The Moonlight Bar

     

It has been a few weeks since I worked on my WIP (“The Reluctant Savage”). Feeling a bit rusty I decided over the weekend to write a short story – actually, a short short story – to check my brain functions as to creating a simple plot, some simple characters, and to allow the readers (if so inclined) to engage some of their own imagining, that is, leaving them room for interpretation. It was to be for me an exercise to shed some of the writing rust gathered over the previous weeks and also an optional exercise for the reader to see how many directions the short story could have gone. It’s obvious to me the short tale could be extended to a full-length novel, and maybe I’ll get around to that. For the most part, the busy schedules of my previous weeks had slowed down my writing – and for good or bad, I like to write. So, I put the brain quickly to work and wrote this improvisational short story. Have to tell you, I enjoyed very much the rather quick project… I hope you enjoy it as well.

The Moonlight Bar

A Short Short Story by Billy Ray Chitwood  

“Eight-ball in the corner pocket and get your money out…” A tap on his shoulder came just before the shot was miscued… “Hey, Mofo, that’s the money ball! What the hell you doing?” The brawny man nicknamed Freepo put his cue stick on the table and stared in confrontational pose at the dignified man in a black suit.

“Sorry, Freepo, I’m paying you for the game as well as your playing partner.” He handed each man at the table a sawbuck, then threw two fifties on the table. “I’ve got a handsome proposition for you both… Are you interested in talking about it in my car outside? It’s too noisy in here.”

Freepo looked at his partner, nicknamed Jersey, for some seconds. Then he turned back to the man in the suit. “You ain’t no sicko talking some kind of sex thing, are you, pal? Cause I just might have to wrap a cue stick ’round your head…”

“No, no!” exclaimed the man. It’s a business proposition that can make you both some really good money. Honest. No ‘sex thing,’ for sure.”

“Okay, but why us? Why me and Jersey? You just walk in this bar dive and start jiving about a business proposition? You nuts or sumthin?”

The two pool players leaned against the table, eyes squinted querulously, while the suited man stood perfectly erect only a few feet away. “Look, I’ll make it all very clear to you in the car. The smoke and noise are too much in here. You’ll both be interested in my proposal, I promise. Can we go now?” The man nodded meekly toward the entrance and tentatively lifted his right palm in that direction. The man truly needed to be out of this unfamiliar dimly lit and smelly atmosphere of tinkling glasses, heavy music, and loud conversations.

Freepo and Jersey followed the man to his car, parked just a few yards down the curb from ‘The Moonlight Bar.’ At this hour, close to midnight, there were no people on the sidewalk and only an occasional car was passing. The two men raised their brows at each other as they saw the man unlock the doors to a silver BMW 750 and requested they get in the back seat.

Seated, looking at the man in the front seat of the BMW, Freepo said, “Nice car, pal! You doing okay for yourself! Now, how’s ’bout telling Jersey here and me how you come to us with a business deal? Again, I’m asking, why us out of anybody else?” Jersey had yet to utter a word.

“Fair question, Freepo…” The man was stopped in mid-sentence.

“So you know my neighborhood name! How ’bout this guy? You know his moniker as well?”

“Yes, I know your friend, Jersey.”

“Okay, okay, that tells me you been gathering some dope on us… So get on with your story and we’ll see where we go from there. Just one thing, pal! You ain’t cops, right? You don’t look like no cop I know.”

“No. No cop… Now, here’s the situation… The word is that you guys know how to get things done and that you also know how to keep a low profile – keep your mouths closed about what you’re doing. That is, you are loyal to the people who hire you to get things done and keep quiet about it. Am I right so far?”

Jersey finally spoke. “Look, Mister, Freepo and I go back a long way. We take care of each other. What I’m wanting to know before we go on is who is spreading ‘the word’ about us? ‘The word’ might very well be accurate, but we would like to know who is doing the talking. You do understand why that might be important to us, right? And, what do we call you? You haven’t given us a name. You apparently know us, but we don’t know you.”

The man in the suit quickly calculated that Jersey was the smarter of the two men and it would be he who would need satisfying on all the details. Jersey dressed himself better, spoke better, and seemed to be much better educated. Freepo was street smart, but Jersey had that plus some school smarts.

“Look, call me Morris, but we don’t need to trade biographies here. You know how it works…people want something done, but they want to remain anonymous — that means…”

Jersey interrupted, “Yeah, we know what ‘anonymous’ means, Morris. Okay, guess you don’t want to say who is spreading ‘the word’ on us or give your real name. That’s okay. You’ve come from wherever it is you come and want to talk about ‘business.’ Okay, tell us about the business…”

Freepo started to light a cigarette… “Please, Freepo, don’t smoke in the car! It’s my health. That’s why I needed to get out of the bar. Can you understand, please?”

Freepo grunted and put his cigarette back in its package. “Yeah, okay. Do your talking.”

“The man who owns ‘The Moonlight Bar’? James Gibbons? You both know him?”

The two men glanced at each other curiously and spoke simultaneously, “Yeah, we know him.”

“Did you know he’s an evil man?”

Jersey spoke, “The world is filled with evil men, Morris. Hell, guess we would be considered by some as evil…”

“Not from the word I get on you two.” Morris held up his hand to stop Freepo from interrupting. “You two do a lot more good than evil.” He paused. “Now, if you knew James Gibbons was doing something bad to children, would you still like him?”

“Who said we liked him? We said we knew him. That doesn’t mean we like him. He won’t do it to us but he puts premium brand labels on bottles of booze and sells them at premium prices. He has his bartenders double up sometimes on drinks when people are running tabs. We go there because it’s close to home and we were going there before James Gibbons bought the bar. But he doesn’t fool around with us or any of our friends. He knows better. Freepo and I have a nice little concrete business and we pour not only the concrete but we pour a lot of money into his bar… The truth is, we don’t like him and he don’t like us. We just like his bar and the people who work for him, and he cheats them and treats them like dirt… Now, his pretty wife…we call her Ms Daisy…she’s a gem, pretty blond gal that smiles and quietly gets along with everyone in the bar.”

“That’ great. I got it,” Morris cut him off, “you don’t like him, but you like his wife… Good! I don’t like the man, either, because he hurt someone I love very much…” Morris was silent for a few seconds.

“So, this business you mentioned?” Freepo talking. “It must concern Gibbons, right?”

“Not really, just don’t like the guy. Noticed he wasn’t here tonight. He usually here?”

“Yeah, come to think of it, haven’t seen him in a couple of days, though. Hell, nobody misses him. It’s a lot better place when he’s not there. You sure I can’t smoke back here?” asked Freepo.

“Rather you didn’t. Hey, just a few more minutes and we’re finished. Can you guys pour a foundation for me tomorrow? I’m adding on to my storage shed — gathering too damned much stuff. Small job, but have to get it done by Friday when I’m moving the stuff from the Bronx, and this is Wednesday.”

“That’s the business! We could have told you ‘no’ in the bar… We have schedules, man. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.” Jersey sounded annoyed.

“But, it’s just a small job! I’ll pay you ten grand for the pour. Easy money. You can do it before your first scheduled job. The pour area is 6′ X 8′ with depth of one foot, re-bar in and footings set.”

“Ten thousand big ones for an easy pour! C’mon, Jersey,” pleaded Freepo, “we can knock it out in no time. Man, that’s too good to pass up.”

“Can’t argue with that… This all legit, Morris? And, by the way, what’s the last name?”

