I wrote this a couple of days ago and just thought I would share so enjoy.............
Dear readers, its me once again, trying for the fifth or sixth time to write the great American novel. I keep trying over and over again to do this to no avail. First time I tried to do a biography that wasnt interesting enough, I dont have that exciting of a life. At least nothing that will make you stop to read it just by reading a paragraph on the back of the book, although that might be what this turns into. Then I tried to write about philosophy in todays society, but as that happened I found God and the two conflicted with one another. They make since one in the same, you know follow the golden rule and all sorts of jazz. One of my later attempts and perhaps my greatest was to write a story about an angel in an insane asylum for believing in who he is, and not what his doctors told him. I wrote a good fifty pages of this novel before my computer decided to crash and burn. I got ten of the pages back but now I'm uninspired, but who knows. Guess is was poetic justice since that is very similar to how I was going to end that story. So here I am again trying to think of a tale worth your time, and worth my time in typing. Could take religion or the madness of my life that isnt really as mad or angst ridden as I wish it was just so I could write a better novel. There are so many things I could write about. Here I am sitting at Barnes and Nobles; only reason I came here wasnt to write the great American novel but was to work up the courage to flirt with the girl behind the counter with the black tribal tattoo on her right arm. She has smiled at me the last three times Ive been here. She is the closest to a relationship I have seen in a while. Now dont feel sorry for me, this isnt a cry for me fucking routine or nothing like that. I just think it is relevant to me. I can have sex when I want to, but there is a difference between a relationship and sex. One gives me instant gratification that ends a few moments later. No I last longer then a few moments, but Im not bragging about that either. Ill get back to the girl and relationship in a few moments. So Im sitting here in a big oversized chair not big enough for two but too big for just me. There is a girl to the right of me and the guy in front of me keeps staring at her as she reads a vogue or some magazine. I dont want to stare as well. I cant tell if he thinks she is sexy or if he is in disgust about the magazine she is reading. Correction it isnt a magazine its a book of odd facts, once again beside the point. Maybe the guy is jealous of the book she is reading. He is reading something altogether more boring. I have my headphones plugged into my laptop listening to some band called Galactic a southern jazz jam band. If you heard of them you probably would like them, if not it doesnt affect the outcome of this story because my music tastes tend to have a wide variety and none end up on the radio. Guess I wouldnt be a good judge on a bad reality show. Im in my hometown again. Macon, Georgia. I was born here lived here 12 years then moved away. I wish I could have said something cool like moved to England or some third world country, but I moved to Conyers. No good story about moving other then the fact that my dad had a transfer to Atlanta, and Conyers had good schools for my brother and me. This might come back up later in the story depending on what this story ends up being about. Im not committing to anything yet. Im going to free flow till something sticks and someone says Wow that is beautiful. You could have been related to Jack Kerouac or Louis Armstrong. I am drinking a Jones, Limes with Oranges that I got at the star bucks here. It has a good taste, but Ive always been into the citrus drinks. Holy crap, that guy is staring at the girl again, wait no his attention moved to me. Does he know I am typing about him? Okay, play it cool, keep my eyes on the screen, dont look up, and damn it I looked up. He was busted he moved his eyes back to the girl. The girl my interests are in is on the other side of the store behind the counter. She probably doesnt know it. Shes probably gives every customer that smile when they come in. She doesnt know anything about me. I wish she did. I wish I had more courage to talk to her. Im constantly coming here, but Im so afraid to talk to her cause Im afraid it will end my trips here and also end the great American novel for two reasons. One if it did work out, put you in my shoes. I would want to spoil her; I would want to keep her with me. If I could shrink her and put her in my pocket I would while I worked or played drums or whatever it is I do. Damn I just want to hold her hand. I dont want to have sex with her; I want to know about her family. I want to know why she works here, and why she smiled at me. But with all this being said the novel would turn into a sappy romance story. I might be a pirate and shes the princess that I steal away from the evil prince she is betrothed too. It would have Fabio on the cover, but I am no Fabio. I am who I am. Oh great now Im stealing quotes from cartoons. A.D.D. in literature isnt it grand. Maybe though I wouldnt write a thing after I was with this girl, maybe my thoughts I would tell just to her and that would be enough. Now for my real fear of talking to this girl, what if I asked her on a date and she says no, shes washing her hair, shes a lesbian, shes a nun, and shes everything that I cant have. She just smiled because she is a corporate whore and they are taught that in orientation, cause hell before I decided to write I was searching the aisles and mountains and lakes worth of books here trying to find the cheapest yet indestinctibly cool book to but so I could have a minute conversation with her on my way out. What if she is married, Ive been down that route too. Yes I made the vows, took the plunge, got the ball