Gifts Ungiven Part 1

The following is part 1 of a short story I wrote recently. It was first published on ClutchMOV.com. Parts two and three will follow over the next two weeks. It's set during Christmas time, but it's not just a Christmas story. It's about a young man trying to work up the courage to open his heart to a girl he really likes. Chapter two of the story of Evan and Renee will be appearing on ClutchMOV and then here over the next couple of months.

 

The box seemed to weigh a ton in his pocket. He reached in to finger the bow, long battered into submission by being carried around in his coat since the first day after Thanksgiving break. He opened his pocket just enough to peek in. Her name was still legible, but only barely. By this time, he not only had the struggle of working up courage to give a gift to the girl of his dreams, but of explaining why it looked like he’d kicked it all the way to school before he gave it to her. Even if it were pristine, he was taking the gut-wrenching chance that she would reject him or, worse, accept it out of pity. He didn’t want to think about the absolute worst case scenario, in which she publicly humiliated him by laughing, along with all her friends, at the idea that she, a beauty with guys lining up to date her, would accept a gift from, let alone go steady with, a troll like him.

 

On his good days, which were (at least in his 8^th grade mind) much rarer than average, he felt like he might not actually be a troll. He was a smart kid. He could act; he could sing; he made people laugh. And he was nice to everyone. But then, he always came back to the thought that those things didn’t exactly scream hunk. Chunk maybe, he thought, rubbing his round belly.

 

He looked at the clock. Two minutes until the end of class and the beginning of lunch. He realized he’d heard not a word of Mr. Beck’s lecture on erosion. It was their only class together that year, so he needed to give her the gift by the next day or suffer the sting of taking home her gift, ungiven and still wrapped. He couldn’t face the idea of it joining the present he’d gotten her the year before, but never managed to work up the courage to give her, under his bed, mingling with the dirty socks, old board games, and sports equipment.

 

“Hey Renee,” he said as she walked by after class, giggling with a couple of other girls. Well, the other girls were giggling. When she laughed, it was more like the flutter of angel wings. Her dark ponytail swung as she turned toward him.

 

“Hey Evan.” She smiled. He froze. Even in braces, her smile bewitched him. He had the box, which contained earrings with a tiny chip of her birthstone in each—his mother had helped him pick them out of the Avon catalog—in his sweaty hand, but his arm was immobilized, unresponsive. As was his mouth. No sounds came out, but at least it did open and close repeatedly, kind of like a goldfish.

 

“Going to lunch?” she asked as she and her friends swept by. She didn’t seem to have noticed his buffoonery.

 

“Yeah.” Well, at least that was a word. Sort of.

 

“You okay?”

 

“Yeah.” No. Give it to her, you moron, he thought. But still his hand remained clenched, his arm unmoving.

 

“Well, maybe see you in the cafeteria?” She hesitated at the door.

 

“Okay.”

 

She gave him a look he couldn’t decipher. Sympathy? Puzzlement? Nausea? He was betting on the last. “Okay. Well, bye.”

 

“You really need to give her that present.”







 

 

Will he give her the present? Tune in next week to find out--same Bat time, same Bat channel!

Post from Writing Wranglers and Warriors

I'm taking today off to spend with my family, so I'm going to give you a link to my Christmas Day blog post for Writing Wranglers and Warriors. But I will leave you with one reminder that it's not too late to give your favorite independent author the perfect Christmas gift--a review on Amazon!

Here's the link and I'll be back next week!

https://writingwranglersandwarriors.wordpress.com/

Warm Christmas Memories, Part 1

This month has always been my favorite time of year. I have so many warm memories of this festive season. So I decided that for the next four weeks I would do a series of reminiscences of Christmases past. Here's the first:

This isn't my actual childhood window,
but mine was just as frosty during the
winter. Ah, the joys of the single
pane window.

Outside the blankets, it's icy cold, but underneath them, so numerous it's difficult to move, it is toasty warm. My bedroom is a converted attic and our house's heat source is a floor furnace that does an admirable job of warming the downstairs but is basically meaningless up here. But I don't mind at all. The best sleep is cold room sleep.

I'm half awake; it's a half-hour before I have to get up for school. I could get up, but I have no intention of stirring before I'm called. This time is too delicious. Wafting up from downstairs are sounds and smells that my pre-teen mind has no idea will become so precious to me as an adult. Mom has been up for a bit, and during this time of year--the weeks before Christmas--that means two things: blasting Christmas music on the stereo and baking delectable Christmas treats too numerous to list.

