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    Mikiesboy
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

Little Things - 2. The Poet

Hugh Constable had a free afternoon. There were no interviews, no signings, no plastered on smiles, and his poor right hand had a chance to uncramp. He took advantage of the perfect summer weather to take a walk. He was in what … city number three? It would be nice to get away from agents, reporters and clingy fans for the afternoon.

With no destination in mind he wandered, stopped to look in store windows, and then spying a park ahead of him, decided he was hungry and so should eat. There was no one to impress, so he visited a food truck, indulging in a loaded hotdog, onion rings and the largest Pepsi he could find.

Then balancing his food and finding it was busy in the area close to the food trucks, Hugh walked for a few minutes, deeper into the picnic area. The only empty spot he could find was at a table where a young man already sat.

It was a normal sized picnic table though so Hugh thought he’d ask, “Is it okay if I sit?”

The young man looked up and regarded the intruder. “Be my guest.”

“Thanks. It’s busy out here.”

The young man smiled, and turned his attention back to the notebook in front of him. Hugh watched as he ate. His table-mate wrote a few things and then erased it and sat staring at the page. It was unusual to see someone writing with pencil and paper when there were tablets and laptops everywhere.

After a swallow of his soda Hugh asked, “Are you a writer?”

“Sort of I guess. I write poetry.” He lay down his pencil. “So what’s that make me, a wanna-be?”

Hugh grinned. “No, it makes you a writer.”

“Hmm, maybe. Don’t know if I’m any good.”

“Good is in the eye of the reader. They can make or break you.”

“The reader? You think? More like the critics, in my opinion.”

Hugh thought he saw the young man eyeing his food and offered his onion rings. He wasn’t surprised when his companion took a couple of the golden rings. The boy looked a little too thin, he wondered about the fading bruises he saw also.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

They sat in companionable silence for a moment while they chewed..

“So you think critics are what makes you, hmmm?” Hugh asked, not wanting the conversation to end. “There are lots of writers loved by critics, but who bore the shit out of readers. Personally care more about my readers.”

“You’re a writer?”

“Yes.”

“Of what, fiction?”

“Yes, fiction. Today I’m on a break from a book tour. Tomorrow back to the old grind.”

The young man snorted. “I am I supposed to feel sorry for you? I know it’s hard to deal with success. What’s your name, or do you think I may faint because you deigned to sit with me?”

Hugh laughed. Not a chuckle but a side-splitting-belly laugh. “Oh god. Sarcastic much? I love it. My name is Hugh Constable.”

At the other end of the table, the early-twenties-something-man sat with his mouth agape. “Seriously? You … You’re Hugh Constable?”

“Yes, and now I’m at a loss. What’s your name?”

“Oh, I’m Evan Portman.”

Smiling, Hugh reached over, right hand extended and shook Evan’s. “The poet?”

Evan blushed. “No, not yet. Not published, no agent … yet.”

“You don’t have to be published.”

Evan smirked. “No, but it helps.”

Hugh couldn’t argue there. His last two books had been successes, but most didn’t know about the hours spent writing pages and pages, that would never be read by anyone but himself—the years of learning, rewrites, and rejection letters from publishers. Years spent working dull jobs and nights spent writing, with no promise of reward.

“You’re right. That day you get that yes letter, after so many no’s is an incredible feeling.” Hugh inspected Evan—handsome, but overly lean—likely very hungry, for food but more for success and acceptance. “You know I could do with another hot dog. I’ll be right back.”

When he returned, Evan was packing away his work in a well-worn backpack.

“Evan, I brought you one, sorry I didn’t think before I went, so I just put the basics on it.” Hugh placed the dog and a drink near the young man. “You’re not leaving, are you?”

“Um … well. I should really—”

“Please stay, eat. I was enjoying our talk.”

Evan Portman had nowhere else to be at that moment, and the hotdog and orange soda looked good. He was hungry. And well talking to Hugh Constable was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. He sat down. “Thanks and I was enjoying our talk, too.”