“O’Fallon. And, yes, it’s legit. Google me, Morris O’Fallon, Principal, Friedland Capital and get all the information you need. I’ll pay you in the morning as soon as you pour. I’m asking at the last minute. I figure you guys deserve some extra bucks for the consideration… Here’s the address, and phone number if needed. What time you figuring on being there?”

“We’ll be there by 7:15 AM.” Jersey said.

The three men shook hands on the deal, smiled at each other, and parted company. Morris drove away while, Freepo and Jersey went back into The Moonlight Bar for one last frosty brew

 ***

Some weeks later, Detectives Corman Jones and Eli Whitsell were interviewing Freepo Gabetti and Jersey Grimaldi in the office of GG Concrete. There were only three chairs in the sparse office, one metal file cabinet with three drawers, a framed license on one grubby wall, an old scarred desk, cracked tile floor, and Freepo sat on a wooden crate at the end of the desk.

Jones looked from Jersey at the desk to Freepo. “So, you haven’t seen James Gibbons in several weeks, that your recollection, too, Freepo?”

“Yeah, right! And, we had the talk with Morris O’Fallon and did the early morning concrete pour. That’s it! We finished here? We got another pour this afternoon.” Freepo was showing his business side.

“Just a couple of more questions, guys, and we’re outta here,” Whitsell now talking. “Did this fella, O’Fallon, seem like an okay guy to you two?”

“Yeah, sure,” responded Jersey while Freepo nodded, “He was just adding a section to his storage area and wanted us to do a pour.”

“Nothing more interesting than that in your conversation with him?” asked Jones.

Jersey answered, “Hey, we didn’t even know the bar owner was missing til you told us. We mentioned O’Fallon ’cause you asked if anyone didn’t like the guy. Like we told you, he came to the bar and offered us a pouring job. While we were talking he mentioned that Gibbons was a dirt bag, like, he hurt little kids, and we agreed that the man was not too honest in the way he ran his business. Otherwise, this guy O’Fallon seemed like a nice upstanding person…”

Jones continued with the questions. “And it never occurred to you two that O’Fallon was giving you some big bucks for a really quick job?”

“Well, hell yes, man, it occurred to us, but it just seemed he had finished the prep work sooner than he expected and wanted to get it done. The guy drove a Beamer, obviously had lots of dough, and we thought it was a good thing for us… What are you dicks suggesting, anyway? That this O’Fallon guy had us pour concrete on top of Gibbons? You thinking that? Cheez!” Freepo stood and leaned on the desk. “Look, we don’t know nothing ’bout the missing bar man. The O’Fallon guy looked good to us, and, yeah, the money looked good… That’s all we know. Now, we gotta haul ass to get the pouring job done.”

“Okay, Freepo, you and Jersey do your pouring job, but, before you go, give us the address of this O’Fallon guy. Look, we’re just checking out a missing person’s report. We’re not here to hassle you. Just getting information. We’re talking to all the regulars who frequent The Moonlight Bar. It just seems a bit strange this guy needs a concrete pouring job so quickly…but we’ll check out all the angles…”

***

The detectives had several long conversations with Morris O’Fallon and his wife. While the persistent impression of the childless couple seemed positive, there was intense pressure being applied by the wife of James Gibbons to find her husband. Daisy Gibbons was convinced someone had done him in, and she was running the bar the best she could but felt she was being robbed by the staff working there.

After talking to bar customers and other people who knew Gibbons it was clear he was not a likable and trustworthy kind of guy. Finally it was legally determined that the recently poured O’Fallon storage foundation addition could be broken up and removed to see if Gibbons body was indeed in the ground… Strangely, there was little resistance from Morris O’Fallon. There were also so many unanswered questions. Why did O’Fallon choose GG Concrete to do the pour? Why so quickly? Why not a concrete pour from a company closer to the residence in question?

So, in July, on a beautiful sunny day in a most lovely residential section between the Bronx and Yonkers, the O’Fallon residence became a busy and very noisy place. The storage area in the lush backyard was the focal point, that new section of concrete that had already been walled in. The drillers made an ugly staccato sound that had nearby neighbors scurrying to close open windows and doors to at least muffle the sounds.

By the end of the day a pile of broken up concrete lay in heaps on the lovely lawn.

After a thorough search beneath all the removed concrete no body was found in the big hole, and Mr. James Gibbons stayed missing. Morris O’Fallon was given the city’s apology and thanks. Indeed, his record was clean and his business dealings were exemplary.

 ***

A few days later, Freepo and Jersey were shooting pool in The Moonlight Bar, pausing now and then to tell jokes and tall tales among themselves and other regular bar buddies who had joined them around their common tables.

It was Jersey who saw him first. Morris O’Fallon was striding toward them in his tailored suit, his shiny black shoes, and just a hint of a smile on his face. Jersey poked Freepo in the ribs and nodded toward O’Fallon.

“Hi, fellas, you got a couple of minutes to spare outside? It won’t take long, I promise.”

Freepo and Jersey placed their cue sticks on the pool table, and Jersey spoke. “Sure, Mr. O’Fallon…be right back, you hoodlums, just leave the money on the table!” He smirked. The group smirked back.

On the curb, Morris spoke, “No need to get in the car. Just wanted to see if you could do another pour for me? Don’t know if you heard but the police came and drilled out all that fine concrete you poured previously. I’m still scratching my head over that. You go through life doing the right thing and something like that happens… You guys know what I’m talking about?”

“Yeah, we know,” Freepo offered. “The fuzz came and talked to all the bar regulars, including us. We did mention you, Mr. O’Fallon, but only in the best of light. You understand we had to talk to them?”

“Sure, that’s fine, guys. You’re good citizens. There’s no problem at all. What I want is for you to re-pour that big hole the cops left in my backyard. Can you do that for me? I’ll pay you, of course.” O’Fallon stood erect, hands in his pockets.

“Sure, we’ll pour,” said Jersey. “When do you want us?”

“Is early tomorrow morning good for you? Just like before?”

“Sure, we can accommodate you, Mr. O’Fallon,” Jersey responded.

“Can I ask a question, Mr. O’Fallon?” Freepo blurted.

“Sure, Freepo, ask away.”

“How much you figure on paying us?” He almost looked sheepish in the asking.

“Same as before, if that’s okay with you two. Is it okay?”

Freepo and Jersey looked at each other, trying very hard to appear serious in their demeanors. It was Jersey who spoke, “Sure, that’s fine, Mr. O’Fallon.”

A few more pleasantries and the men parted. Morris O’Fallon got in his car and went wherever it was he was going. Freepo and Jersey jubilantly returned to their buddies inside The Moonlight Bar.

***

One month later, Daisy Gibbons sat and talked to Freepo and Jersey.

“You two guys are the best customers James and I have…” She looked a bit wistful in mentioning her husband. “With James gone to parts unknown, I’m going to sell ‘Moonlight.’ I’ve got Power of Attorney to do it, and I can’t see any reason to stick around if he’s not here. The Moonlight Bar was his idea anyhow… Guess he just got tired of it – and, me – and wanted to move on…” She looked away for a wistful moment. “Anyway, you guys seem to love this place. You’ve been coming here forever, so I thought I would offer it first to you before putting it on the market…”

“WOW!” squealed Freepo. “Jersey and me, owning The Moonlight Bar! Wow!”

“Hold on, hotshot, let’s hear the lady out… Whatta you got in mind, Ms Daisy?”

Daisy Gibbons made Freepo and Jersey a deal they could not refuse, and they bought the bar.