It just wouldn't sound right to me
without the pops and hiss of vinyl,
but if you want to try it, go to Amazon.
It's only $5.99 for the whole album.

We have lots of Christmas music, all of which hid in the bottom of the stack of LPs until Thanksgiving. This is long before the days of iPods, CDs, or even cassette tapes. Dad, along with the rest of the country, hasn't yet given in to the commercial excess of starting Christmas in mid or even early November. But from the morning after Thanksgiving until early January, I am awakened by one of those records. I love every single one, but my favorite is The Star Carol by legendary country singer Tennessee Ernie Ford. His rich, silky baritone fills me with warmth on the frostiest morning.

Accompanying the music are the sounds and aromas of Mom working in the kitchen, splitting time between getting breakfast ready for the house, packing Dad's lunch, and baking the aforementioned Christmas goodies. Mom is famous in our circle of neighbors and family for her baking prowess. The list is seemingly endless: chocolate chip cookies, snicker doodles, Niemen Marcus cookies, fudge, toffee, snack mix, wedding cookies, sugar cookies--I could go on, but I'm getting fat just thinking about it.

I have no easily accessible pictures
from the time period. The
memories are still fresh, even if
the cookies aren't.

Mom annually bakes so much that most years we walk around the neighborhood, tins in hand, to share the bounty with older folks who don't have much Christmas to be cheerful about. Some years when I'm younger and frustrated about not getting to join my older siblings (I often joke I'm the fourth of three children because I came along unexpectedly almost five years after my brother Don, who Mom and Dad thought was going to be their last kid.), Mom soothes my tears by letting me join her in the kitchen. This is why I'll love cooking and baking as an adult--and why I'll have a sweet tooth until the day I die.  

Shortly before it's time to get up and get ready for school, I hear Mom come and slide back the door at the bottom of the stairs to let some warm air up. It's an accordion-style device that wasn't really designed for what Dad installed it for, but it works. The door opening only intensifies the sensory delights as whatever's in the oven just at the bottom of the stairs dances up and tickles my nose. I don't know how my brother can stay asleep through it, but he doesn't stir until a few minutes later when Mom yells up that breakfast is ready. I don't want to get up, not because I want to keep sleeping, but because where I am is just so perfect and part of me wishes that it can stay this way forever. But another part of me, even the me that's not yet old enough to understand why, knows that perfection doesn't last. So it's up into the frigid morning air to get dressed, trudge downstairs, and meet the day.



PS--I would be remiss if I didn't remind you one last time about my reading and signing event today from 4pm to 6pm. It's at Emmanuel Baptist Church, which is on the corner of 23rd and Liberty Streets. It's just up the hill from City Park, so when you're finished, you can go enjoy the lights. I know that's what I plan to do.

Preview of "Harry and the Redheaded Angel"

Thanksgiving through Christmas is my favorite time of year. I always thought as a writer that I would probably, at some point in time, do a collection of Christmas-themed stories. I haven't done that yet. And if you've read In the Shadow yet, you know that Christmas isn't exactly jolly in that story. So I was excited to get to tell a happier holiday tale in "Harry and the Redheaded Angel." It's not only a story of Thanksgiving and Christmas, but it's a story of great romance. As an added bonus, I wrote it during the hot summer months, so it took me temporarily to the chill air of November and December.

I thought this would be a good time to give you a little taste of the story. It's from the very beginning, when Harry meets his angel. Well, meets isn't completely accurate. He already knew her. He just didn't realize before that she was his angel. I'll let the story explain it. Here's the opening scene of "Harry and the Redheaded Angel."

I was running late—again. I was tempted to find a sparsely populated pew in the back after I shook hands with an usher who handed me a bulletin. The first strains of an old hymn, one I’d undoubtedly heard a thousand times before but the title of which I just couldn’t place, were filtering into the narthex as I swung the door open and stopped to get my bearings at the threshold to the sanctuary. Halfway through scanning the pews, I spotted my boss and only real friend in town flagging me down like one of those people who wave in an airplane after it’s landed. The ones wielding the flashlights with the long orange extensions on them. There’s probably a name for that job, but I’ll be darned if I know what it is. He was way down front and the service was just about to start. I found it uncomfortable walking all the way up the center aisle in front of the whole church. Especially since I’d only been here one time before. But Lucas McCain was not letting up, so just to get him to stop, I hurried to take a seat beside him.  

“Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus” was the hymn. I really had heard it a thousand times. The pianist was really vamping it up, though, so I didn’t recognize it at first. I figured it out as she was finishing.  

“You barely made it,” whispered Lucas, scooting over to make room for me. “What happened?” 

