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Archive for the ‘Original Fiction’ Category

Hello everyone – welcome to the Thursday post of Writing in the Woods….

There’s been a lot of serious writing floating around the past few days. And for good reason too – with Borders closing and agents and publishers attacking John Locke’s book “How I sold a million books in Five Months” (sour grapes and fear is all that is, I’m waiting for his new book to come out “How I sold a million books about selling a million books”). Not to mention finding Rudolph Murdock in our breakfast cereal. Everyone seems to be in on edge a little. Isn’t it Great living in the information age? We’re in the midst of a writing revolution and the formula is changing – constantly. There are no sacred cows any longer.

But, let’s get off that for a bit and take a detour from all these weighty issues. Let’s lighten it up a little, if only for a few minutes.

Let’s go on a ‘mission from God’ – okay? Let’s build Noah’s Ark in 2011.

Follow me…

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Did you ever wonder why Noah built the ark?

You know the story, right?

God was a little upset with the folks down below and decided it was time for them to take a bath – a long permanent bath. But He didn’t want to throw away the baby with the bath water so he figured He’d start over and give it another go. So He found a good man hanging out down below and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse.

And that offer wasn’t as easy to accept as we might want to think. Keep in mind – there wasn’t any rain in those days. It’s true, it hadn’t been invented yet.

Read it for yourself in Genesis 2:5 & 6 “…for the Lord God had not sent rain on the earth….but a mist came up from the ground and watered the surface.”

Take a lot of mist to float that boat,  ya think?

Okay, no rain, so I guess that means floods hadn’t been invented yet neither. There were lakes and seas so they did take baths I suppose (I hope). But, it had to take a lot of faith for Noah to go ahead and build a giant boat on dry land because of rain and global flooding he’d never heard of before. But, when the Big Guy talks to you – what are you going to do?

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This weeks blog post is in conjunction with the Blog-A-licious Blog TourI am pleased to be on the tour along with some very interesting and informative writers. At the bottom of this post will be a listing of the addresses of the other bloggers also discussing this weeks subject. I encourage you to visit them also.

Thank you for visiting my blog, I hope you enjoy it.

The topic for this week’s Blog-A-licious Blog Tour is:

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 “Freedom To Me Is…”

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I sit in the corner of the room and I open my eyes…

… The room is small, eight feet by ten – smaller maybe, not any bigger for sure. The floor is cold, hard and wet. The walls are stone and they too are cold, hard and wet. They seep a gooey mixture of condensation and slime that smells and oozes down the walls forming green puddles on the floor.

There are no windows in the room and so – there is no light, except for a narrow slit cut through the bolted, heavy wooden door, no larger than the width of an eyeball and just a few inches long. I don’t know why it’s there, it just is but it allows a small sliver of dirty light to invade the room. I never knew light could be dirty but this light is dirty having a dingy, yellow pale just bright enough for me to see the outline of my hand (although it looks nothing like my hand but more closely resembles a mangy paw from some poor creature that’s been run over in the street). When I hold it in front of what was once my face but is now an infested, matted hair covered orb, it is unrecognizable as anything once belonging to my body.

The room stinks a foul, pungent odor of stale urine, decay and blood. Things crawl in here.

How I miss the privilege of light.

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I want to thank everyone who has or is reading ‘Bridges’. It thrills me to know you are enjoying the book and the stories within.

More than one reader has come back asking about the ‘Ice Demon’ the boys ‘encountered’ on their journey down into the Gorge. What was it?  Was it real?  Was it their imagination? What did it mean?

Who among us hasn’t had experiences they can’t explain? Seen something – sensed something – heard something – that wasn’t there?

Who hasn’t had the hair stand up on the back of their necks and a chill run down their spine when a sudden wind blew across their face?

Or felt goose bumps run up and down their arms? Or heard the shuffling of feet outside their door at night – when no one was there?

Or the tolling of a bell where there is no church?

How many times  have  we seen a shadow flicker across the corner of our eyes and upon jerking our heads around – we see nothing?

There are things that happen in life we can’t explain – and we accept them because if we don’t  – we go mad.

The boys seen something – that much I know.  There was something in the ice.