***

Around the same time The Moonlight Bar was being sold to Freepo Gabetti and Jersey Grimaldi, a divorce was finalized between Morris and Geraldine O’Fallon.

***

“Any regrets, Daisy?”

Morris sipped a margarita and gazed at the lovely bikini-clad blond in the beach chair beside him. The bright yellow in the bikini made her tanned skin and cameo face all the more breathtaking to him. The sapphire blue of her eyes matched the soft powdery blue waves that lazily washed ashore. Strands from her long blond hair fell across one moist cheek and down to an amply exposed breast. She smiled sweetly up at him, an invitation on her lush full lips. He suddenly felt a now familiar craving for her that bordered on bestial desire. and his matching yellow jockey shorts were becoming uncomfortably tight.

“Not here! Not now! Not in these moments with you… When the thoughts come I push them aside… Will they eventually destroy us, these thoughts?” There came a quaint sadness to her dazzling face, mixing with the remarkable sexiness of her lips.

“Thoughts will not destroy us, Daisy, not if our love stays strong… You did what you had to do. We must never allow ourselves to become bored with each other… And, right now, this moment, I’m horny as hell and coming after you…”

With that he pushed away from the beach chair and chased a squealing Daisy across the white sand toward a lovely villa surrounded by palms…

The End

You can follow me on Twitter (@brchitwood) and on facebook.com/billyray.chitwood. If you like this short short story, please take a look at my nine books, some mystery novels, a romance novel, and a couple of memoirs at the following sites:

http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA  (IAN: Short bio sketch and preview my nine books) 

OTHER AUTHOR SITES:

http://billyraychitwood.weebly.com (Can preview my books on the Home page and push the blog button for my posts)

http://www.about.me/brchitwood 

http://thefinalcurtain1.wordpress.com (View my current and archived posts)

 

 

A Fanciful Thought

       

Two Americans who know how to speak only one language, English, sit at a small sidewalk cafe in Paris, France, sipping latte, watching the people pass and listening to a musical language which they can now miraculously understand. Birds are chirping, dropping momentarily from their flitting maneuvers to pick up a crumb of food. The sun is shining in a clear lucid sky and there are smiles on the faces of the people. Happiness abounds.

A waiter appears at the small sidewalk table and speaks a few words in French: “Do you care for more latte or do you care for a menu?”

“No,” says one of the Americans, glancing at his watch, “we must be going. We’re meeting friends at the ‘Arc de Triomphe’ along the Champs-Elysees in twenty minutes.” After directions are confirmed the Americans pay their tab and leave the lovely cafe.

There was no confusion, no doubt, in the language exchange while neither of the Americans spoke French and the waiter spoke no English.

How can this be? A Frenchman and Americans having a dialogue, understanding every word that is spoken? Where has the world gotten?

Finally, we have in many ways made all the brilliant technology pay off. There is now a chip worn in an attractive wrist band. The chip is activated by a small square pen-like device that is clipped to a shirt pocket or to the inside of a coat. On the pen is a menu of languages spoken all over the world. In France, the two Americans chose French from the menu, spoke in their native tongue, and the words were perfectly understood by the waiter – and, of course, any French person they should meet. The words of the Americans are spoken in English but come out in French, and, likewise, the waiter responds in his native tongue and it comes out in English. One small chip on a wrist band controls the conversation.

Marvelous! you say, and marvelous it is. Any person on the planet can now own this ‘Language Chip Band’ for a pittance. People can travel the world and never again be troubled by a language barrier, whether it be France, Bulgaria, Mexico, Russia, Spain, Switzerland, you name the country.

Now, perhaps Love can spread! Now, perhaps Wars can be no more! Now, perhaps a real world community can exist. Now, perhaps Peace in all parts of the world can flourish.

Not so fast, you say!

Yes, of course, you’re right. Not so fast! There will still be power-hungry people. There will still be greed. There will still be mayhem, murder, and evil. And, is this technology possible? My personal belief does not matter so much, but I do believe there are so many wonderful human advancement possibilities that we have and really know nothing about… ‘smart pills’ (I just took one – yuck, yuck!), new energies, new medical breakthroughs… Think about it, really! We put people on the moon. We can identify anyone anywhere with a satellite positioning itself. Our Mathematicians, our Scientists and Technologists of all kinds know so much, our Governments, all know so much more than we can ever believe they know…

So, why are some technological secrets kept from us? (If, of course, you choose to believe there are secrets…) Because of that power and greed and selfishness and, most of all, because of Trust. Love cannot come without Trust and Faith! Faith, Love, and Trust can come, but it seems to me must come when we on this globe can at least communicate with each other, cannot lose each other in translation. Faith, Love, and Trust can come when we begin to let go of our prejudices, when we begin to know and understand that we are not just one person or just a few elites…we can never reach the glory that is out there for us unless we try to eliminate bias, hatred, ignorance, selfishness, and evil from the world…

This is all a fanciful exercise, but can it not come to pass? Can we not all see that a global union of bodies can achieve Faith, Love, and Trust, that our world can be the promised Nirvana, that promise that just maybe got us all started on this orbital journey?

Who knows but the chicken and egg conundrum Maker, our God, that Designer of all our myths and truths!

PLEASE FOLLOW ME ON:

twitter (@brchitwood)  and http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood

SOME OF MY WEBSITES:

http://billyraychitwood.weebly.com

http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA (IAN) (short bio and my books)

