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Scriveners & Scribblings
11-24-2014, 08:31 PM (This post was last modified: 11-24-2014 08:44 PM by Mufasa.)
Post: #1
Scriveners & Scribblings
Howdy peeps!
I start this thread in the hopes that we can share a bit of fun, and perhaps some measure of insight amongst the group.
I know there is a thread here somewhere that holds some of the above mentioned, but I thought perhaps we might have some newer players that will chime in.

That being said, feel free to post your own scribblings, or short examples of works that have meaning to you produced by others.

Sally forth!
(or her sister, Suzie)

Most of us are so caught up in life that we forget to live it.
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11-24-2014, 08:43 PM (This post was last modified: 11-25-2014 08:54 PM by Mufasa.)
Post: #2
RE: Scriveners & Scribblings
A new one (in work) submitted for your approval. My thanks to my favorite Iron Butt rider in the whole world: Scooter Britches.

The Wish Bridge

Journal entry: September-1963

Lying on a warm boulder, just large enough for me to stretch out on, I gaze up into the spans and listen to the wind move through the aspens. I love the sound, a secret language only the trees can understand. That almost sounded like poetry. Miss Akers would approve.

The steel beams are falling, bit by bit. The rust eats them like a cancer. The stone work shows obvious structural failure; cracking mortar and missing river rocks. The once-solid roadway above is also overgrown with vegetation. You can only see it now because of all the kids that come here. The burnouts and late-night bonfires keep the road alive somehow. The bridge itself has not been crossed since the center span collapsed and ripped away, falling into the ravine below it. That was thirty years ago according to Mr. Carter. Time and weather would have it soon, though. It would be cast down to the rocks and river below as if it never existed.

No birds fly around the beams or up in those rafters. The swallows don’t nest there; not even pigeons. City chickens, I call them. I first noticed this nearly two years ago, soon after Miss Akers – soon after Abby disappeared. People say you can hear voices here. I think they hear themselves thinking. If you listen long enough, you can probably convince yourself you hear anything you’re thinking of. Cars passing, train whistles, friends voices. Regardless, I have never fallen asleep here. No matter what I believe about the voices and sounds, there is something about this bridge that is at once quiet, soothing, yet… disturbing. Everyone felt it, even Abby.


Just the thought of her made the young man's stomach hurt, which is why his stomach hurt pretty much all the time. It also reminded him that he had not eaten today. He felt for the biscuit in his jacket pocket. His mom wrapped it in wax paper – just like always – kissing him on the cheek and reminding him to eat something – just like always. The biscuit was buttered and had strawberry jam in a blob in the middle. Very good, but he had to force himself to finish it.

His buddy appeared right on time, sitting expectantly only a few feet away. He held out his hand with a few pieces of the biscuit in the palm, and the critter scooted over in that staccato motion that all ground squirrels seem to have. He tried to remain still as the squirrel snatched the largest crumb and shoved it into his mouth. He laid the rest on the boulder and watched as they were removed in the same fashion, the pilferer then bounding off to wherever his stash was kept. “I wish I had your view on life, buddy.” The young man smiled, and then as if he realized that he was doing so, returned to his usual state.

“That little turd is 'gonna get fat if you keep feeding him biscuits.”

“Yep, but he'll be the one to survive the winter, huh? How you doin' Mr. Carter”

The old man picked his way carefully among the huge boulders, a carved walking stick crunching into the gravel to help steady himself. His tanned face could be seen even in the shadow of his ragged fedora. He arrived at Jonathan's perch with a smile and a flourish.

“Good day to you, sir Jonathan!”

“Good day to you, Mr. Carter.”

“Glorious afternoon, is it not?”

“It is, at that.”

“How's the journal coming along?” Jonathan noted that the old man had the grace to let him finish his entry before making his presence known.

“I'm not sure, Mr. Carter. I suppose it helps, but who knows. At least it's the truth.”

He side-stepped around the younger man's boulder and situated himself on a smaller version so that he was facing him. “Son, I told you before, keeping it all bottled up inside is no good – no good at all. It'll eat you up and take years from you.” And almost as an afterthought, he added, “I know. You keep writing if it helps.”

Jonathan nodded and placed the journal into his pack. “Thanks, Mr. Carter.”