“So would it be really bad form to ask to read one of your poems?”

Evan regarded Hugh skeptically. “Do you like poetry?”

“Well, if I’m honest I can take it or leave it. Some of it just does my head in, but I’d like to read some of yours.”

Pawing through the backpack, Evan pulled out a thin notebook— like the ones that kids use in school—thin and stapled together, not one of the ring-bound types. He handed it to Hugh who read the first one he found:

My words are never good enough;
though chosen well, they never say,
what my longing heart truly feels—
I look to my soul for succor.

It offers me only solace,
not the phrases for which I beg—
only the poet's heart can sing,
those feelings that are vocable.

He reread it and then read it again. At one point in his life, he’d taken a poetry appreciation course in which they taught not to rush into reactions but to let the words settle into you. Hugh glanced at Evan, who sat purposefully not looking at him. He spoke softly, “Evan ... Evan this is very good.”

Slowly their eyes met, Evan’s face was full of concern and then relief.

“Do you really think so?”

Nodding, Hugh shuffled along the seat to be closer to the young poet. “Yes I do, I really think so.”

“Thanks.” Evan smiled shyly. “That means a lot. Friends read them and never say they suck. I appreciate your honesty.”

Hugh reached over and laid his hand on Evan’s forearm. “You ever think that maybe they were telling you the truth? If what you showed them is like that work—it was the truth.”

“I’ve been sending stuff to publishers and agents, but I’m not getting too far.”

“You need to put your work out there. Do readings, in libraries or coffee houses to meet people, enter contests and never quit trying to find an agent—there will be one who takes you on. And keep writing, never stop that.”

Hugh withdrew his hand and reached in for his wallet. He opened it and withdrew a business card. “Here, this is my personal card, my e-mail and my cell number. Keep in touch.”

“Thank you so much.” Evan accepted it and put it into his wallet.

They talked for another hour about writing, life and their worlds. Finally Hugh excused himself and started to walk back to his hotel. As he walked he thought about Evan. ‘He’s talented and bright. I hope he manages to find some success.’

Evan sat for a few moments after Hugh left, thinking about his afternoon. ‘Wow, Hugh Constable sat with me, bought me lunch ….”

He packed up his stuff and walked slowly to his job at Lake’s Steak House.

 

***

“Is that all he did? Say he loved it and then left? What a prick!”

Evan looked at Alonzo, the other waiter on shift with him. “What do you mean he’s a prick?”

“Come on, Ev, he’s a published author for fuck’s sake. He could have said he’d help you or introduce you to his agent.” Alonzo picked up the next salt shaker he was filling, and poured salt into it, and screwed on the lid and set it down on the tray. “No skin off his nose to make one call for you.”

The same thought had crossed Evan’s mind but he knew Constable’s career had just taken off. Maybe the man didn’t feel comfortable or maybe he just thought success on another’s coattails wasn’t a good thing. As much as Evan wanted to be published, he rather thought he’d like to do it on his own. Constable had said he was good, that the poem was good—that was enough to keep him going.

Just an idea ... all errors, are mine. This is just as it was written.
Copyright © 2017 Mikiesboy; All Rights Reserved.
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Stories posted in this category are works of fiction. Names, places, characters, events, and incidents are created by the authors' imaginations or are used fictitiously. Any resemblances to actual persons (living or dead), organizations, companies, events, or locales are entirely coincidental.
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you. 

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3 hours ago, Headstall said:

You put me on the bench with them, tim. I can't count how many times through the years I've had talks with strangers where I came away with something that has stayed with me. I had one such with a certain Alfred Sung in a bar one evening... an astonishing man. This was an ordinary moment in time, but it was anything but for Evan. It feed him more than a hot dog and onion rings... much more. Encouragement can be more valuable than gold, and I think it was in this case. By the way, I loved 'Evan's' poem. Lovely. Excellent little respite for me, my friend... kudos and cheers... Gary....

