I just approved the physical proof of the new book and it looks fantastic. The Light of Day will be available on Amazon within the next three weeks.
Archive for October, 2009
This is an excerpt from The Light of Day. This is what Halloween should be like.
Beside the house and within view of the bonfire there were two long tables overflowing with pumpkin pie, pecan pie, stuffed squash, fried okra, mashed potatoes and the like. Around the bonfire there were dozens of costumed people of all ages, from babes in arms to those who came as Methuselah for lack of a costume.
They retreated to the porch where, in the shadows, they regained their anonymity and their voices did not carry. Here Chris and Mark rocked in the rocking chairs while Jeff and Alicia ate with their plates in their laps. All four watched the party quietly from their cloister, all of them seeing the party merely as a backdrop to the dramas that were playing out in their thoughts. All except Alicia, who had not shared in the trauma that any of the other three saw so clearly at that moment. Alicia studied the tragedies and passions of other’s lives, but she believed her own ordinary existence too mundane to be noteworthy.
Jeff finished his dinner and joined the other two in their quiet rhythm.
“I thought Greech said Benjamin didn’t like Halloween, but this is quite a party.” Alicia said.
“He likes Halloween. He just doesn’t like the way that it’s celebrated in Bradshaw. He doesn’t have much use for the city.” explained Mark.
“Has he ever actually set foot in Bradshaw?” asked Chris.
“I’m sure he has, just not since I’ve known him.” Mark smiled.
“I’m going to go dance.” Alicia kissed Jeff on the cheek and moved off into the light.
Jeff grabbed her hand as she walked away and let her fingers glide lightly over his. He watched her laugh and dance until his mind wandered and his gaze turned to the fire. He had never seen a fire like this. He had seen cooking fires and the fire in the stove in Professor Friedman’s office, but the bonfire was different. It was ten or fifteen feet in diameter and its flames rose as high as it was wide. When the burning material collapsed, or when Ichabod Crane or the Headless Horseman threw more limbs on the fire, a fountain of sparks rose into the air and were carried away by the tumultuous currents, and floated to the ground, their light slowly growing cold and dying before they reached their destination. It was beautiful.
The smell of burning wood and leaves that carried on the cool crisp October breeze forever associated in Jeff’s mind the smell with late autumn festivities. In later years the association would be free of the turbulence and anxiety of that night. Instead it brought to mind Jeff sitting quietly rocking while he watched the love of his life pick up a small boy, who squealed with delight as she spun him around and danced.
Ichabod and the Horseman along with a fabled long eared miscreant dumped bags of leaves onto the fire, sending embers, sparks, and entire burning leaves rushing into the air along with a roar of approval from like minded mischief makers and shouts of dissent from their more sober minded brethren. This abrupt, although brief, interruption in the general atmosphere of the festivities brought with it a corresponding change in Jeff’s train of thought.
The light filtered through the trees creating broken areas of light and shadow. The diffusion of light through the leaves lent a transcendent quality to the area closest to me. I looked further into the distance and the light became gradually murkier. It seemed cool, damp actually. This progression of light from diffuse to soft murkiness made me feel safe as if I was wrapped in a blanket or held in a lovers arms, content, secure, and timeless. A tinge of sadness reached my soul when I remembered this moment would come to an end all too soon. In a few minutes, an hour at most, the light will change and the moment will pass into a bitter–sweet memory with all the other timeless moments.
The heat was oppressive our bodies wet with blood and sweat the smell alone was enough to drive me insane. I felt her hair cool and soft, her flesh glistening and white , luna being reflected off the lake in autumn when the mist was rising through the cooling air. She looked almost angelic. I began to bite my way down her stomach to her thighs. I was tugging and pulling at her flesh with my teeth. I tasted her blood as it began to trickle onto my lips. Her finger nails ripped into my shoulders and I felt the blood running across my skin, forming a hot sticky pool on my lower back. She raised my face to hers, her eyes holding mine the air began to swirl slowly forming eddies around us as we were drawn into each other; Twisting and writhing caressing and tearing we did not become one, but rather our souls and bodies became entertwined perserving our individuality, and becoming indistiguishable from one another from the shear complexity of the patterns that were created. When I awoke we were lying apart. I do not remember the parting of our bodies and souls. I do not even remember if that magical occurrence was real or an ecstatical hallucination. I do not care to recall either. The death of anything is bitter especially when it is as sweet as the nights I spent on Park Street.
This is perfect.
I hope Disney doesn’t actually have their panties in a bunch about this. Disney has been raiding fairy tales and classic literature for years and trying to copyright it as their own, Peter Pan, The Jungle Book, Snow White, Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, et al. Existing art is easy to prove and this ad is just funny.
