CarlHoliday

Thank you for your comment. Having been married to a girl from the darkest jungles of Arkansas, though she hated chitlins and her mama toasted their peanuts in the oven.

Thank you for your interesting comment. It's a shame I didn't come across that, too.

Thank you for your comment. In actuality it was: "I'll let everyone know you go by Benny."

Thank you for your comment. I wouldn't worry about getting the confused about which character is speaking at what time. They'll do their part ensuring everybody knows who's speaking.

Thank you for your comment. Troy's introduction to 319 Winesap Lane made it quite clear he thought he was black even though everyone else saw him as white. As to the nature of my writing, yes, I believe being Bipolar I directly impacts my writing. Also, being emotionally abused as a child doesn't help much either. But, if you would read my introduction blurb, you can clearly see that I write dark stories, which is probably why I don't have that great of an audience. As a practice, I don't read dark stories, but for some reason I have trouble writing stories with bunnies frolicking in a sun bathed meadow.

No, I don't think that was a homophone. I'd classify it as a simple misspelling, but because it was close to the correct spelling the eyes went over it without catching the error.

Damn homonyms trick the eyes too many times.

I've started a re-read of Edmund White's autobiographical trilogy: A Boy's Own Story, The Beautiful Room Is Empty, and The Farewell Symphony. I first read these books in the early Aughts when I climbed out of my deep, dark, dank closet and sought the light of day. Unfortunately, my world turned upside down and I fell into a major depressive state and it was only through these book that I could see the light at the end of the tunnel.

Oops! Silly homonym caught me with my pants down again.

Thank you for your comment. Yes, gays and lesbians can be in classrooms and never do anything that might lead someone to suspect their sexuality. On the other hand, there are those few who, because of their predilection for children and teens, do seek out employment in situations where their increased access can lead to unfortunate circumstances.

Thank you for your interesting comment. Yes, I know the difference between whiskies or is it whiskeys and I drink both. As for Cockney Rhyming slang, there was a Britcom ("As Time Goes By" or was it "Keeping Up Appearances") wherein there was a scene which had a character speaking in Cockney Rhyming slang and having to explain it to the person he was talking to. It'd be interesting to have to put a bit of slang into a story. Of course, I couldn't over do it, just use it as a bit of color for a character.

Thank you for your interesting comment. As will be seen in future chapters, there's more in this pot than one might see through the steam.

Thank you for your interesting comment. That Will became addicted to heroin to keep him quiet throughout his servitude as a "sex slave" is one thing, but to have him subjected to social services left many things wanting.

Thank you for your comment. See, not all of my stories are dark.

Thank you for your comment. Sorry you didn't like my story, but it came out of some dark hole in my creative spirit and had to be told. I suggest you read my intro on the Signature Authors page where I clearly state: "Characters die here."

Thank you for your comment. Unfortunately for some readers, I do write extremely dark stories. As for the Christians, well, let's just say I've heard quite a few nasty remarks from evangelical Christians when I attended their churches, so, maybe, I am a bit biased. Yeah, I'm sorry the dog had to die, too.

As a tongue-tied baby, I can feel for this little boy. I can only thank my pediatrician for recognizing why my tongue could not move from the floor of my mouth. Just a little snip and I went on to be a normal child. That was over 69 years ago and it's surprising doctors are still ignorant of this affliction.

As a tongue-tied baby, I can feel for this little boy. I can only thank my pediatrician for recognizing why my tongue could not move from the floor of my mouth. Just a little snip and I went on to be a normal child. That was over 69 years ago and it's surprising doctors are still ignorant of this affliction.

Thank you for your kind comment.