Are you talking about the fashion designer ...

:off:

I am the one who's off topic ...

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Tim, I need to attend a poetry appreciation course, or else I'll become a total philistine ...

:P

I hope you'll write more of this story in the future ...

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19 hours ago, Headstall said:

You put me on the bench with them, tim. I can't count how many times through the years I've had talks with strangers where I came away with something that has stayed with me. I had one such with a certain Alfred Sung in a bar one evening... an astonishing man. This was an ordinary moment in time, but it was anything but for Evan. It feed him more than a hot dog and onion rings... much more. Encouragement can be more valuable than gold, and I think it was in this case. By the way, I loved 'Evan's' poem. Lovely. Excellent little respite for me, my friend... kudos and cheers... Gary....

Thank you Gary. Alfred Sung.. how cool! I bet that was an interesting conversation. Glad you liked Evan's poem and this little piece. Thanks again, Gary xo

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15 hours ago, Bucket1 said:

Nicely done. Alonzo knows nothing, Hugh gave him a card, a contact, a friendship, honesty, encouragement and a hot dog. Not bad for a casual meet in the park.

Thanks very much B!!  I would have been happy with the hotdog! Thanks for reading!! xo

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15 hours ago, hohochan657 said:

Tim, I need to attend a poetry appreciation course, or else I'll become a total philistine ...

:P

I hope you'll write more of this story in the future ...

There is poetry galore on GA .. lots to be appreciated!! Thanks for reading my friend. xo

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9 hours ago, Reader1810 said:

Hoho, all you need to do is keep reading tim's poetry. Appreciation will come all on it's own. Trust me, I know what I'm talking about. :)

Awww that's so sweet Reader!! xoxo

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9 hours ago, Parker Owens said:

tim, this is an awesome story. I completely agree with Bucket, Alonzo is clueless. You make that clear in that Evan wants success on his own terms. To be told by a successful writer that your writing is good is such incredible affirmation and encouragement. Hugh's question goes directly to my own heart, and to other writers' hearts, too: "you ever think that they were telling you the truth?" For those who have no status in professional writing, to answer affirmatively is unthinkable. Beautifully honest, and encouraging. I really want to know more about Evan, though. Someday, maybe? Please?

Thank you Parker. .. we should all have a Hugh Constable shouldn't we?  And more of Evan. there is actually more .. i'm not sure where it's going.. or if it ever will.. but i liked this part.. so maybe there will be more.. gotta finish what i'm doing now first though. xoxo

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6 hours ago, mollyhousemouse said:

:hug:

You are so good at these little vignettes.

Thanks for sharing!

Hello molly!!  You make me smile, glad you enjoyed it !  I like short stories and vignettes lots of fun to make them work. Thanks again for reading!  xo

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4 hours ago, Lyssa said:

Very nice story! I think Evan is right the way he sees this. :-)

Thank you Lyssa! Evan's a pretty smart young man. Thanks for reading this! xo

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7 hours ago, mollyhousemouse said:

:hug:

You are so good at these little vignettes.

Thanks for sharing!

I would agree Molly, he can capture that moment and share it with you. Put you right in the middle of it. The poems too, like an awesome haiku, one thought, one emotion, so clearly expressed.

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I know evan's friend thinks Hugh should have done more, but I think the advice, encouragement and genuine praise he gave will go a long way for a young man who's confidence needs a boost.  Hugh "made it" and he thinks Evan will do well. That knowledge could help Evan though some tough times when he's waiting impatiently to hear from another publisher.  Well done, tim :) 

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28 minutes ago, LitLover said:

I know evan's friend thinks Hugh should have done more, but I think the advice, encouragement and genuine praise he gave will go a long way for a young man who's confidence needs a boost.  Hugh "made it" and he thinks Evan will do well. That knowledge could help Evan though some tough times when he's waiting impatiently to hear from another publisher.  Well done, tim :) 

Hey! Thank you very much LL! :heart:  Yeah, i wasn't sure what to do with Hugh then, encourage or pick up the phone. I think he made the right choice.  Thanks for your terrific comments and for reading .. xoxo

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I think Evan did more for Hugh in talking to him and praising his poem honestly. The contact information is always there if Hugh needs.