He had the highest of aspirations for his son. Greg was to grow up to be a free man, whether he grew up that way or had to fight for it tooth and nail. That didn’t happen. He had watched his son grow up to be enfolded in the society that he despised. Every year Greg’s spirit became more and more malleable, and every year Old man O’Hara retired a little more of his own soul to that secret place that some people fortify with whiskey and hate. Old man O’Hara hid it in plain sight. He hid it in the light of day, in the world that should have been his and his son’s, the world that was off limits to the general population except under special circumstances by decree of the World Consortium on Government, Labor, and the Environment.
The World Consortium began as an activist organization. They pointed to technology as the cause of human suffering. They pitched science as mysticism and provoked the fear of the unknown in the ignorant. They were a paragon, the final ultimate stage of the evolution of the Luddite movement. They wanted to close the factory to save the weaver and the environment. They were going to close it no matter what the owner said and no matter how many people had to freeze without shirts on their backs. Even if it meant that the Luddites themselves would starve, because it was what was good for society and the world. If society and the world were too stupid to see it then they would just have to have the school marm twist their ears a little to show them, and they did.
Old man O’Hara could recall perfectly the day that the Consortium and the leaders of the world announced that there was going to be a sovereign alliance of all the worlds’ governments. All industry was to stop immediately and divert all resources to the development and production of an underground living environment for the world’s population.
The Boss and I we’re in the mountains recently celebrating our anniversary. It was Oktoberfest and we were in a tshirt shop picking up some tourist kitsch. Well, this particular tshirt shop sells tobacco accessories in the back. So we’re checking out and a gentlman in his mid sixties queues up behind us with a large purple bong in his hands. Now we are considering relocating the factory north, not to The North, North Georgia, we’ve been looking at real estate, and we used this trip to scout out some areas that we might like to live. Every house, cabin, and shack that I’ve seen has a hot tub. These two occurrences gave me an idea. I want to open a hot tub and tobacco accessories shop called “Hot Tubs and Hookahs”. If anyone wants to put up some venture capital just let me know.
The Light of Day is now available for purchase. I will be posting excerpts from the book. Below is the summary from the back cover.
Those who hate humanity have taken over the environmental movement. The environmental movement has taken over the world’s governments. Those governments have joined together to form The World Consortium on Government, Labor, and the Environment, and have moved everyone underground to isolate people from the environment and save the world. However, not everyone wants to live underground. Not old man O’Hara. That’s why he joined the Resistance, but that was years ago. Now he is living underground with a son who despises him and with whom he has nothing in common; eating synthetic food, breathing synthetic air, and only seeing synthetic light, except when the guards see fit to open the topside. It would be a dismal existence if not for his grandson Jeff. Jeff is everything he imagined his son would be: smart, independent, inquisitive, defiant, everything except free, but that’s about to change.
A series of events that begins with Jeff’s inquisitiveness and ends with his defiance and the death of his grandfather, thrusts him into an unknown world. It’s a world where the sun shines, and the wind blows, where people generate their own electricity and thieves are hanged by the side of the road. Jeff finds love, friendship, the truth about his grandfather and the hero he truly was. He finds that killing and dying for what you believe in is sometimes both necessary and painful.
I just approved the cover layout for the Light of Day. Thanks to Frances of Machine Politick – my beautiful wife – for the cover illustration, and the folks at BookSurge for the graphic Design.
This is an excerpt from The Light of Day. It should be available by Christmas.
The splint Ryan had rigged to immobilize Jeff’s hand was only a temporary measure. The designated field medic would have a splint and a fresh wrap. If Jeff was lucky, he might get some sort of pain killer before the medic attempted to force his disjointed carpals back into place. When they returned to The Underground he would be placed on the waiting list, but the possibility of him seeing a medical professional before his hand healed was slim. Disjointed wrists were not life threatening and were therefore put at the end of a very long list. A list that was serviced by a few very over worked individuals.
Jeff remembered when he was younger and he had the flu, his family followed the standard quarantine procedures, placing bio filters over all the community air ducts and his bedroom door, and finally contacting the Office of Medicine. Jeff roasted in his room for three days, suffering through cold sweats, mild hallucinations, and diarrhea that threatened to burst his bowels and left his mouth dry. On the fourth day his fever broke and by the sixth day he was running through the halls playing hide and seek with his friends, a testament to the resiliency of children. Three weeks later the receptionist at the Office of Medicine called to inform them that Jeff had an appointment scheduled for the following week. The appointment had been confirmed and could not be broken.