and chain, whatever. Im not married anymore but that is a tale in itself. No it wasnt my fought; I wasnt an asshole nor was I a victim like some divorcees would like you to believe. She cheated on me, she broke me, and she made me want to swallow pills to go into blackness. She made me want to slash my wrists, but I cant blame her for what happened. She grew up in a Jerry Springer episode of a family. Murphys Law was full in affect for them. I was going to be the gallant knight and save the poor peasant girl from all the troubles of her life. From the molestation to the abuse to the rape, to well the list goes on and on. I was going to be her personal savior, and in my own way I was. I try not to blame her for cheating on me, because truth is it is in her nature too. She is like her mother who cheated on all 5 of her husbands, and stills goes back and forth between the five except the one she allegedly killed. At least necrophilia isnt in that family, thank god for small miracles. Well there is another story I could write about but back to the girl with the tattoo. I thought about asking her what book she recommended but was afraid she might blow me off and tell me to go ask the customer service folks. The guy there doesnt like me; I think he thinks Im in his territory. We guys are wild dogs when it comes to that. We protect all women around us not even thinking about it at times. No girl deserves a guy as good as we are and damn it we dont want to give them the chance to find out differently. So should I talk to the girl, man I wish I had a name for her. I get so tired of using words like girl and she and her. Im starting to sound like a stalker, but Im not just a lonely man stuck in his old town knowing no one but his relatives in this town. I moved here to be vice president of a roofing company and be a business man, but I need a muse. I want to be inspired, but hey at least Im trying to write again. I need help what story do I write, maybe I should ask her and tell her shes the star of it. That she is the reason Im sitting here writing, is that romantic? Or is that pathetic. Well this is the intro to the great American novel what comes in after this I do not want to be held responsible for cause I want to write something so brilliant that scholars will critique it, and I will be part of history and wrote on for generations. I want my great grandchildren to be able to show off the old antique of a computer to there friends who had to write a book report on me, sorry kids for giving you something to read. Who knows maybe the one to start me on my way to fatherhood will be the one Im dedicating this book to. The girl with the black tattoo, I thank you for the unknown courage you give me. Maybe before this whole thing is over you will know what you did for me, and how much that smile makes me swoon. So if you could hear this story, throw on some drums and let the lights fade, and the curtain open wide, and the story begins.
May the angels watch over you.
L-child
Dear readers, its me once again, trying for the fifth or sixth time to write the great American novel. I keep trying over and over again to do this to no avail. First time I tried to do a biography that wasnt interesting enough, I dont have that exciting of a life. At least nothing that will make you stop to read it just by reading a paragraph on the back of the book, although that might be what this turns into. Then I tried to write about philosophy in todays society, but as that happened I found God and the two conflicted with one another. They make since one in the same, you know follow the golden rule and all sorts of jazz. One of my later attempts and perhaps my greatest was to write a story about an angel in an insane asylum for believing in who he is, and not what his doctors told him. I wrote a good fifty pages of this novel before my computer decided to crash and burn. I got ten of the pages back but now I'm uninspired, but who knows. Guess is was poetic justice since that is very similar to how I was going to end that story. So here I am again trying to think of a tale worth your time, and worth my time in typing. Could take religion or the madness of my life that isnt really as mad or angst ridden as I wish it was just so I could write a better novel. There are so many things I could write about. Here I am sitting at Barnes and Nobles; only reason I came here wasnt to write the great American novel but was to work up the courage to flirt with the girl behind the counter with the black tribal tattoo on her right arm. She has smiled at me the last three times Ive been here. She is the closest to a relationship I have seen in a while. Now dont feel sorry for me, this isnt a cry for me fucking routine or nothing like that. I just think it is relevant to me. I can have sex when I want to, but there is a difference between a relationship and sex. One gives me instant gratification that ends a few moments later. No I last longer then a few moments, but Im not bragging about that either. Ill get back to the girl and relationship in a few moments. So Im sitting here in a big oversized chair not big enough for two but too big for just me. There is a girl to the right of me and the guy in front of me keeps staring at her as she reads a vogue or some magazine. I dont want to stare as well. I cant tell if he thinks she is sexy or if he is in disgust about the magazine she is reading. Correction it isnt a magazine its a book of odd facts, once again beside the point. Maybe the guy is jealous of the book she is reading. He is reading something altogether more boring. I have my headphones plugged into my laptop listening to some band called Galactic a southern jazz jam band. If you heard of them you probably would like them, if not it doesnt affect the outcome of this story because my music tastes tend to have a wide variety and none end up on the radio. Guess I wouldnt be a good