“Guess,” I said, flipping through the bulletin without really looking at it.  

“Again?” 

“Again.” I glanced down the order of service, half paying attention. Something on the page caught my eye. “I wonder…” 

“Wonder what?” 

“Huh? Oh, nothing.” 

“What?” 

“It’s just the soloist. Same name as somebody I went to high school with.” 

“In West Virginia?” 

“No, the other place I went to high school.” 

He looked at me, his face deadpan. “Such disrespect. I just mean I doubt it’s her.” 

“Yeah,” I said. “Deanna Baxter’s probably a pretty common name.” 

“You know her well?” 

“No, she was a couple years behind me.” 

“But you remember her name?” 

“Dated my best friend for a while.” 

“Looker?” 

“I don’t know. She was only sixteen last I saw her. Redhead.” 

“You do like redheads.” 

“I do.” 

“Speaking of which, what are you going to do about J Lo?” 

“I don’t know. She’s getting really temperamental.” 

“I’d say. It’s not even that cold.” 

“Tell J Lo that.”  

It had become unseasonably cool early for Louisville, Kentucky, with the night before, November 1st, falling well below freezing.  

“You gotta do something about her,” he said. 

“Pay me a living wage and I’ll gladly move on.” 

He started to respond, no doubt with something to the effect that I was barely worth what he was paying me as it was. To which I would have said something to the effect of bite me, after which we both would have laughed too loudly for the setting. That was our relationship from the day we met. Never a serious word except when it came to work. And sometimes not even then. With some of the cases we worked, you couldn’t help but laugh. Others, it was laugh to keep from crying.  

But before he could speak, the heavens opened and my whole life changed.  I’d only been half listening to the pastor as he introduced the soloist. Lucas and I were busy gabbing. After a short piano introduction, she began singing. From that first note, I was captured, captivated, entranced. I was half afraid to look up, nearly convinced she was an angel and that her glory would blind me. As it turned out, I wasn’t far from right.  

Well, Shalan, I thought, better hope she’s beautiful because you’re going to marry her. Slowly, deliberately, I raised my eyes. Maybe it was coincidence or possibly divine intervention, but she looked right at me at precisely the same moment I focused on her. Probably mirroring mine, her eyes grew wide with recognition. It was Dee Baxter. My Dee Baxter. Well, to be fair, she was Otis’ Dee Baxter back in high school. She’s mine now, I thought.  


Want to read the rest? Well, you have two choices: wait until Thanksgiving week and get it on Smashwords or Amazon. Or join my mailing list and get the whole thing for free today! It's easy. Just put your email address in the box at the top of the page. You'll get a confirmation email and as soon as you confirm, you'll get a link to this whole novella absolutely free. And not just that. You'll get the first Shalan Adventure, Harsh Prey and a four-chapter preview of the third in my series, In the Shadow. All for the low cost of zippo.
 

My Favorite Things, Part Deux

I enjoyed last week's post so much that I decided to go ahead and do another set of favorites this week. You will probably notice that a lot of my favorites involve food. Food is my favorite thing to eat.

• Favorite summer food: This is an easy one. Homegrown tomatoes. Anyone who has eaten a real fresh from the garden tomato knows that store-bought tomatoes taste about as much like real tomatoes as I do. And I don't taste like tomatoes at all. Fresh sliced tomatoes with a little salt are one of the greatest joys of summer. They're also amazing on sandwiches or cut up in salads. They even make better sauces and creamed tomatoes, which, when put over home-baked biscuits will bring a tear of joy to the eye. 

• Favorite vacation spot: This one's pretty easy too. I love pretty much anywhere with an ocean view, but number one would have to be the Outer Banks of North Carolina. It has areas that are full of tourist-y things, like shops, restaurants, and goofy golf, but there are other places where it's nothing but seashore. It's the place where, when I go there, all stress evaporates. I just love it. 

• Favorite Christmas tradition: I'm going to cheat and do a twofer. First, it's my blog so I can do what I want. Second, they're directly connected, so it's only cheating a little. To me it's not Christmas until two important events have happened at my school. First is the tree lighting. It's not an actual tree. It's lights on the front of the building that look like a giant tree with a star on top. Every year at the beginning of December, there's a neat ceremony involving caroling, cookies, hot chocolate, and a visit from Santa (played gleefully by yours truly). At the end, all the other school lights go out and the tree is lit. It's positively magical. Second chronologically, though not in significance, is the choir Christmas concert. More specifically, the traditional processional that involves the choir coming in from the back, candles in hand (sadly, electric candles now), singing "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel." If you hear that and don't get chills, you're probably dead. 

