Jump to content

Ron

Author
 View Profile  See their activity

  • Posts

    3,267

  • Joined

  • Last visited

 Content Type 

Blog Entries posted by Ron

  1. Ron

    My Backyard Adventure

    By Ron,

    I have only been out of the house once since January 27th, the date of winter storm Juno, aka. The Boston Blizzard. I made three trips to various stores and groceries the day before in order to stock up on supplies so that I could tuck-in and wait things out. Things went well, my supplies lasted quite a long time. My first journey out was to the grocery again, fresh produce was my target, and in that goal I was successful. The journey allowed me to marvel at the mountains of snow at intersections, easily ten to twelve feet tall, and the fact that the main street (Massachusetts Avenue) that runs through my neighborhood, the South End, was so full of snow that parking spaces will not be found until sometime in late spring. Sidewalks were navigable by the space of the barest width of a shovel and the only way to let oncoming pedestrians pass by was to either climb onto a car height (or higher) mound of snow, hop onto someone's half-assed shoveled steps or get real cozy. No passing. Fun stuff.
     
    Keep in mind that before the date of the big winter storm Boston had previously had only dustings, and then one storm that left about an inch on the ground when the storm began. I watched the snow fall through my oriel window in my living room and from the warm safety of my condo. It fell into and onto my below street level backyard garden and slowly covered everything. About twenty-seven inches of cover, or there about. A few days later, another eighteen or twenty inches (one is never really sure), and then some more, and some more again. We now have, in inches of snow, the high level of seventy-three point six. A record. More is on the way.
     
    Part of my condo exists as part of an 'ell', and by way of description these are extended additions (one to four stories tall) added on to the backs of townhouses all over the city and at some point in history (vague, I know). If one were to look at a townhouse from the side, you can imagine the 'L' shape at the back, hence the name. My building dates to 1857 but I have no idea when the two-story addition was added. But what this all means is that the roof over my living room is in the ell, and the roof is flat. As opposed to the roof of the main townhouse portion, which is peaked. A few years ago, neighbors put a deck on part of it, as was their right. But when snow gets to the levels that we have reached, the snow needs to be shoveled off of the flat part—roof and/or deck.
     
    That happened two days ago. My newish, upstairs neighbor (now newish deck owner) hired someone (who I know) to shovel the snow into the back garden. Fine so far. I saw said shoveler head up the fire-escape as it was getting dark. I usually pull my curtains (big, heavy, velvet curtains) closed around that time, and I did. What I didn't see until the next morning was that all of that snow had been shoveled to the sides. Whatever can be the problem you might ask?
     
    There were two mountains of snow set against the brick wall sides of my home and garden, with peaks in the range of nine or ten feet tall. So? Well, mountains have bases, and the base of mountains left and right, blocked each of my fire exits. One being my bedroom window and the other a steel door egress into the garden level from a second bedroom—with pretentions of being an office. What am I to do?
     
    Funny you should ask.
     
    Since my garden is completely snowed in and I didn't see this as a problem originally, why shovel? It means I could not get into it from its street level gate (reached by a set of stairs, also snowed in) and so I asked my next-door neighbors if they would pretty please open their back gate and let me in. I can access my garden by way of their ell addition and my buildings fire-escape (simplified version). Which I did by walking around the block and entering from the rear. So far, so good.
     
    Now, a funny thing happened on the way to the Emporium.
     
    Accessing the fire-escape was just a few pushes of snow and a completely unnecessary, though fun, break to smash a gigantic icicle hanging from the back of my neighbor's townhouse ell. If you've stuck with me, here is the really fun part.
     
    I make a treacherous step across open air onto the ice-laced wrought iron steps of the fire-escape, and again so far, so good. I tossed my two shovels (kept the straw broom) over the handrail and into the snow—they didn't sink very deep. Hmm. The next step was into the garden and was questionable. What to do, what to do? I went for it, and rather than walk to the bottom and wade through the snow, I straddled the handrail near the bottom and stepped.
     
    I sunk mid-thigh into the snow; my left leg did not follow.
     
    So there I am straddling the handrail, one leg stuck in the snow, the other trapped under a step on the fire-escape and holding a straw broom over my head for balance. Get the picture?
     
    Don't panic, Ron!
     
    It's below freezing (a high of 22°F today), I am below street level, and there is no one who can see me. Will I freeze to death? Will they find my desiccated, freeze-dried body come spring? It's amazing how fast thoughts of not-so-real possibility and craziness can flash through the mind. I had a broom, right?
     
    If you don't panic you can find a way. I was able to unseat my foot from under the step and let my left leg join its partner mid-thigh into the snow. Is this what it's going to be like? From there it was a definite slog, each leg sinking into the depths, until I was able to reach my back door entry. A journey of about twenty-four feet through perilous territory—all under foot and under snow—of planters, patio pavers upturned by cherry tree roots and a pile of pruned tree branches which didn't make it to the curb for recycling last fall.
     
    SUCCESS!
     
    Well, partial success, anyway. I did free my back door from the clutches of the mountain of ice and snow—it took an hour. But I saved my bedroom window for tomorrow's adventure.
  2. Ron
    I am currently working on, and hope to finish in time, a long-form short story for entry in the GA Spring Anthology. It is incredibly difficult and time consuming to winnow the chaff from the best grain of words I lay down on screen. My appreciation for what my partner does as part of his career and to provide for us has grown with leaps and bounds the longer I attempt this amazing thing. He is an art historian and author, co-author, collaborator and contributor of books on art history. I am proud of him. The following is an excerpt from a recent email I sent to him.
     