Loved this tim.. Great job as usual.. 

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1 hour ago, Bucket1 said:

I would agree Molly, he can capture that moment and share it with you. Put you right in the middle of it. The poems too, like an awesome haiku, one thought, one emotion, so clearly expressed.

Aw, thanks B!! xoxo

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2 minutes ago, Defiance19 said:

I think Evan did more for Hugh in talking to him and praising his poem honestly. The contact information is always there if Hugh needs.

Loved this tim.. Great job as usual.. 

Thanks .. hmmm maybe I'll let myself think more about these two. I've been doing that for a long time now but nothing was happening. There's about 4000 more words to this but, this bit was my fav part.  I'll have to see if i can figure out the end ... :heart: thanks Def xxoo

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tim, as always, your writing feels honest and real. This little moment in time for Hugh and Evan held a much larger meaning than the short story told. From your descriptions of the characters, to the setting of the park and their interaction together, I felt like I understood events and personalities that fell outside of the parameter of the immediate scenario. These two men, published author and aspiring poet, share an intimate bond, and it's instant and it's gratifying. They are like kindred spirits, blown together by the wind, meant to meet, meant to have that conversation on that day. I know that Hugh's compliments bolstered Evan, who clearly needed to hear them, but simultaneously, Evan uplifted Hugh by giving him a sense of wonder back, a sense of what it's like to be un-rushed and unburdened by the hectic schedule of his book tour and to just be immersed in the personal creation of a written piece. The mention you made of Hugh's hand being cramped and sore in the beginning, to me, perfectly reflected his weariness and a desire to slow down. I think it felt good to him to return a grassroots discussion about the art of writing with Evan. Maybe he saw a little bit of himself in Evan, and that's why he felt so drawn to encourage him and give him his contact info. 

 

Okay, I've clearly rambled on here. But that's what your writing inspires, tim... Thanks for this little gem. If you continue on with the story, all the better.

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18 hours ago, MacGreg said:

tim, as always, your writing feels honest and real. This little moment in time for Hugh and Evan held a much larger meaning than the short story told. From your descriptions of the characters, to the setting of the park and their interaction together, I felt like I understood events and personalities that fell outside of the parameter of the immediate scenario. These two men, published author and aspiring poet, share an intimate bond, and it's instant and it's gratifying. They are like kindred spirits, blown together by the wind, meant to meet, meant to have that conversation on that day. I know that Hugh's compliments bolstered Evan, who clearly needed to hear them, but simultaneously, Evan uplifted Hugh by giving him a sense of wonder back, a sense of what it's like to be un-rushed and unburdened by the hectic schedule of his book tour and to just be immersed in the personal creation of a written piece. The mention you made of Hugh's hand being cramped and sore in the beginning, to me, perfectly reflected his weariness and a desire to slow down. I think it felt good to him to return a grassroots discussion about the art of writing with Evan. Maybe he saw a little bit of himself in Evan, and that's why he felt so drawn to encourage him and give him his contact info. 

 

Okay, I've clearly rambled on here. But that's what your writing inspires, tim... Thanks for this little gem. If you continue on with the story, all the better.

Thanks Mac. Your comments are brilliant.

 

There is more and about eight more poems written by 'Evan' but i don't know. It's just not done. The beginning of After The Past was written maybe 4 years ago but it just sat. And i'd reread it and save it. Then one day i opened it, read it again and it was done. Just needed writing. Maybe that will happen here. Don't know. But I liked this part enough to post it. I hope it will be done one day, because I like them both... guess we'll see. 

 

Thanks again for the support and wonderful comments. 

 

tim xoxo

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