Hey everyone! This is not a story, but I did want to let you all know a couple things.
First, I can’t even begin to tell you all how honored and privileged I am that you would take the time to read my words each week. You guys have provided me with so much encouragement and feedback. I owe so much of my growth as a writer to you all and “thank you” does not begin to cover how much I appreciate you.
Secondly, as many of you noticed, I did not post a story last week. I was in the middle of moving across the country. This may happen a bit more in the future (the missing a week, not the moving) as I focus on some lengthier writing projects. The purpose of my move was so that I can dedicate some time to publish a book of short stories and write a novel. I will be documenting my journey of these new endeavors on my brand new author site byAdamDrake.com If you would like see a more personal side of me and follow my progress as an author, please check it out and follow me there as well. (It’s still through WordPress too)
I am working on a story for this week, so hopefully that will get me back into the routine.
Thank you all again. I do not know if I would have had the courage to attempt what I am about to do without all your encouragement. Don’t ever forget the power of your words to one trying to change the world with them.
C’mon man. You’ve waited your whole life for this. All the work. All the sweat and sacrifices. All for that trophy. Breathe. Don’t swing at the first pitch. Watch for the release point, pick up the spin, and see what kind of heat this guy brings.
Author’s Note: Over the past few months I have had a few requests that, although slightly different, suggested various forms of reader participation so this week I thought I would give it a try. The following is the beginning of a story. I will leave the ending up to you. You can share your thoughts and ideas for what happens next by commenting and I will take one or more of them to finish the story. Let the fun begin.
“Maybe it’s just brown. Everything seems like it’s brown nowadays…”
Zane’s eyes wandered around the interior of the coffee shop as his mind searched for the best answer. “Love” was the first thought that popped up but was immediately followed by the image of his cat Whiskers. It was a noble idea, but hardly accurate if a cat was the primary source of love in his life. He pondered the word “Boring” for a minute, but rejected it knowing it would leave him melancholy for the next few days.
The article that had sent him on this thought adventure still filled the screen of his laptop. Bold letters along the top asked “Is Life That Simple?” The author believed that if a person could find a core idea around which their life rotated, they could find happiness. It highlighted a recent poll that had asked people describe their life in a single word. “Exciting”, “Love”, and “Fun” were the top three answers. (more…)
Every year I get two’s and sometimes three’s of requests to bring back a particular character from a past story and this year is no different. If you would like to read the original story from which this character originated, you can find it here. Enjoy.
Most September evenings, when the heat of the day had been swept aside by the cool breeze rolling in from the mountains and more often than not the Cubs had thrown away a lead in last few innings, I would often meander out to my third floor balcony to watch the world from above. It was on one such night that my imaginary walls of safety were demolished, exposing me to the true danger of the world in which we live. But more importantly, it was the night I had the best snickerdoodle I have ever tasted.
Thinking back, I cannot remember a single detail that would have hinted that the night ahead of me should be any different from the 9,524 nights that had passed before it. Shortly after the last tendrils of sunlight released their grip on the city, an Eastern wind announced its arrival through the branches of a large birch that scraped against the side of my apartment. My sliding glass door shifted and knocked against its track as if to confirm the wind’s entrance into the city. With Chicago leading by four runs, a tiny flame of hope danced wildly inside me as if the breeze outside my windows had a secret passageway to my heart. Over the next hour I would witness the inevitable collapse of my team in 52 inches of glorious color and pain. (more…)
Two quick knocks were answered from behind the large oak door by a curt, “Come.” Anderson Hill took a deep breath and turned the steel knob. The sensation of walking the plank struck him as he entered and saw the Pacific Ocean stretched across the horizon just beyond the windows that filled the furthest wall. He struggled to focus on what he had practiced as he approached the enormous desk where his boss sat shuffling through a small stack of papers.
“Sir, I have the footage for the latest episode. But it is… a bit different.”
James Vandenbaugh did not enjoy unnecessary preambles. The direct approach was Anderson’s only hope of coming away from this with his job. As Mr. Vandenbaugh looked up from the document he had been reading he removed his glasses and glared at the man who had just told him the one thing he had never let happen during his tenure as Producer. His blue-grey eyes seemed to darken like the ocean with a storm on the horizon. One finger rose and lightly stroked his temple. He studied Anderson for a moment letting silence fill the space between them.
Anderson held up the disc that he carried in his left hand.
“It might make more sense if I show you…” He tried to sound confident, but still it came out like a half-question. (more…)
Maribelle was drawn to the water the moment she saw the warm rays of the sun broken into a million tiny diamonds on its surface. It was a sheet of sparkles for as far as she could see and the perfect place for a princess to play.
Dorian was just trying to make the best of the situation. The long hill of fading grass that stretched toward the lake was a wonderland of potential. And along the edge of the water he supposed that there were all sorts of magical discoveries to be found.
Maribelle knew from the moment their parents had met for brunch that she liked Dorian. He was quiet, but intelligent eyes roamed the countryside and kept a constant watch. He still had not looked her in the eye, but had a gentle way about him like the knights in her favorite bedtime stories. Slowly, he seemed to accept that they would be spending the day together and as they wondered off to play he began shouting in excitement new discoveries along the way, though she was still uncertain as to whether his words were for her or just to himself. (more…)
The town of Evansville is at war. The Factory did not bring this war to us. We did this to ourselves, but the Factory has created a dividing line. And everyone must choose a side.
I do not know what course of events lead us down the path we chose for ourselves, but everything changed at 9 a.m. on July 12th, 2012. Like a pebble being dropped into a smooth pond, the day The Factory opened sent ripples that would eventually reach every man, woman, and child in our town. I don’t know a single soul who would disagree with this fact, though they would argue whether the change was for the better or for worse. (more…)
Interviewer: Thank you for taking the time to meet with me today Dr. Becker.
Dr. Thomas Becker: My pleasure.
Interviewer: I would like to start from the beginning, if we may. There are several different theories on the origins of Rating Inc., but as one of the foremost experts on the company, you seem to disagree with all of them, without offering a theory of your own.
Dr. Becker: I do not necessarily disagree with the theories themselves… I just believe that we should focus on what we know and not waste our time weaving exotic tales to fit whatever hidden agendas we might have.
Interviewer: The director of the C.I.A. was recently quoted as saying, “They know more about me than I do about them.” As one of the most secretive companies on the planet, what do we know?
The drumbeat of footsteps shook the floor announcing the arrival of my nephew seconds before his face appeared in my doorway.
“Uncle Joe! Uncle Joe! Tell me a story!”
This high-pitched request broke sanctity of my Saturday morning sleep. I would be lying if I did not tell you that my first thought was to teach the boy a lesson in courtesy involving a boot and a butt. As I sat up I saw that his eager smile lacked any mischief and it quickly melted my anger into a warm pile of compassion. (more…)
In my defense, I was desperate. If my mother would have been there she would have pointed out that my desperation was directly related to my lack of patience, but I tend to ignore my mom when she brings up my flaws anyway.
It all started with a craving for a taco. This was no ordinary taco craving though. It was a Seventh Street and Bell, outside the Hard Eight Billiard Club, taco stand taco craving. No one can make a street taco like Jose. (To be honest, I’m not actually sure that Jose is his name. He doesn’t speak English and it’s just easy for me to remember.)