• Favorite sandwich: This is kind of a sad one. My favorite sandwich doesn't exist anymore, at least not anywhere near me. There was a restaurant called Bennigan's in the mall in Charleston, a city a little over an hour's drive from my town. They served a Monte Cristo that was nearly beyond description. I've had Monte Cristos in other places, but none compare with this. Granted, it's a once-a-year kind of treat, but oh my gosh it's good. In case you don't know, this is a club sandwich that's battered and deep fried served with powdered sugar on top and raspberry jam to dip it in. It's the perfect combination of savory and sweet. Unfortunately, Bennigan's is no more and no other restaurant's rendition comes within miles of being as good. 

franchisetimes.com

• Favorite movie: I struggle with this one and, if I did this post in a few months, I might change my mind. But if you asked me ten times what my favorite movie is, about nine of those times the answer would be Casablanca. It has it all: love, patriotism, self-sacrifice, suspense, and one of the most beautiful women to ever grace the planet--Ingrid Bergman. If you haven't seen it, you're missing out. Humphrey Bogart play's Rick, an expatriate bar-owner in Morocco who has given up on love--until Ilsa, his one true great love walks in one night, hoping Rick, whose heart she broke, will help her and her freedom-fighting husband escape Nazi-occupied Africa. The supporting cast is a who's who of great 40's stars: Claude Rains, Peter Lorre, Sydney Greenstreet, and Paul Henreid. Lorre and Greenstreet were also in another great Bogey film, The Maltese Falcon. This movie is famous for, among other things, having quite possibly the most misquoted line in all cinema. People almost always say the line wrong by saying, "Play it again, Sam." The line is actually, "Play it Sam." It also has another oft-quoted line: "Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine."  I could go on and on, but I'll end by saying that everyone needs to see this film. 

Bogey and Bergman were phenomenal

Okay, there you go. Five more favorites. I'll do something different next week, but stay tuned: I'll have more favorites soon.

It's Beginning to Feel a Lot Like Christmas?

I know, I know--it's July and the high is predicted to be in the eighties here today. But I'm already getting that Christmas feeling. Why? Because I started a new Shalan story yesterday. It's a prequel set around the first Christmas that Harry and Dee had together, the one where he proposed. Spoiler alert--she says yes.

Plans are for this to be a short story at the moment. Who knows? It may grow into a novella. It will involve a case, though it will not have Harry's buddy Otis because, as you probably know if you've read my books, Harry and Dee fell in love in Louisville, Kentucky. He had gone there for seminary but dropped out when he found what he loved doing--detective work. She was there working on her master's degree. Harry's partner in crime will be his boss, the owner of the McCain detective agency, Lucas McCain. Lucas, older than Harry but still not completely darkened by his work, is Harry's mentor in the gumshoe business. In this story we'll see the origins of many of the ideals that Harry holds dear--and even some of his rules.

Karen Gillan, best known to
nerds as Amy Pond in
DOCTOR WHO, is the
woman I picture playing Dee
in a movie. I love her humor and
also how fierce she can be.  Plus,
she's just stunning. (beyouthful.net)

It's tentatively entitled "Harry and the Redheaded Angel" and plans are for it to come out in mid-november for free exclusively to members of my mailing list. It will go on sale to the public around Thanksgiving. This is going to be ebook only, though it may appear on paper in a collection someday. Unlike Marvel Studios, I don't have this stuff planned out through 2020 and beyond.

If you don't want to wait until Thanksgiving to get more Harry and Dee, never fear. In The Shadow, Shalan Adventure #3, will be available in paperback and for ebook in the fall. My target is to have it out by October 1, though it may be a little earlier than that. This book takes a darker turn than the first two. Harry and Dee, at the request of Harry's best friend Otis, a Parkersburg Police detective, go in search for a teen that may have run away. Her name is Jenn Bezaleel and Harry learns pretty quickly that running away from her seriously perverted family may be the smartest thing she could have ever done. Dee can't help much because she's quite pregnant with their first baby, Emma Grace, who was (sort of) introduced in the epilogue of Kisses and Lies. I won't say more for fear of too many spoilers. I don't say this often about my own writing, but I think it's really good. I believe people will either love it or hate it, though, because it's pretty heavy stuff.

I'm looking for a couple more beta readers for this book. If you have time to sit down and read it in the next week or two and are willing to be honest with me, please get in touch. Let me emphasize that I need this to be done in a timely manner. I'm on the, albeit self-imposed, clock. I need to get final edits done by the end of summer. So please only contact me if you honestly have the time to read for me soon.