Was it only the sunlight reflecting through the giant ice pillar?   Maybe

Was it only the cold that fused their hands to the ice and kept pieces of their flesh?  Maybe

Was it their imagination, their adrenalin or their heightened sense of awareness that made them feel and sense things they otherwise wouldn’t have?  Maybe – these are plausible explanations, and like the things mentioned earlier, we find plausible explanations – to keep from going mad.

Or was there a living force dwelling inside the ice?  If so – was it a ‘demon’  or an angel?

I don’t know – I only recorded their story.

Like me – you now have their story too – what do you think it was?

I know this: Before they touched the ice, Kevin and Chuck were adversaries with a gulf of turbulent water between them and after they touched the ice,  a  ‘bridge’ crossed that turbulent river changing their relationship from that time on.  Why?  What happened?  I don’t know – maybe you do.

25 years later – Kevin still didn’t know what they touched in the ice that day.

thks

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Come – walk with me let’s step back in time together –  let’s roll the hands of the big clock back. No -no – not that little one on the wall. I mean the ‘big’ one – the ‘big clock of life‘. You know, the one that’s measured in years and centuries. Let’s roll it back, ohhhh, shall we say – 10,000 years or so. Back to a time when the only technology was the layers of time etched in a rock or the rings of life buried in a tree.  Back to a time when there is no combustion engine – no Twitter –  no electricity – no war (?), well no people as we know them, anyway.

Back to a time when God walked the planet.

Let’s walk His Creation…and maybe He’ll walk with us…

along the shores of the steep canyon, where the impatient River races to join with the ‘Big Water’ up North, cutting a wide trench through the land, slicing a deep scar across the face of the earth.

It hasn’t been given a name yet – but walk with me along the shore of what we know will one day… be called “Niagara”.

We travel down the side of the canyon, carefully watching the placement of our feet and clinging tightly to our life, gripping the growth of the steep wall to secure our journey downward.

Down… down... down the sides of the great trench.

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City of Dreams

Author: William Martin

I thoroughly enjoyed this book, from both the aspect of storytelling and writing style.

Martin’ s taken a page of American history many of us know about (the American Revolution), focusing on a tiny slice of it most of us know nothing about. When one thinks of the fascinating history of the American Revolution, and all the tragic and triumphant colorful events surrounding it, the last thing that comes to mind is the use of war bonds to provision George Washington’s army. In a setting alive with the details and minutia of early America, he brings events out of the history books into the real world with the development of characters who think, breathe and act like people we can identify with. We follow the ancient mystery of the paper notes through 200 years of evolving society while also unraveling the modern mystery Peter Fallon is confronted with in the midst of a global financial crisis. His research and background material about the City of New York, its design, layout and evolution gives the book great credibility coupled with insight and a sense of discovery. His characters bring a dead subject alive with details. Especially enjoyable was the manner in which he tied the story together from the Revolutionary era into the present day.

Very well done. I give it 5 stars and highly recommend it.

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He liked being alone in the woods long before the sun’s first light broke upon the trees, piercing a darkness so thick you could feel it peel away from your skin as you stealthily moved through the cold night air. It was a comfort the old man yearned for in a world turned upside down for him.

In those pre-dawn hours, alone in the forest, the night cold and close around him, the world was a different place and time – a special place and time – his place and time. A place and time found nowhere else on earth. Where the ‘day’ creatures were slowly waking up, preparing to forage and the ‘night’ creatures were silently slipping through the darkness, to beat the approaching light, scurrying to the safety of their “homes”. It’s the quiet time in nature’s clock, when the mind and soul can find that single thread of unity that enables understanding – and healing.

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Being born and raised in the Niagara Frontier, I grew up on the Niagara River – above the great Falls.  I spent my formative years as a ‘river rat’ – not in awe of the mighty cataracts, but in fear of it, seeing them as a threat to my upper river escapades. More than once myself and my fellow ‘rats’ barely escaped the ominous current as we tubed down the river or drift fished off of Navy Island. The Falls to us was something not to be marveled at but were held in great fear and to be avoided at all costs.

That perspective changed the first time I went down into the gorge below the Falls (during summer of course – I wasn’t as crazy my ‘boys’ were to go in winter) and “discovered” the lower river. There, like Saul on the road to Damascus, I was overcome by the wonder of the river and consumed by the mystery of it. (more…)

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