Needless to say, my life is one big fuck up right now. Everything seems to be going to the shits. Well, not everything. Two significant parts of my life remain on track. My reading is prodigious right now. I am actively reading: Call Me By Your Name by André Aciman, Lords and Ladies by Terry Pratchett, The Seventh Cross by Anna Seghers, Hiroshima by John Hersey, Blood’s a Rover by Harlan Ellison, and most of The New Yorker when it comes to the house most weeks. Yeah, you’re asking how do I keep track of it all. Well, I do, somehow. The other thing going on correctly right now is my next story. It had a working title of The Reluctant Father up until yesterday when I changed it to Canes. I working on Chapter 8 right now. It is a psycho-sexual family drama about a sixty-something gay widower and a young gay teen who has an unhealthy relationship with railroad locomotives. It’s not so much that they go fast, but exactly what happens if you’re standing in front of one when it’s going 50 mph. So, what’s going on with the rest of my live? Well, you see we have this thirteen week old German Shepherd puppy that—although she belongs to my son—is my responsibility during the day because he works swing shift, comes home and stays up until three or four in the morning, doesn’t get up until one or one-thirty in the afternoon, and he leaves for work at two-fifteen so he can get to work an hour early so he can read the newspaper. Then yesterday afternoon when he got up to eat his breakfast, his regular bowl was dirty because he’d used it for a snack the previous night, so, he got a bowl out of the cupboard. Now, these bowls are not cereal bowls; they’re more dessert sized, which means he has to keep the box of cereal and the jug of milk on the table so he can have a sizeable breakfast. “Why didn’t you wash your bowl?” I asked foolishly. “Oh, you know, I don’t do service work anymore. The house nigger should’ve cleaned it before I got up.” Yeah, that’s his nickname for me. The house nigger does the dishes, sweeps the floors, does the grocery shopping, and raises his mastuh’s dogs. Plus, my knees are giving out on me, but the VA orthopedic surgeons won’t send me outside to get artificial knees because I weigh too much. I think I need to lose about another ten pounds. My bad knees are forcing me to decide whether I’m going to give up the idea of leaning how to play the guitar because I have to drive 27 miles to my lessons every Saturday. I know you’re thinking, “Oh, the poor old man has to drive TWENTY-SEVEN MILES and back for his guitar lessons. Well, if it’s all that far, maybe, he should give up his dream. Poor old man.” Well, fuck, I drive down there and back and not surprisingly it takes me six days to recover (yeah, six days means I miss that day’s lesson) because unlike most people, I don’t have any cartilage in my knees. It’s all melted away and has been replaced with arthritis, but my orthopedic surgeon says I gotta walk to keep that synovial fluid sloshing around in there to cushion what I have left of my knees. If I don’t, then just maybe I won’t be able to walk at all. I’ll be lucky if they issue me one of those walkers with handle bars, a seat, and hand brakes. Worse? Well, I don’t want to think of worse because when the surgeon told me about what worse entails, I figured I’d better get out there and walk some more even if it makes my knees feel like dried dog shit on a hardwood floor. And, of course, there’s the head or, rather, its contents, that collection of gray and white matter which is supposed to keep me on an even keel, but doesn’t. Sure, I take meds, I’ve been taking meds since April, 2008. But, now, I’ve been released by my local VA shrink and sent out to a vendor. An example of this vendor’s expertise in mental health meds is she prescribed Amantadine for my Essential Tremor. It’s a mild Parkinson’s drug given for tremor from that disorder, but one of its rather insidious side effects is narcolepsy. If I take that, I’ll be subjecting myself to my personal “My Own Private Idaho.” Just think of it, no more tremors, but going to sleep in a school zone and wiping out a street crossing full of first graders. Not my idea of fun. They do recommend not driving or operating heavy equipment if you take it. So, I’m not going to be taking that med. When she asks how I doing on it, I’ll let her know about the narcolepsy side effect. Probably, the worst thing about that side effect is that not only can it occur when you first start taking the med, but it can crop up years away. I wonder how many old people who’ve been given that drug and fall asleep while driving down the street and take out a sidewalk full of kids on their way to get Slurpees. It certainly won’t be me. But, speaking of mental health, I’m in a general funk right now. Yesterday, I was ready to pack my bags and books and take a powder. I don’t know where I would’ve gone. Probably, a city where there is a VA Med Center where I could get treatment for my various ailments. And, of course, although I would’ve left a note, I wouldn’t say where I was going and I certainly would never come back. No, this house nigger was going to be a runaway and I wouldn’t give a fuck about whether my son could remember how to wash dishes. Today? Well, today I listened to all of my Vangelis CDs and typed this blog, which dumped a whole lot of shit on you guys. I apologize, but you see I don’t have anyone else to dump on because my VA shrink won’t talk to me and my vendor shrink only speaks to veterans on Thursday’s. So, thank you for listening and sorry for the “N” word, but when you’re called it, it kind of sticks to you in not a very nice way. Better go, time to feed the dogs or mastuh be mad.