http://www.about.me/brchitwood

http://linkedin.com/brchitwood

http://amazon.com

http://amazon.co.uk

Fifteen Great Bloggers

v

I’ve been honored with a nomination for the ‘Very Inspiring Blogger Award’ by Mr. Francis Baraan IV (@MrFrancisBaraan on Twitter) for which I would like to most sincerely thank him. it’s always a pleasure to receive these award nominees but it’s also a bit tedious and time-consuming in fulfilling the requirements that are attached to them. I have been honored with a few of these awards, and, while it takes some time away from my writing and/or maintenance chores of the social networks, it is always gratifying. An ‘Award’ nomination makes one feel validated in some sense for her/his blog observations, for her/his writing in general, makes one feel that there is in her/his possession some talent that is recognized by others. In fact, it might come to a person that this nomination may be the only recognition they will ever get in their writing. If I appear somewhat ‘tongue in cheek,’ forgive me, for it truly is an honor to receive such an award. Mr. Francis Baraan has a truly lovely blog site and he was also awarded the ‘Very Inspiring Blogger Award.’ It’s my hope that you will visit http://mrfrancisbaraanivblog.wordpress.com. (Please note that the lovely library room in the background of this site is already spoken for by me.) There is a most noble title to this post: THE BIBLIOPHILE CHRONICLES: MOSTLY A LITERARY BLOG — FRANCIS BARAAN ON BOOKS, READING, WRITING, WRITERS, AUTHORS, AND LA DOLCE VITA. Please visit this most worthy wordpress blog and prepare to be impressed. That was my experience, and I’m sure it will be yours. As with most awards there are some mechanics that go with with acceptance of the nomination. The nominee is to acknowledge the nominator in the most kindest of words, momentarily forgetting the possible disdain he or she is feeling at having to navigate through the laundry list of chores. The nominee is to enumerate seven facts about herself/himself heretofore not necessarily known by the social network community, perhaps even the world. The nominee is also to nominate fifteen other people for the award — again, understanding that any friendships developed with those nominees over the preceding years are likely to go through some sort of purgatorial-like status before amity can return. I would like to state that my dear friend, Jhobell Kristyl, also nominated me sometime back for this and two other awards, ‘The Reality Blog Award’ and “One Lovely Blog Award.” So, I hope I’m not stepping on the protocols but I’ll handle these generous and wonderful awards together. Please let this be okay with my friends, Francis and JK. I sincerely thank them both for the Award(s). Also, relative to protocols, I’m changing my nominees format. Since I’m doing the nominating, it seems only proper that I set the requirements. HERE ARE THE REQUIREMENTS FOR MY FIFTEEN NOMINEES: 1) You may or may not acknowledge and thank me for the nomination; 2) You do need in accepting to show the award on your blog; 3) You must reveal seven things about yourselves that heretofore have not seen daylight; 4) THAT’S IT! You may if you wish nominate others for the award (in any number) but it is not mandatory. To recap, thank me if you like, show the Award on your blogs, and reveal in a specific post seven things about yourselves that have not heretofore been known. Simple enough? Here are the seven revelations about myself, some shameful, some which never should have been revealed: 1) I’m an emotional cripple…not necessarily big news to the people who know me: I cry at heart-rending, death-disease-pending, and maltreated animal books and movies; ergo, I try to stay away from these books and movies. What makes this confession rather ridiculous is that, in some of the books I write (nay, all the books that I write), there are sections where I cried while writing them – and I cry when I re-read them. Guess it stands to reason that an emotional cripple will cry when he’s writing emotional scenes. Know what? That’s not embarrassing to me. In fact, I’m thankful for it. And, instead of blaming my age, I can say that it has always been that way for me. 2) In some ways I’m a Jekyl/Hyde kind of guy – particularly when it comes to the internet and the functions I must perform on it. First of all, an anachronism like me perhaps should not be on the internet. There are so many things I do not know, that HTML stuff, all the widgets, settings, and interneteze. I’m basically a humble guy with a tender heart (as you already know) but there are times when I rage, rant, rave, and come fairly close at times to throwing this laptop into my beautiful Canterra fireplace in front of which I sit posing as a author… Mostly, though, you can rely on my being a sweet, decent, law-abiding human being. (My wife is now looking over my shoulder and laughing full-throttle – at a safe distance, of course!). 3) I love ‘thin’ milkshakes, not the thick stuff that you need a spoon to drink it (make that, eat it!). However, the milkshake has to have a slow-moving texture, thick enough to know there is ice cream within the ice. What kind, you ask? Thin, Chocolate milkshakes I crave most earnestly in the hot months particularly – made with vanilla ice cream (home-made if possible) and Hershey syrup. (At this point, as she reads these words, I’m giving Julie, my wife, that over my shoulder boyish smile with flickering eye countenance, and she’s not looking too pleased as she goes to the kitchen to pull the blender from the cupboard.) 4) Okay, Julie is not looking over the shoulder at the moment, so I can write this (Oh, sure, I’ll get her ire later!), but here’s the thing: even here in Twilight, a pretty lady, bursting out all over in that itsy bitsy teeny weeny polka dot bikini can still get the old motor running. Now, it’s of course a totally different kind of experience from the ‘young buck’ days – if you get my drift… Naturally, I love to pieces this lovely wife of mine, but, gee whiz, some of the damsels out there in the world today! Whooee! Please understand that this is only a thought process! 5) I’m basically a shy guy but get me around a group of fun-oriented people and I sorta have to show off! It might take a heavily laced drink to get me started (one is about all I can handle these days), but look out, I just might put on a one-man show: sing a few songs I’ve written, dramatize a few moments from the pages of my books… It’s all okay. I might overdo it once in a while, but, usually, the performance is in front of friends who know anyway that I’m going to make an ass out of myself. You see, it’s just me crying for attention! And, I get the attention, but the next day brings some remorse… The way I figure it, like, if I’m lying on the soiled and overused leather sofa of the shrink, I’m getting rid of some junk piled up there in this ego of mine… No real harm done, I’m thinking. 6) I was once a woman-chaser of the worst kind… You will find all of this if you read my memoirs. It’s all rather shameful, I suppose, but I’ve made it this far and just might as well lay it all out so people can decide to hate me, love me, maybe, at least, read me – that is, read my books. Hell, that’s why I wrote them, trying to find pieces of myself that could make some sense of me. The truth is the truth and it’s not going to set me free, but it helps me live a lot better within myself. Women-chasing is frowned upon, but I gotta tell you, I had me some times back in the day… (Oops! Julie’s back with my chocolate milkshake and I gotta get it from her before she pours it all over this graying head of mine!) Love that woman, and I didn’t spill a drop! She loves me. That’s the most warming thought this old mind and body needs to have. 7) This one is not so pretty but might as well put it out there. My mortality is something that lingers a spell now and then. It’s not so much I fear death. Hell, there are times when I would almost welcome it, particularly when this or that body part is not working or at some point has needed to be replaced. It’s the ‘legacy’ thing more than anything. I would like the people I’ve loved, my Mom, my wife, my kids, grand kids, greats, grandparents, my good friends, even my Dad and including some of those women I chased once upon a time, that they really were loved and they meant a lot to me. There was no cheapness in my love affairs. They all had worth. There were mountains I could have, should have, climbed and did not. There was so much more I could have given the world. There was much too much selfishness in my living, not enough giving of myself, not enough accomplishments that would match whatever talents I was supposed to have… So there it is. It all did not get done. BUT, there are nine books, a tenth being written (very slowly, he says), and maybe they will count for something. Maybe someone can benefit from them. MAYBE I have been able to see me better with the books I’ve written. SO, mortality, death, does not scare me… I just wish that I could have given the world more and maybe not taken so much from it… It was likely all ordained, so it is is what it is! I continue to enjoy life. I’ve got family who love me, friends who care about me. GUESS when I think about it, I have a pretty good legacy as it is… AND,a big plus! I have my faith! It has undergone some altering since my Appalachian days of youth, but it is there. Yes, God, it is there! After all these orbits, You await… Okay, that’s over! Here are my fifteen nominees for ‘The Very Inspiring Blogger Award.’ You are all beautiful in your blogs and deserve this award. I’m just hopeful you won’t send me ‘hate mail’ and become too unruly over all of this. Actually, it’s good to network… You just might find a viral track for a book or two.  Although it is not incumbent on you to list fifteen people for the Award (you can list any number, or, none at all), I am listing here fifteen deserving people, and, again, all they need to do is display the Award on their blogs and reveal seven things about themselves in a post — acknowledge me in your post if you like. Just remember, I’m an emotional ‘dude’ and would appreciate your mention of me. 1) John Dolan - @JohnDolanAuthor (Twitter) – http://johndolanwriter.blogspot.com 2) James McCallister - @jumeirajames (Twitter) – http://i-nation.me 3) Linda Howard Urbach - @LindaUrbach (Twitter) – http://www.madamebovarysdaugher.com 4) Eden Baylee - @edenbaylee (Twitter) – edenbaylee.com 5) Diane Strong - @DianeIStrong (Twitter) – http://dianestrong.wordpress.com 6) Cameron Garriepy - @camerongarriepy (Twitter) – http://camerondgarriepy.com 7) Dianne Gray - @Zigotide (Twitter) – http://diannegray.au.com 8) Mary Meddlemore - @MaryMeddlemore (Twitter) – marymeddlemore1.wordpress.com 9) Rick Mallery - @RickMallery (Twitter) – rickmallery.wordpress.com 10) Sheris Bessi (Eternally Me) – @sherisbessi (Twitter) – theothersideofugly.com 11) Seumas Gallacher - @seumasgallacher (Twitter) – seumasgallacher.wordpress.com 12) Dianne Harman - @DianneDHarman (Twitter) – http://www.DianneHarmon.com 13) Katherine L. Logan - @KathyLLogan (Twitter) – http://www.katherinellogan.com 14) Virginia Lee - @dagonsblood (Twitter) – https//dagonsblood.wordpress.com 15) Arthur Crandon - @arthurcrandon (Twitter) – http://www.bit.ly/TfzLl2 If you would like to know more about me, here are some links: http://www.about.me/brchitwood http://www.billyraychitwood.weebly.com http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA http://www.thefinalcurtain1.wordpress.com http://www.facebook.com/billyray.chitwood http://www.amazon.com (billy ray chitwood) http://www.amazon.co.uk (billy ray chitwood)

