of the words as read aloud.
—Base characters on real people; write about people you know (truthfully) just for practice (they don’t have to see it).

EDITING & POLISHING
—Eliminate unnecessary verbiage. Try to say the same thing in as few words as possible but still preserve the desired effect (unless you’re padding in order to fulfill a word count quota assignment).
—Commas: eliminate commas that aren’t actually necessary for the meaning of the sentence. Where commas are necessary, try to rewrite in a way that makes them unnecessary. This can make for a smoother flow in the reading.
—Use a dictionary. Make sure of the meanings of little-used words, don’t take another writers word (or what you hear on teevee) for it, look it up.
—Use a thesaurus. Avoid repeating the same word too much, if at all (unless necessary for effect) Find words appropriate to style and subject material.
—Problems: assign them to your creative unconscious, and then go to sleep or otherwise set it aside (the truth is in there).
—Proofreading: best done by an educated reader other than yourself. Identify what you want checked, grammar, typos, structure, emotional impact, logic etc. Or do it yourself, sentence by sentence in reverse order so you don’t get lost in the story (risky). Don’t send anything to a publisher or an agent until it’s been proofread by an educated reader. That includes query letters, proposals, and manuscripts.

IDEAS
—Keep a notebook and/or a digital recorder at hand 24/7. Don’t hesitate to take notes during conversations with others—or with yourself, for that matter.
—Take notes about dreams immediately (if you have any), they may be telling you something.
—Write up every idea. (Show only those that pan out.)
—Lots of reading, lots of variety. (Break out of your personal areas of interest.)
—Study and observe everything, people in particular.
—Collect words, phrases, names, cute ideas, etc. that just come to you; you never know what will come in handy.

OTHER STUFF
—If you want to be a writer of substance (and both admired and despised) do not allow political correctness to diminish your work.
—Apply these tips to everything you write. This, over time, will make articulate expression a habit and good writing a piece of cake.

Let’s see . . . did I miss anything? Well, of course I did! It was a trick question. Ian?


Don’t worry, be sassy. —Paul McDaniel

Few are those who see with their own eyes and feel with their own hearts. —Albert Einstein

[okisteve]

Nice post, Paul. Are you on Okinawa, BTW? You've been a little reticent.

Thanks for the writing tips. In my case it's never too late.

I just finished reading a book review in the latest Atlantic, of a Vietnam novel that has been highly applauded, but this reviewer (B.R. Myers) really takes it apart. The book is Tree of Smoke, by Denis Johnson.

The reviewer's main issue is style and usage, so I thought it might be of interest to you.

[Paul McDaniel]

Thanks. Okinawa. Have I? You’re welcome. It was.
B.R. Meyers sure hates that book. And, judging from the quoted excerpts, I cannot disagree. That “author” should visit this forum and check out some writing tips.
I wonder what B.R. would have to say about my latest story? Speaking of which:
Skin° is done.
2300 words.
Asked dk how best to post.


Sometimes I find myself harboring an irresistible desire to do something that is really, really wrong, like adding two and two and getting five. —Paul McDaniel

[Paul McDaniel]

_____Finally, here’s the first two paragraphs of the story the idea for which I mentioned in a previous post and which I hope does not duplicate the efforts of O. Henry. It’s 2300 words in its entirety so perhaps too long for a single post, so dk and I suppose a link to the whole bit on my web page would be just as well. (There was also a problem with paragraph indentation, a necessary feature of its presentation.)

_____I figure if the first two paragraphs aren’t worth clicking on a link, then it doesn’t deserve to be read.

_____I hope that those who manage to get through the whole story, plus the afterword, will tell me what they REALLY think. (I know some of you hold back from expressing your true opinions.)


___________________________Skin°
_______________(Pronounced “Skin Temperature”)
_____________A True-ish Adventure By Paul McDaniel

_____Points of no return. Just one can be the end of the fool who passes it, and our fool, one Gary Simmers, age thirty-two, seemed to collect them like others collect dead butterflies. Throwing his cold weather clothing into a ravine was only his latest. Before that, during a trek to Mount Everest Base Camp, he feigned illness as an excuse to leave the group and return to the lodge they had just passed. But instead of returning to the lodge, he left the trail just south of Pangboche, Nepal (altitude: 12,000 feet above sea level) and hiked a thousand yards into the woods and pitched his tent.
_____His choice of tent—one more suited to a children’s summertime backyard campout in the suburbs of Glendale, California than the snow-laden slopes below Mount Everest—would be another. The first though, given his inclination toward risky trail blazing “going where no man has gone before” adventure, he probably passed in the desert some 250 miles south of the border in Mexico.

_____For more “Skin°” click on http://www.okinawablue.com/skin.htm


_____Asked if I can’t just get along, I replied that day by day for the rest of my life, I will think, say, and do what I think is right. Getting along will never enter into it. — Paul McDaniel

[Asshat]

I think it is a great idea Paul. Your protagonist is fairly well set up, however it seems to me that fleshing out a more definite antagonist- I assume it is the weather- would add more punch. Or perhaps draw out in more detail the events leading up to the mountain climb. Why the cheap tent, etc.

I love the last line. I think you are on to a great story line. Perhaps begin in Mexico, or earlier even, as the protagonist begins to draw away from the success of his father.

My two cents worth, hardly befitting the thought you have already put into your piece. I would like to see you keep going with it- dumbing it down even for those of us who don't fully understand (or appreciate) the degree of adaptation the modern homo sapien is capable of....even expanding that process with larger jaws, bigger teeth, growth of canines, etc as natural obsticles are overcome.....a reversion to neanderthal in one-half of a life time.

Repsectfully,

"uminchu"

[The_Zach2681]

Since we're on the topic of neanderthals, what if...

A group of paleolithic neanderthals were magically transported to the 18th century, where they adapted the roguish lifestyle of contemporary pirates, then were magically transported to the 21st century, where they succeed in wreaking havoc with near-impunity! **** it - I'm going straight to the screenplay - I'll get my hero Uwe Boll to direct!!!