    ***


     
    My deepest apologies for every time I got upset with you, whether you were aware or not, for spending so much time writing on your computer. I began writing a story after you left. So far I have written 6k+ words of it and spent hours beyond the writing (no small amount) to edit out the nonsensical, the repetitious, unnecessary articles, the redundant descriptions and on and on. Lunch is sometimes late - dinner is sometimes late - I look at the time only to discover it's ten at night and I haven't ate let alone cooked. It is halfway to completion if my ideas hold out and I thought it would be a good point to stop and polish the first portion. I swear to you, if I was to self-edit the whole thing at once, I think my head would explode. The best thing about examining it now is the hope I will leave most of the crap out of the rest of it as I write. You might be surprised to hear my dreams have been invaded by my writing. It's creepy! I have woken in the middle of the night and jotted things down. Ideas for new stories sneak in. Does this bring me closer to becoming a true short-story writer do you think? A novel is unfathomable in my mind, I have no idea how people do it. I hope that it gets easier. I do.
     
     

    ***


     
    As some are already aware, my first short story - What's Inside, can be found in the 2013 Fall Anthology. It has the honor of also being my first creative writing outside of a poem I wrote to an older lover. He was thirty-six years old to my then twenty-five and more than half a lifetime ago. He said he was never before a recipient of a poem. He said he liked it.
     
    Writing is a surprisingly difficult endeavor for me. I read slowly, every scene alive in my head and my writing has taken the same turn. An emotional scene can become difficult and I will need to walk away, every time I go over it. I keep tissue beside my computer, in case. I get angry when my characters do and sad or happy with them. No doubt this is not unique to me; my sympathy goes out to you. Quality gay fiction is the name of the game though and I will push on with gratitude for my partner's support, for those who are helpful and admiration for my fellow authors.
  3. Ron

    It has to start somewhere.

    By Ron,

    Once in a while I believe that I have something worthwhile to say that doesn't quite fit in my profile feed or the forums. Whether that is true or not remains to be seen. But as everything needs to have a beginning, I will start by offering the beginning to a story that I am working on. It has no title so far and I don't think that it deserves a sneak peek forum entry just yet either. As the story progresses I will have more of an idea of what genre it belongs in and what tags to attache to it. When I have a better idea of the direction it is heading and I get more writing under my belt, I will go about soliciting a beta-reader and ultimately an editor as I should. It looks like something for publication next year and hopefully sometime in the first quarter but without definite deadlines, the writing will dictate the schedule. If a reader has any thoughts at the end, don't hesitate to let me know what the are.
     
    So, on with the show...
     
     
    “Long have I been trapped, separated and after so long I have been given another chance. Once again, to try for redemption.”
     
     

    ~


     
     
    What began as a tickle at the back of his mind progressed into a slow deterioration of the darkness. As he floated, weightless and without direction, the blackness surrounding him shimmered and shimmered again. Light began to filter in and along with it came garbled noises. A voice, only fragmented, which sounded as if filtered through the depths of some primordial ocean breached his solitude. Time here had no meaning and so he continued to float for a minute, an hour, a day, he didn’t care but then things began to make gradual sense, and his eyes were opened as if against his will. The light was artificial, bright and painful, causing him to tear up and blink his eyes shut and open a few times too many to get his vision correct. Realizing he was in a hospital room the color of beach sand and alone was a surprise. The last thing he remembered was…
     
    He panicked, he couldn’t remember anything from before waking up. His head felt pressurized and the machine connected to him sounded its klaxon call of beeps and other odd noises. Before he could pull off wires and yank intravenous tubes from his body, a trio of nurses ran into the room. Whether training or providence, the first person he made eye contact with headed straight for him giving assurances that everything was alright. The other two began to check the monitor and to ensure that no physical connections had been broken.
     
    “Mr. Howson, everything is fine. You are in a hospital and you need to settle down before you damage yourself. I have paged Doctor Levinson, he should be here soon.”
     
    Maxwell Howson’s eyes rolled up into his head and he fell limp to the bed before his doctor arrived.
     
     
     

    ~


     
     
    “Maxwell.”
     
    “Maxwell.”
     
    “Time to wake up.”
     
    He could hear the deep mellifluous voice calling him but it seemed so far away. Trying to answer was as navigating through thick fog, he didn’t know which way to turn, which way to focus. It was time to wake up, he needed to wake up.
     
    “Welcome back, Max.”
     
    The fog lifted and his mind cleared along with his vision. There was no one in the room with him, though Max looked the room over expecting someone, after all the voice he heard had to belong. He remembered waking up once before. He also remembered panicking and nurses, and then suddenly diving back into darkness. Trying to remain calm this time, Max located the call button and pushed it. As he waited, Max continued his scrutiny of the room and noticed a difference that he had missed upon awakening. It was subtle but the room wasn’t exactly the same as before. He knew this as absolute fact but he wasn’t sure how that could be. Even though the room was evenly lit, one corner seemed to be cloaked in light shadow. More accurately, it was as if the color were grayed out and therein lay the difference.
×
×
  • Create New...