A Friend On A Cot

      

There is this compelling need within me to record and share some of the emotions and thoughts during a visit to a small medical clinic and a friend on a cot…

Ruben has diabetes. While hiking on Sonora’s Pinacate volcanic range (where the astronauts trained for the ‘Moon Landing’) he fell on some rocks and hit his head. He was most likely dehydrated. A few days later, while on a city hall errand, he passed out as he got out of his car. A good Samaritan witnessed his fainting spell, called an ambulance, and Ruben was taken to this Mexican clinic. The Pinacate event no doubt led to the fainting spell.

My friend, Ruben, was lying on a small cot in a dingy cell-like room in this medical clinic. He was on his back, covered by a cheap and gaudy blanket, staring straight ahead at a solid wall of concrete, for all the world like a man so forlorn he did not wish my wife and me, anyone, to be there with him. He was able to speak but his words were barely audible and with a total lack of will or spirit. A connected intravenous contraption was the only apparent equipment supplying nourishment and proper medicines to my friend. There would be some tests. With luck he would be out of the clinic in two days.

Ruben’s family was just outside this small closet-like room, sitting in a slightly larger area with sofas and chairs – his wife with a kind smile, his lovely and fidgety children, his mother with the aged and creased toil lines on her face, and his brother. They greeted us upon our entry into the little Mexican clinic and they tried to show us kindness with their modest smiles of thanks for being there. Their consideration of us, their genuine warmth, would ever be locked away in our memories… These were the same friendly and warm faces of most of the people in this small fishing village my wife and I call home.

Now, standing above Ruben, who works for the beach resort where I live and serve on the Board of Directors, my feelings were jangled. Part of me wanted to cry at the scene in front of me. There was Ruben, valiantly assuring me that he was going to be okay…”no problema, Bill, mi amigo.” His voice was weak, but, then, Ruben had never been strong of voice – just softly saying what he had to say, but saying it with more verve and commitment than now. My wife, Julie, stood at the end of the cot trying to show her smiley face and reassure him that we were there if he needed us.

We left ‘la clinica’ but my thoughts would not leave me. They took me down several mind paths that dealt with the quaint and beautiful culture of this small fishing village, how the families all gathered in moments of crises, how they bore up so well under circumstances such as this one, accepting the fate that was dealt to them.     My thoughts took me down the dusty back roads of this fishing village of Rocky Point where scraggly dogs roamed the streets in search of food, where sand from the desert floor was a constant airborne gust and swirl in the wind. They took me to the middle class areas of town where lovely haciendas dotted the landscape. They took me to the poverty that was a part of this tiny microcosm of the world, where the young kids rushed out at a red light stop to wipe down a car’s windshield, where hard working people with bronze skin wearily wandered up and down the beautiful beaches to peddle their wares. They took me to the pottery shops, the t-shirt shops, the fish markets where some of the best shrimp in the world were cheaply sold.

The thoughts took me to the Sandy Beach area where I lived among the wealthy and not so wealthy folks, those who sunbathed on the sand, swam in the myriad pools, relaxed in the spas, exercised in the resort gyms, ate at the finer restaurants along the beach and near the Old Port, and enjoyed million dollar views from their condo decks.

The thoughts were there, mingling and mixing, showing me the sides of societies the world over, the haves and those who wish to have. Somehow, here in this nostalgic world of Rocky Point, Mexico, the differences were stark, enough to batter the brain with too much unwanted and unwarranted guilt. Here was a town trying to come into the twenty-first century, arriving a bit slowly, but here, eventually, with all the resources and fast spreading technology, to become another Cabo San Lucas, Puerto Vallarta, Mazatlan, Cancun…

The thoughts were there about the US media’s enthrallment with denouncing this country, this lovely little speck of scrub brush desert, dusty roads, middle class and poverty, and a beautiful Sea of Cortez. Never have I lived more safely anywhere in this world than Rocky Point and I marvel at the absurd arrogance of the press to beat a dead horse. Sure, there is occasional crime in Mexico and in Rocky Point but not nearly as much per capita as can be seen in almost every city and town of equal size in the United States. Try living in some areas of Chicago, Detroit, Los Angeles, New York, Phoenix, Houston. Yes, I get it, these big metro areas are melting pots. My mind just tells me it’s grossly unfair to keep posting negatives about a town and a country called Mexico without certain qualifiers. Can we not use the common sense God gave us no matter where we travel. There are few places in the world today where one can wander in an area that is suspected of having a crime element. We go where we feel it’s most safe to go. That’s our world today — a bit different from not so many years ago.

My clinic visit to Ruben caused all of this rambling and I’m glad it did. Rocky Point (Puerto Penasco), scrub brush desert and The Sea of Cortez, is a spot that can make you want to stay – in my case, for several years. The town has an AutoZone, a new Convention Center, a new Sam’s Club, a Walmart affiliate, a Burger King, a Dominoe’s Pizza, a lovely Malecon, a theater mall, jet skis for riding the waves, sailboats, yachts, para sailing, on and on. In fact, the government has already funded a future home cruise port for Rocky Point – to be started in June, 2013. Aero Mexico is scheduled to start two flights a week into Rocky Point from Las Vegas, Nevada. For anyone loving the seaside experience and life style, this is a good place to come.

My thoughts take me to an end point… This is a different country. The language is different. The culture has a timeless and nostalgic quality. ‘Manana’ is a theme for living. Things can wait until tomorrow, next week, or next month. If a rumor is not started by 11:00 AM in the morning, it’s time to make one up. This little fishing village where I live is making strides to become one of the best areas to visit, an area where one will perhaps stay a long spell along the long stretch of coastline we call The Sea of Cortez. There are a lot of good people working to make that happen, and it will happen!

In the meantime, Ruben must get better…not because we need him at the Bella Sirena Resort, but because I love the man, his stubborn yet gentle manner — and I love his family.

Please follow me on Twitter (@brchitwood) and preview my books at http://goo.gl/fuxUA (scroll/preview).

Linda Howard Urbach – Someone You Must Know

   

Linda Howard Urbach is someone you will want to know, to follow, and to delight in her amusing blog interviews. Linda has two twitter accounts: @BovarysDaughter and @LindaUrbach. Her blog sites are:   http://www.madamebovarysdaughter.com  and  http://www.bovaryblog.com. Aside from writing books, Linda is the founder of ‘MoMoirs Writing Workshops for Moms.’ She is a busy lady not only writing delightful interviews but giving them as well – you can see at her site some of the interviews she has given. She has two books by Putnam, Expecting Miracles and The Money Honey. Expecting Miracles was also published in England and France where it won The French Family Book Award. Linda is currently working on her next book, Sarah’s Hair, ’the tangled story of Sarah Bernhardt’s hairdresser.’