“And that's another thing. How long do you have to know me before you can call me Bill?”

“Not sure, Mr. Carter. It just doesn't seem respectful.”

“Ha! Respectful? Hells bells son, you are on one very short list! I'll tell you what, if everyone in this town treated me with half the amount of respect that you show, well...” He let his words drop off. Jonathan wasn't really sure what to say to that, so he just nodded again.

“John, are you alright? I mean really son, are you?”

He swallowed hard and clenched his teeth, fighting to steady himself, and finally nodded again. “I'm okay – Bill.” He smiled when I said it, and it seemed to appease the old man, because he snatched the worn hat from his head and held it over his heart.

“Hallelujah! He knows my name!” Both men laughed at that.

Jonathan stretched back out onto the warm boulder. “Mr. – Bill, I know that you've been here a long time. You've never... seen it happen, have you?” The silence went on for so long than Jonathan sat up to make sure the old man had heard him. What he saw sent a chill over his body. Bill was staring into the river, a hundred feet below.
The old man turned his head slowly back to Jonathan. His expression was one of abject sorrow. “I am truly sorry, son. You know I like you, and I know you're a stand up young man."


“But there are things that need to be left alone, John.”

“What needs to be left alone, Mr. Carter? What?”

“Please, son. I–“

“What really happened? I know you know more than you let on. Why can't you just tell me and let me get on with my life, what there is of it?”

Bill stood up more quickly than anyone would have thought him capable of. “Now let me tell you something! Don't you ever say crap like that! You hear me? You are young and strong, with your whole life unwritten and with limitless possibilities! You are going to drive yourself crazy trying to make sense of this, or hurt yourself, or both!Move ahead. Go to college. Join the Army. Write a book! Rejoice, oh young man, in thy youth!” He swung the walking staff up into a theatrical pose.

“Your Vaudeville days are showing again.”

He lowered the staff and sat down, removing his hat. “Quite a ways before my time, smarty pants, but I will never willingly place you in danger. Remember that.”

Jonathan reached into his pack and tossed a pack of Camels to the old man.
“Like I said, you're a good man.” He stood and placed a tanned hand onto Jonathan's shoulder. “I know you're hurting, son. Know that this will pass.” He turned and picked his way back through the maze of rocks and boulders, headed to the small shelter he called home.

Jonathan watched him enter the woods and disappear into the shadows. “No, Bill. It won't.”

Most of us are so caught up in life that we forget to live it.
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11-25-2014, 11:02 AM
Post: #3
RE: Scriveners & Scribblings
"There is no worse tyranny than to force a man to pay for what he does not want merely because you think it would be good for him."
-Robert A. Heinlein

Somehow fitting in today's society.

Most of us are so caught up in life that we forget to live it.
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11-30-2014, 01:26 PM (This post was last modified: 12-02-2014 11:12 AM by Mufasa.)
Post: #4
RE: Scriveners & Scribblings
Wish Bridge / Part ll

He walked the quarter mile to town, bringing himself back to the present as he was crossing the railroad tracks that cut across the abandoned road. A few minutes later stopping to look down Central Avenue, which actually was the exact center of town. The speed limit sign sign showed 35 MPH, but some genius had spray painted it to make it appear as 85 MPH.

“Big fun,” he said under his breath, and made his way down to Shaky's. Going up the steps into the sandwich shop, he paused and looked north on Central. Not a moving vehicle in sight, and only Tommy Cole on his bike, peddling his way from the opposite direction. More than likely headed for the pinball machine in the shop. “Gotta' get out of here someday, buddy,” he said to himself. But the voice in his head whispered the truth. You can't leave. You won't leave her. He stepped into Shaky's.

“Hey my friend!”

“What's shakin', Shaky?” Martin Barnes, also known as Shaky Barnes. It wasn't that the sandwich shop that Martin ran also sold great shakes, the nickname was acquired when he was still a teenager, due to his size. He was a big guy. “Big enough to shake the ground,” his football team mates would tease. The name stuck.

“Business as usual, Jonathan. Coke for ya'?”

“Sounds good.” Two locals were headed out the door; Mr. and Mrs. Burton. Both had to be at least eighty. Both nodded a greeting to Jonathan as they passed him.