judge on a bad reality show. Im in my hometown again. Macon, Georgia. I was born here lived here 12 years then moved away. I wish I could have said something cool like moved to England or some third world country, but I moved to Conyers. No good story about moving other then the fact that my dad had a transfer to Atlanta, and Conyers had good schools for my brother and me. This might come back up later in the story depending on what this story ends up being about. Im not committing to anything yet. Im going to free flow till something sticks and someone says Wow that is beautiful. You could have been related to Jack Kerouac or Louis Armstrong. I am drinking a Jones, Limes with Oranges that I got at the star bucks here. It has a good taste, but Ive always been into the citrus drinks. Holy crap, that guy is staring at the girl again, wait no his attention moved to me. Does he know I am typing about him? Okay, play it cool, keep my eyes on the screen, dont look up, and damn it I looked up. He was busted he moved his eyes back to the girl. The girl my interests are in is on the other side of the store behind the counter. She probably doesnt know it. Shes probably gives every customer that smile when they come in. She doesnt know anything about me. I wish she did. I wish I had more courage to talk to her. Im constantly coming here, but Im so afraid to talk to her cause Im afraid it will end my trips here and also end the great American novel for two reasons. One if it did work out, put you in my shoes. I would want to spoil her; I would want to keep her with me. If I could shrink her and put her in my pocket I would while I worked or played drums or whatever it is I do. Damn I just want to hold her hand. I dont want to have sex with her; I want to know about her family. I want to know why she works here, and why she smiled at me. But with all this being said the novel would turn into a sappy romance story. I might be a pirate and shes the princess that I steal away from the evil prince she is betrothed too. It would have Fabio on the cover, but I am no Fabio. I am who I am. Oh great now Im stealing quotes from cartoons. A.D.D. in literature isnt it grand. Maybe though I wouldnt write a thing after I was with this girl, maybe my thoughts I would tell just to her and that would be enough. Now for my real fear of talking to this girl, what if I asked her on a date and she says no, shes washing her hair, shes a lesbian, shes a nun, and shes everything that I cant have. She just smiled because she is a corporate whore and they are taught that in orientation, cause hell before I decided to write I was searching the aisles and mountains and lakes worth of books here trying to find the cheapest yet indestinctibly cool book to but so I could have a minute conversation with her on my way out. What if she is married, Ive been down that route too. Yes I made the vows, took the plunge, got the ball and chain, whatever. Im not married anymore but that is a tale in itself. No it wasnt my fought; I wasnt an asshole nor was I a victim like some divorcees would like you to believe. She cheated on me, she broke me, and she made me want to swallow pills to go into blackness. She made me want to slash my wrists, but I cant blame her for what happened. She grew up in a Jerry Springer episode of a family. Murphys Law was full in affect for them. I was going to be the gallant knight and save the poor peasant girl from all the troubles of her life. From the molestation to the abuse to the rape, to well the list goes on and on. I was going to be her personal savior, and in my own way I was. I try not to blame her for cheating on me, because truth is it is in her nature too. She is like her mother who cheated on all 5 of her husbands, and stills goes back and forth between the five except the one she allegedly killed. At least necrophilia isnt in that family, thank god for small miracles. Well there is another story I could write about but back to the girl with the tattoo. I thought about asking her what book she recommended but was afraid she might blow me off and tell me to go ask the customer service folks. The guy there doesnt like me; I think he thinks Im in his territory. We guys are wild dogs when it comes to that. We protect all women around us not even thinking about it at times. No girl deserves a guy as good as we are and damn it we dont want to give them the chance to find out differently. So should I talk to the girl, man I wish I had a name for her. I get so tired of using words like girl and she and her. Im starting to sound like a stalker, but Im not just a lonely man stuck in his old town knowing no one but his relatives in this town. I moved here to be vice president of a roofing company and be a business man, but I need a muse. I want to be inspired, but hey at least Im trying to write again. I need help what story do I write, maybe I should ask her and tell her shes the star of it. That she is the reason Im sitting here writing, is that romantic? Or is that pathetic. Well this is the intro to the great American novel what comes in after this I do not want to be held responsible for cause I want to write something so brilliant that scholars will critique it, and I will be part of history and wrote on for generations. I want my great grandchildren to be able to show off the old antique of a computer to there friends who had to write a book report on me, sorry kids for giving you something to read. Who knows maybe the one to start me on my way to fatherhood will be the one Im dedicating this book to. The girl with the black tattoo, I thank you for the unknown courage you give me. Maybe before this whole thing is over you will know what you did for me, and how much that smile makes me swoon. So if you could hear this story, throw on some drums and let the lights fade, and the curtain open wide, and the story begins.
May the angels watch over you.
L-child