Before I give you  a sampling of her own most amusing interviews there is a unique and noteworthy novel about which to inform you. Random House published Linda’s Madame Bovary’s Daughter and it has received critical acclaim as you will see further along. Most of us will remember reading many years ago Gustave Flaubert’s classic, Madame Bovary, but Linda found a lingering nagging question long after reading the book… This excerpt from Amazon says it best…

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Picking up after the shattering end of Gustave Flaubert’s classic, Madame Bovary, this beguiling novel imagines an answer to the questionWhatever happened to Emma Bovary’s orphaned daughter?

 
One year after her mother’s suicide and just one day after her father’s brokenhearted demise, twelve-year-old Berthe Bovary is sent to live on her grandmother’s impoverished farm. Amid the beauty of the French countryside, Berthe models for the painter Jean-François Millet, but fate has more in store for her than a quiet life of simple pleasures. Berthe’s determination to rise above her mother’s scandalous past will take her from the dangerous cotton mills of Lille to a convent in Rouen to the wealth and glamour of nineteenth-century Paris. There, as an apprentice to famed fashion designer Charles Frederick Worth, Berthe is ushered into the high society of which she once only dreamed. But even as the praise for her couture gowns steadily rises, she still yearns for the one thing her mother never had: the love of someone she loves in return.

Brilliantly integrating one of classic literature’s fictional creations with real historical figures, Madame Bovary’s Daughter is an uncommon coming-of-age tale, a splendid excursion through the rags and the riches of French fashion, and a sweeping novel of poverty and wealth, passion and revenge.

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Here are some Amazon reviews of “Madame Bovary’s Daughter”:

“[A] lavishly textured sequel to a timeless literary masterpiece . . . With more and more readers and book clubs revisiting the classics, there should be built-in interest.”—Booklist“Readers will cheer [Berthe Bovary] all the way…Urbach includes lots of details for reading groups to discuss about social class, women’s roles, and fashion, while never forgetting to tell a good story.”—Library Journal

“Grand in scope…Urbach relays a classic tale of rags to riches, tragedy to triumph and passion to vengeance. Saga fans who adore Rosalind Laker and Barbara Taylor Bradford will rejoice.”—Romantic Times, Top Pick!“Skillfully continues Flaubert’s story…An entertaining romance for readers of historical fiction.”—Publishers Weekly

“In this richly detailed, stunningly imaginative novel, Linda Urbach has created a fascinating, complex heroine.  As Berthe Bovary determines to distance herself from her infamous mother’s legacy, she discovers, instead, that a passionate life can be a life well-lived. Readers will rejoice in her journey to understanding and forgiveness.”
—MELANIE BENJAMIN, author of Alice I Have Been and The Autobiography of Mrs. Tom Thumb

“Engrossing, vivid, beautifully written, adventurous, and often heart-rending—a young girl finds her way from the depths of poverty to the top of the nineteenth-century French fashion world, led by her wistful dreams of the lovely way life could be and by her gift for making those dreams a reality. I just loved this novel!”
—STEPHANIE COWELL, author of Claude and Camille: A Novel of Monet and Marrying Mozart“Very hard to put down. A very intriguing story, and Gustave Flaubert would be proud to have Berthe’s voice finally on paper. 4 1/2 stars.”–Burton Book Review

“Having read and enjoyed Madame Bovary years ago, I liked reading about Emma’s daughter, and finally knowing that she turned out alright after all.”–Luxury Reading

“I found myself enjoying this book far more than I did the classic Madame Bovary. Mainly because I never wound up caring about Emma Bovary like I did her daughter in this excellent book…I highly recommend Madame Bovary’s Daughter to fans of Historical Fiction.”–Danvers Reads

“Madame Bovary’s Daughter is a wonderful homage to a great novel that also manages to work on its own compelling terms.” –Connecticut News

“Madame Bovary’s Daughter is a powerful and deeply satisfying return to Flaubert’s world of mid-19th century France.” –Connecticut Post

“A rich tale of high society and, finally, a love [Berthe Bovary's] mother never found.”
–Cape Cod Times

“Urbach wonderfully integrates the classic novel with her own creation. Madame Bovary’s Daughter is a beautiful rag to riches story filled with desire, dreams, poverty and wealth.” –Book Garden Reviews

“Madame Bovary’s Daughter is an exceptionally written masterpiece rich in period detail. Linda Urbach powerfully brings to life the opulence of the rich in nineteenth- century France.” –Fresh Fiction

“It’s a creative idea and an interesting story. It’s a great book for romantic and true Victorian novel-lovers.” –South Coast Today

“Madame Bovary’s Daughter was an extremely well-written novel that did justice to the original while creating a new storyline that kept me interested and reading.” –Night Owl Reviews

“Urbach posits her view of Berthe’s life in pretty much flawless homage to Flaubert as the beloved character he created. It is easy to get lost in the tale and forget that you aren’t reading a book by Flaubert when learning what happens to the penniless orphan of a truly scandalous woman. The novel is like a visit with an old friend.” –City Book Review

“Madame Bovary’s Daughter is a fun book that provides some much needed closure to Berthe’s story. Recommended.” –Devourer of Books

“Madame Bovary’s Daughter is definitely a historical romance that is intriguing to read and a great, juicy follow up to the old classic.” –Peace Love Books

“In a novel written in the clean Gallic style of the original, Madame Bovary’s daughter is a wonderful character, struggling to overcome her mother’s legacy and the expectations of her own fantasies. –The Historical Novels Review

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Now that you know a bit about Linda, let’s get to her most beautiful blog site, eye catching in its color and design, but it is the amusing satirical ‘interviews’ she puts on these blogs that will give you a moment of chuckles, and, I dare say, some good information. Please enjoy this posting I’m including here. Occasionally, there will be others of her ‘interesting interviews’ appearing here. It is my wish to share this clever literaryweaver of words. Read on and enjoy. This is just her most current interview with John Le Carre (as you can see, my Carre is minus the L’accent aigu – that little (‘) mark above the (E) in CARRE). You will want to read all her interviews. They are divine!

JOHN LE CARRÉ CAUSES AUTHOR’S FOXHUNTING ACCIDENT.

Posted on April 21, 2013 by lindahoward

[I submitted the following article months ago. Needless to say, the New York Times chose to go with the piece written by their literary critic, Dwight Garner instead.]

I heard through the literary grape vine that one of my favorite authors, John le Carré was coming out with a new book. A Delicate Truth is due out in May. Who better to include in My Little Publishing Company’s “How Do You Do It?” series.

I’m not a complete idiot. I wrote ahead and asked him for an interview and when I got no response I took that for a yes, knowing how reserved the Brits can sometimes be. Since I had no specific time or place for a meeting with the author, I put together a very clever plan. I knew Le Carré had a fondness for fox hunting and so I rented an authentic Lady’s Victorian riding costume. Then I drove to St. Buryan a small village in Cornwall and stopping by the local stables, I arranged to hire a horse for the hunt.

“You wearin’ that to ride in?” asked the stable man.

“Yes, do you like it?” I swirled around in my long skirt.

“It’s a bloody hoot.” He led out my horse for the day.  “This here’s Marshmallow. She’s a bit light in the mouth, but you sez you rid plenty afore so you should be fine.” He helped me up. “Put your other leg over,” he said.

“Oh, no,” I said,  “I’m riding side saddle.”

“This here’s just a regular huntin’ saddle. You’ll fall over the first fence and break your noggin,” he said.

