CarlHoliday

Luckily, we'll find out about "what Frank gets" in Chapter 5.

I can only say, "we shall see."

I woke and immediately became aware that I was alone in bed. I slipped out and walked down the hall to Bobby’s bedroom where I saw Nana lying on the floor beside the boy’s bed where he was lying on his stomach out from under the cover and totally nude. I saw his stripes and wanted to go and comfort him, but held myself back knowing that any physical contact between an adult man and a youth wasn’t permitted. “Nana, out?” and she jumped up. We went out and she did her morning job. Inside I

Just received my first edition copy of Blood's a Rover by Harlan Ellison and his editor Jason Davis. This complete rewrite of the story of Vic, Blood, and Spike was just published. The joy of reading has been redefined.

The horror of Bobby's family continues to the very end.

Thanks for the comment. Wish I could reveal all, but all I can give is that this story is only five chapters long.

There is always a problem with multi-POV stories. Do you slip in a heading for each section or do you require your readers to pick up bits and pieces of narrative and dialog so they recognize when the POV changes. I chose the latter for this story.

I despise calls in the middle of the night and by the ringtone of this call I suspected something unpleasant. “Hello? Bobby?” “No! This is Frank! Did Bobby tell you he was gay?” “Yes.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” “It wasn’t my place. May I ask how you found out?” “It doesn’t matter how I found out. Charlie, I’m throwing him out, tonight. If you don’t want the sinner to live on the street, I suggest you come down and get him.” “I’ll be there in about forty minutes,” I sa

Charlie Hughes encounters an old friend who has four children, but there's something going on with this family. After taking the oldest boy shopping and buying him an expensive watch Charlie is called in the middle of the night because the boy is being kicked out. When Charlie goes to the family home he discovers the boy and been beaten, whipped, raped, and one of his arms is broken. Charlie takes the boy into his home and all hell is loosed on his life.

I realized this morning that I’m old. Not growing old, just old. This not to say I’ve reached the end of my creative cycle because there are still stories to tell. I have one story that is ready to be published, but I’ve lost contact with my editor (Sharon). Such is life that I should still have stories to be published, but no editor to review them prior to publishing. I await contact with my prior editor to be reestablished, but so far I don’t think much is going to occur in that direction. I have a new story coming out of my mind. It deals with a young boy who, after the death of his father, is sent to live with his grandfather (a retired U.S. Marine Corps Gunnery Sergeant), and a retired Colonel, a Staff Sergeant, two Lance Corporals, and a Staff Sergeant who lives in the basement. In many ways it is the story of a young boy living with the horrors of military PTSD, while at the same time dealing with a budding interest in sex. I’ll work on the story and hopefully reach some point of nexus where the story interconnects with its original premise. Where, oh where, is my editor?

“Hi, hon’, what’s up?” the black haired, slender lieutenant said as he slipped into the first officer’s position in the cockpit of the Aurora-class intragalactic commerce patrol vessel GV-11B3. He was wearing the standard uniform of a non-military reserve flight officer which consisted of a white, medium weight synthetic t-shirt, knee length shorts of the same material, white knit knee stockings, and black pseudo-leather sandals that had an ankle clasp to keep them on his feet. As the sexual sub

Two reserve flight officers on commerce patrol duty encounter an alien ship unlike anything they’ve seen before. There is only one thing to do, follow protocol and board the ship. Unfortunately, one of them encounters something from the distant past of human existence on Earth.

Ben sat in the gray metal chair in the small room at the hospital. Next to him a graying middle-aged man in a brown suit a few sizes too big sat at a small table with a gray machine sitting on it. It didn’t look like anything he’d seen before, but he knew it wouldn’t be appropriate to ask what it was. Next to the table, sat a woman in a gray tweed skirt and matching jacket, a plain white blouse, and a bright blue scarf tied around her neck. Behind her a woman he’d seen during numerous interviews

I figured to just type as I can. It hasn't gone too badly and I seem to be getting better. It helps that I've started a new story about an early seventies gay widower who takes in two teen brothers who have been brutalized and thrown out by their family.

“Benny, how do you feel this morning?” the psychiatrist asked. “My name is T-Bone,” the boy answered. He was sitting in a gray metal side chair while his doctor sat in a desk chair entering the boy’s responses into a computer terminal. The office was small and had been painted in pale green. There was one wire-caged light fixture in the ceiling with two bulbs, but they weren’t very bright. All of this was immaterial to T-Bone’s attention that morning. “Okay, T-Bone, how do you feel t

Back in October my VA shrink told me she could no longer see me long term. I was to be sent outside the VA. Well, my outside mental health provider took me off Seroquel and put me on Lithium in addition to my existing prescription for Valproic Acid (Depakote). As the Lithium dosage increased to a therapeutic level the tremors in my hands and arms increased until I could no longer hold my medication in the palm of my hand without it jumping out before I had a chance to put it in my mouth. I couldn’t hold a glass of water without the water sloshing out. But, the worse problem as far as I’m concerned is that I can no longer type without great effort. My fingers simply do not go where I tell them. As a result, my story “A Love Story” will end at chapter thirteen. Future stories will be put on hold until such time that I can type sufficiently without having to stop and go back to fix some niggling error.

No, but I do have bad dreams from a torturous childhood.

Images of brown nearly still water of a bayou floated across his mind while he looked out the length of his fishing pole and down the fishing line to the bobber floating in the water. He impatiently waited for the bobber to be pulled under the water by a passing crappie, bream, bass, or, if he was lucky enough, a good-sized cat. The sun bore down on his bare neck, but the bug repellant was keeping the skeeters away from his bare skin. He looked to his right and saw the profile of his latest dadd

We can only hope Ben comes out of this with some degree of sanity.

“All rise,” the bailiff announced. All the parties to the proceeding and the few witnesses who were looking to get in out of the rain stood as the judge came out of her office and sat in her chair on the dais. “Be seated,” the bailiff announced. Everyone in the court took their seats. “Let’s see, we are here to determine the sanity of Erik Benedict Johnson and his placement in a facility to treat his mental deficiencies,” the judge said. “Who is here to represent the subj

I am sorry to see you go, but I have to admit I'm just not a cream and sugar kind of writer.

“Ah, Erik, I didn’t expect to see you today,” Erik’s attorney said. “What brings you downtown?” “I want a change in my living situation,” Erik said. As he allowed the attorney’s secretary to escort him into the office. He sat down in the offered chair and said, “I am now in a relationship and I want my educational, residential, and living situations to change.” “Let’s see, you’re living across from Central Park. What is it that you do not like about Central Park.” “Look at me!

Yes, Ben has had a hard life and feels put upon by those around him. Erik seems to be his only hope.

Yes, he's a darling. Unfortunately, he has a bit of spunk, too.

“Good morning, lover,” Erik whispered in Ben’s ear, who opened his eyes and turned his head until he was facing the other boy. “Is that what I am?” Ben whispered. “After last night, I have to assume so. Didn’t you enjoy yourself?” “I enjoyed you.” “Yes, and I enjoyed you, too. I’ve had my morning pee. Do you need to go or do you want to stay here and get to know me better?” “I’d better go,” Ben said as he slipped out of the bed. “Be right back.” When he return