I received an interesting comment (not a review, which I would’ve preferred, since it seemed to cover the whole story) on my recently completed five chapter story The Angel of Retribution. Since the comment was not totally flattering, I will refrain from revealing the user name associated with it. I’ll save you the trouble of having to go look up the comment by quoting it: “Hmm (a half-smiling emoji added here) really bad writing great story though but I don’t really think u (yes, just the one vowel) are a writer but the story line was great but it was all over the place sorry.” Three “buts,” no punctuation, admitted it was a great story and had a great story line, but the commenter obviously doesn’t like the art of digression. Maybe he/she (one can never tell which it is if you only have an avatar to go by) hasn’t read very much Swift, Sterne, or, for that matter, Prachett. I believe I’m basically a linear writer, but I do admit to periodic digressions. Of course, I also tend not to use six, or greater, syllables because early in my writing education (yes, I took creative writing classes in college) I learned to use smaller words if they got the message across. Why confuse the reader by forcing them to have a dictionary handy? And, unlike Updike, et al, I don’t use foreign words. That’s just not my style, even if I do subscribe to “The New Yorker.” Speaking of which, does anybody know who decided to bring “outlier” into everyday spoken and written English? I remember when “fruition” came out of the closet back in the early 80’s, but now it seems to have gone dark, again. Now, of course, we have to consider my response because, yes, I did respond: “Thank you for your comment. (Always! Thank a commenter no matter how much dirt they throw at you.) As for my writing, well, I prefer the quote from Cyril Connolly: ‘Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self. (by the way, that’s on my signature here) And, now, that you believe I am not a writer, I’m positive you shan’t be commenting on any of my other stories.” I don’t know about that last sentence now that I’ve had time to think about it. Do you think “shan’t” was a little too strong? Maybe, I should have used “probably won’t.” Of course, we do have to consider that I suffer from Type I Bipolar Disorder and am heavily medicated, which sometimes interferes with my thinking and my tendency to digress. Maybe, my mental illness is interfering with my ability to write stories. Maybe, I should just hang up my pencil and paper and concentrate on learning how to play jazz guitar. (I don’t know if I’ve said this before, but I found a local jazz guitarist who is giving me lessons on the mystical use of that instrument. Of course, it’s not like my playing is going anywhere because about the time I get good at it, I’ll probably be on my deathbed.) Then, again, maybe my commenter needs to do a poll on whether I belong on this site if I am “not a writer.” Then he/she can submit his/her findings to the Admins and have me summarily ejected from this site. Or, he/she can submit his/her findings to me and I’ll message the Admins to have me and all of my material erased from this site. Or, I can just continue writing for myself and realize that my commenter is not among my public. FYI: I’ve finished the first 5 chapters of my next story, “The Reluctant Father.” (Imagine a sixty-something gay widower suddenly having a thirteen-year-old gay boy (with serious mental issues) thrust into his home out in the burbs.) Or, as the poet John Lydgate wrote: “You can please some of the people all of the time, you can please all of the people some of the time, but you can’t please all of the people all of the time.” And, I think that just about covers the whole shebang.

As reported today in The New Yorker online, there is good news for gays in India. Finally, their Supreme Court struck down Section 377 of India's Penal Code which was originally written by British Victorians who occupied their country. An example of their view on sex, the Section 377 begins: "Whoever voluntarily has carnal intercourse against the order of nature . . .". This is one more step in India's progress to decolonialize itself from the Brits. https://www.newyorker.com/news/news-desk/indias-historic-gay-rights-ruling-and-the-slow-march-of-progress

Thank you for your comment. As for my writing, well, I prefer the quote from Cyril Connolly: "Better to write for yourself and have no public, than to write for the public and have no self." And, now, that you believe I am not a writer, I'm positive you shan't be commenting on any of my other stories.

Thank you for your comment. I'm sorry you were so alarmed by this story and then where the God turned out to be a rather large insect. I chose the god to be an arthropod because on Earth they are the most abundant ecological guilds in most environments, so, it was only natural that the god of all would be an arthropod.

The ship was of the Valiant-class, exploratory vessels with a human complement of five standard officers, two support officers, five nonmilitary science officers, and over a hundred enlisteds. The ship itself was 135 meters long, 55 meters wide, and 75 meters high. Normally, it lay on its flat keel plates, but could be evenly raised 25 meters off whatever surface was under it. At the present time, four officers supported by a science officer and twenty enlisteds were out in exp mods exploring th