I joined the group of fellow foxhunters who were dressed in a much more conservative, albeit contemporary manner. We walked through the streets of St. Buryan. And it was there I spotted Le Carré standing on the sidewalk with the other spectators.  He was deep in conversation with another man. Slipping off my steed (I do love alliteration) I led Marshmallow over to the great writer and introduced myself.

“Linda Urbach, CEO of My Little Publishing Company,” I said extending my kid-gloved hand.

“Oh, yes, I seem to remember you wrote me a while back.”

“I just wanted to do an interview with you for my series.”

“Dwight Garner of the New York Times has beaten you to it, I’m afraid,” he said indicating the man next to him.  “But at least you’ll be able to take in the hunt while you’re here.” He turned his tweedy back on me.

Mr. Garner proceeded to monopolize Le Carré by asking him all sorts of tedious questions about his background, his attitudes about current espionage and the London literary scene. Marshmallow shifted restlessly as the last of the riders walked through town. Finally, Garner excused himself and I had Le Carré to myself. I realized my time with him was limited so I got to the important issues first.

“Mr. Le Carré, why don’t you capitalize the “l” in your name?” He shook his head. I heard the horn signaling the sighting of a fox and it was all I could do to keep hold of Marshmallow’s reins.

“No one’s ever asked me that before.” I was pleased until he added, “That’s a rather idiotic question. Do you have any others?” Luckily, I did.

“Do your eyebrows ever get in the way of your writing?” He had extremely long, thick eyebrows that threatened to obscure his vision.  For some reason this last seemed to annoy him.

“Perhaps you’d better quit while you’re ahead, Ms. Urbach.”  He turned to go.

“Wait, Mr. Le Carré. I was wondering if you might give me a blurb for my new novel.” He turned and looked at me with interest.

“Is it a spy novel?”

“Well, no. Actually it’s historical fiction.”

“I’m afraid that wouldn’t do at all. I’m known for my spy novels. It doesn’t make sense for me to write a blurb about a totally different genre.”

What a stickler he was. I suppose that’s what made him the successful author he is today. But he had given me an idea.

“Then I’ll make my next novel a spy novel.”

“Fine, fine. I wish you luck with it.”

“If you would just give me some of your leftovers.” Marshmallow was prancing in place, anxious to be off.

“Leftovers?”

“Old plots that you aren’t going to use,” I explained. He chuckled and then walked briskly away.

There was nothing left for me to do but get back on Marshmallow and join the hunt. Just as the stableman predicted, going over the first low fence, I fell off my horse and suffered a mild concussion. Which was wonderful because I now had something in common with Hillary. I couldn’t wait to exchange concussion symptoms with her.

In conclusion, I had gone to considerable expense and effort to interview John le Carré only to find out that there is definitely a class system operating in literature in England. Still, the trip was worthwhile. My only real regret were all those annoying accent aigus that have to be added every single time you write his name. That and the small “l” are a bit of an affectation, to say the least.

Linda Urbach is a lady I’m proud to know, a lady with writing skills of the finest order, and a lady who is doing something of value in our world. I’m likely forgetting something – it gets that way here in ‘Twilight.’ Just go to Linda’s beautifully designed site. You will find most of her story there –  http://www.madamebovarysdaughter.com/site/

If you might want to know more about me, your can find information here on http://thefinalcurtain1.wordpress.com  and these other sites:

http://www.about.me/brchitwood

http://billyraychitwood.weebly.com (my main website, with a blog, book reviews, etc.)

http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA (IAN – a preview of my nine books)

Twitter: @brchitwood

Facebook: http://facebook.com/billyray.chitwood

The Sea And Me

   

This old guy – that would be, me – is feeling some familiar aching but also some semblance of hope and well-being. That big old Sea out my window has a lot to do with that last part. All in all, life has treated me fairly and squarely and I’m a pretty lucky fella.

We can all be devastated at times, when those ugly events hit us, like a simple marathon turning into a terrorist plot, panic and pain, like a tradition turning into another date to remember a tragedy caused by people who find it easy to hate and to kill. A tragedy can chip away at our hearts and our hopes, and it’s terribly difficult to write about. All life is precious to most of us, and we can’t quite process the minds that come up with the acts of terror. Like so many of you, I’ll grieve for the eight-year old boy who died. I’ll grieve for the boy’s sister who lost her legs. I’ll grieve for the mother of the two who suffered brain trauma. I’ll grieve for all those maimed and seriously damaged by this act of terror. I’ll think of it as another surreal event to add to our sad days of remembrance. I’ll spend some time wondering why it had to happen. I’ll do what most of us will do, care and grieve. I’ll be reminded as I so often am of an ‘Anon’ saying: “Life is really simple… People insist on making it complicated.” Now, I guess I could throw out some Mark Twain gems as well – he surely knew how to simply define some of our worst moments and some of our critters (politicians and otherwise!).

Guess I’m going to the Sea outside my window and that wide pale blue sky. It gives me some peace and deliverance. It makes me think about a lot of things, like, maybe, all this good and evil is going to be with us through life. It makes me think that just maybe there’s something good coming down the road on a day we least expect it, maybe something really good that some of us can’t really wrap our minds around too well, maybe something that will make all the hurt and the pain go away. Guess that’s what this big old Sea is trying to tell me. At least, it seems the only place I can go to lessen by a few degrees this latest human evil.

Wish there was some way to share some of this beauty and perhaps diminish some of those bad feelings you’re having now. But, then, maybe you, too, have a Sea, an Ocean, a mountain, a meadow, or a desert that can give you some peace.

For me, it’s this big blue-green Sea, this wide pale blue sky, the constant Sun, and this abiding faith that all we do, all we witness, good and bad, will make some sense at some incredible moment in the total arc of our time on this planet.

Follow me on twitter: @brchitwood

Preview my books: http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA

TAG

   

Before I proceed to my ‘TAG” business, I would like to pay my special respect and say a big ‘Thank You’ to A. K. Andrew (@artyyah on Twitter) for nominating me for the “Beautiful Blogger Award.’ This delightful person put no responsibility to the nomination. Readers are invited to visit A.K. at http://akandrew.com and view her lovely art work ‘Tuscany,’ oil on canvas. Also preview her WIP “Under The Bed” while at the site.

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You know the game of ‘Tag?’

Well, leave it to the fertile minds of writers to create amusing new venues for a game kids still play. My new Twitter buddy, Paul Anthony just tagged me after he was tagged by Clive Eaton (@CliveEaton on Twitter). Of course you know what this means! Another ‘chain event’ is now underway. I’ve been tagged and it is now my honor to do likewise. Here are the rules of our TAG game…

Give credit (including URL/link) to the person or Blog that caught you and who made you “IT.” As my Brit pal puts it, “I was tagged fair and square whilst running away.” No running for me – too lazy! too old! Paul caught me napping with his tag and left me in a slightly bewildered state.

While in this dubious mindset let me quickly give credit to the culprit, umm, the British bloke who TAGGED me in this little game called, ‘TAG.’ In actuality it is a fun way to do some networking, to spread ourselves out to hopefully a wider and global audience. To repeat, the scoundrel’s name is Paul Anthony, better known on Twitter as @paulanthonyspen,  and his URL/link is: http://paulanthonys.blogspot.co.uk/2011/12/critic... Thank you, Paul, I THINK!

The rules are: 1) You must give credit to the person who tagged you with her/his URL/link  (this, I have done in the preceding paragraph); 2) you must answer ten questions relative to your WIP (Work In Progress); 3) you must name five other authors and their URL/links who can merrily jump through these same hoops…and who will likely never wish to hear anymore from you or about you. Yes, they, too, will be chased down and a similar TAG will be put on them. (Does all of this sound vaguely familiar? If it does, don’t expect an award necessarily – just ‘blog exposure.’)

Before the alienation of my once five twitter friends are revealed, here are the ten questions which I will answer, then pass on to ‘the fabulous five.’

Question One: What is the title (or, working title) of your next book?

My Answer: “The Reluctant Savage”

Question Two: What genre(s) does/do your book fall under? (Or, land really near!)

My Answer: Fiction – Mystery – Crime – Murder (There’s even ‘Love.’)

Question Three: What actors would you choose to play the characters in the film version of your book? (Really! This could ever happen?)

My Answer: This would require my knowing the names of the current stars of the silver screen. Coming to mind are: Matt Damon, Robert Downey, Jr., Jennifer Lawrence, Angelina Jolie, Sandra Bullock, Leonardo DiCaprio, Emma Stone, Christian Bale, Liam Neesen — Hey, what can I tell you! It’s an epic!

Question Four: What is the main outline of your book? (Call it a ‘pitch’ as a synopsis includes ‘spoilers.’)

My Answer: An outline? Are you serious? I’ve got a general idea of where the book is going, but the characters do all the moving of the plot and sub-plots: two high school kids, a timid football hero and a lovely vivacious cheerleader fall in love, get separated after graduation by military service, meet again years later, and get mixed up with a lot of nasty business. The ending will be colossal…That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. (Na-ni-na-ni-na-ni!)

Question Five: Will your book be Indie published, self-published, or represented by an agency and sold to a traditional publisher?

My Answer: It will most likely be published by ‘Create Space’ (Amazon) as have my other nine books. But, let the record show that I’m easily ‘for sale to the highest bidder, low bid starting at $500,000!’ (Okay, I’ll stop with the attempts at humor!)

Question Six: How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

My Answer: Hey, these questions need some editing! From where are all these terms coming from: outline? manuscript? draft? I’m between one hundred and two hundred pages into my first laptop boogie with this book. Some months from now, assuming I finish, I’ll go back in, read, re-write, edit, re-edit, on and on for another few months until I’m so sick of the damned book, I push ‘publish’ on Create Space, mistakes and all… (Have I been doing something wrong here?) (Okay, still trying for a ‘yuck, yuck.’)

Question Seven: What other books in this genre (or genres) would you compare yours to?

My Answer: First off, I remember some sweet gray-haired English Teacher telling me never to end a sentence with a preposition! (Sound of me clearing my throat!) Actually, “The Reluctant Savage” is told in the narrative form while my five ‘Bailey Crane Mysteries’ are written in the first person. With that said, “TRS” is entirely fictional, not inspired by an actual crime, and perhaps would be compared generally with the third book in the ‘Bailey Crane Mystery Series’ entitled “The Brutus Gate – A Bailey Crane Mystery,” a book that has drugs, murder, political corruption, rape, and love. However, I’m going to be working toward an ending that will equal the endings of ‘Bailey Crane’ books one, two, four, and five…

Question Eight: Who or what inspired you to write this book?

My answer: The constant sun and the beautiful Sea of Cortez inspired me. I was sitting on my deck, watching the boats, jet skis, people on the beach, and began thinking about my school days, the shyness that I carried in those days. This character, Billy Campbell, came to me. Then I thought about the pretty cheerleaders we had back in those days and decided to take a couple of those kids on a novel ride through this book that I was already calling “The Reluctant Savage.” While thinking, a few lines came to me along with a wide-angle view of a story, and I went inside and started typing on my laptop… To repeat myself, I’m between one and two hundred pages…

Question Nine: What else about the book might pique the reader’s interest?

My Answer: The excellent and gritty descriptive sections of the book, of course, and the incredible, stupendous ending.

Question Ten: Teaser! There is no question ten…

My Answer: This is where I get to say, ‘Thank Goodness.” That’s how the aforementioned British brute put question ten. I shall simply echo his ‘Thank Goodness’ and use the question ten space to insert a few links relative to me and my book titles. If you really want to know a bio-bit about me, go to: http://www.about.me/brchitwood . If you want to preview my nine books, please go to my main website, http://billyraychitwood.weebly.com , read more about my Appalachian roots, and scroll further down the home page and preview my books. There is also a blog button on the home page that will take you to current and archived posts. My books are also on the ‘Independent Author Network’ at http://www.goo.gl/fuxUA . JUST ONE MORE PLUG! I repeat my blog posts on http://thefinalcurtain1.wordpress.com , on Goodreads, and on the IAN social network. (Okay, I’m finished!)

It’s time to name the five other authors to be chased down, my fabulous five. Whatever the readers’ moods of this post, do not miss the great entertainment value these five wonderful people have to offer… Please, follow them on Twitter, tweet them regularly, buy their great books, and I promise you will not be sorry. With these TAGS, I’ve very likely put myself on their ‘WNH?’ lists (WHN? =’Who Needs Him?’). You can consider this a ‘BEG’ that goes with the ‘TAG.”

Here are my Tagees:

http://johndolanwriter.blogspot.com (@JohnDolanAuthor on Twitter)

http://seumasgallacher.wordpress.com (@seumasgallacher on Twitter)

http://camerondgarriepy.com (@camerongarriepy on Twitter)

http://edenbaylee.com (@edenbaylee on Twitter)

http://dianestrong.wordpress.com (@DianeIStrong on Twitter)

TO THE TAGEES: Play by the rules — try for no cursing, no ranting, no raving, and no tantrums. PLEASE DO NOT take this diversion out on your loved ones. You can cry, kick empty space, spit, and even say a rhyming word that fits with spit. You must also post the rules, in your own inimitable styles. As stated earlier, there are no awards handed out here, but you will know that the tagger holds you in the highest esteem. Oh, what the heck! Here is my own personal award: “Billy Ray’s Fab Five” — feel free to create your own individual designs for this award, submit them to me for approval, and, please, NO VULGAR ICONs in the designs…

You must answer those ten (10) questions about your current WIP (Work In Progress), no matter the genre, because the world might possibly like to know ‘you all’ a little better. (To be honest there are only nine questions because the 10th question was put in because it is an even number — my tagger, Paul Anthony, has a thing for even numbers! What can I say?) Use the tenth question slot for your own shameless book promotions!

Again, list five (5) other authors or Bloggers (Tagees) with their hiding places (URL/Links) so that they can be chased down and made “IT” so we can all go home and be amused and enlightened by their sassy comments and answers. now we’ve finished playing.

Here again are the ten questions the tagged ones need to answer (in case you haven’t been paying attention):

Q 1) What is the title (or working title) of your next book?

Q 2) What genre(s) does your book fall under? (or land near really!)

Q 3) What actors would you choose to play the characters in the film version of your book? (should you ever, ever get that honour really)

Q 4) What is the main outline for your book? (Call it a pitch as a synopsis includes spoilers)

Q 5) Will your book be Indie published, self published or represented by an agency and sold to a traditional publisher?

Q 6) How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

Q 7) What other books in this genre would you compare yours to?

Q 8) Who or what inspired you to write this book?

Q 9) What else about the book might pique the readers’ attention?

Q 10) Thank goodness!! 

Much thanks to my five victims, friends, for their good calmness and patience. In all seriousness, these people are some of the most talented authors/writers on the planet. It is my sincere hope that the readers of this blog will explore their works – if you have not already.

Best wishes to all.