“Comin' up. Sandwich or anything?”

“Stay away from my mom, Shaky.”

“Ha! Ya' got me! Hey, don't blame me for caring, buddy.”

Jonathan smiled and threw a wadded napkin at him, which Shaky snatched out of the air with startling quickness.

“Whew. Tony Kubek better watch himself. You'll be after his position.”

“Darn right. And I'm a heck of a lot better looking.” He double tapped his heavy knuckles on the counter, his usual sign that he meant every word of that statement. The Coke was cold and burned going down, but he had been at the bridge for quite a while, so he enjoyed the cold drink.

“Made any plans yet?”

He had to think about how to answer. In truth, he had made a hundred plans. None would come to pass, he had no doubt of this. “Yeah, in fact I was thinking of-”

“You were thinking of taking that step. That's what you were thinking, right Johnny?” The door was open due to the nice weather, so he had not heard anyone enter the shop. Corbin Reece came to the counter and sat next to Jonathan. He smelled of cheap cologne, cheap wine and Camel cigarettes. “Ain't that right, Johnny?”

“Corbin, unless you plan on ordering something, there's the door.” Shaky tapped the counter for the second times in less than a minute. He stared at Corbin as if he were a bug.

“Hey, easy Shaky! I just wanted to have a conversation with Einstein here. How you been, Johnny? Seen any ghosts out there? Heard any voices?” He laughed, showing stained teeth.
Jonathan drank the last of the Coke and stood up, reaching into his pocket. He tossed a nickel to Shaky, which was snagged without the big man removing his eyes from Corbin.

“Or Yogi Berra,” Jonathan laughed.

“What, you're a baseball genius now? Figures.”

Jonathan took a deep breath and sighed. “Corbin, what time did you start drinking this morning? Or is that stench from last night?” Jonathan turned to face the teenager.

“What's it to you, loser?” Corbin slid back off of the Naugahyde covered stool and posed like a James Dean poster.

“Loser? That's the best you can do? Did you misplace your dictionary again?”

Corbin started to take a step toward Jonathan, but a large hand was placed onto his chest, shoving him at least four steps backward. Martin pointed a beefy finger at the punk. “Out, now. Unless one broken jaw isn't good enough for you.” It was true. Jonathan had broken Corbin's jaw several months back. He lost a lot of weight over that time while the bones knitted back together.

“Don't think I forgot about that, Johnny.” Corbin said this while taking small steps toward Jonathan.

“I certainly hope not, because that would mean that you probably have massive brain damage.”

“Oh you're so smart, huh?”

“What's your point,” Jonathan asked, raising his eyebrows. Shaky snorted, and made a shooing motion to Corbin.

“You ain’t never gonna find her,” Corbin hissed. “She took that step.”
Jonathan sat the bottle down on the counter, and turned back toward the punk.

“John,” Martin said quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder. “No.”

Corbin was nearly to the doorway. “She's gone forever, loser!”

“One more word and I turn him loose.” Martin said this with no emotion in his voice.
Corbin smiled, flashing gingivitis, and leaned over to the juke box. He tapped a couple of buttons and saluted Jonathan. He flipped the collar up on his jacket, and slowly walked out. Jonathan stared at the doorway until his eyes unfocused.


“Don't, Shaky. Just... don't.” Elvis crooned from the juke box.

Wise men say only fools rush in. But I can't help falling in love with you.
Shall I stay? Would it be a sin? If I can't help falling in love with you.
Like a river flows surely to the sea, darling so it goes, some things are meant to be.
Take my hand, take my whole life too, for I can't help falling in love with you.

Martin shook his head. “Asshole.”

“You really need to charge customers to play that thing, Shaky.”

Most of us are so caught up in life that we forget to live it.
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12-01-2014, 02:22 PM
Post: #5
RE: Scriveners & Scribblings
I got nothin'...Sad

But I sure do enjoy reading yours kemosabi.

To ask why we cook is to ask why the leaves fall...
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12-01-2014, 03:30 PM (This post was last modified: 12-01-2014 09:44 PM by Mufasa.)
Post: #6
RE: Scriveners & Scribblings
Not done yet, brother. ; )

(And thanks! Appreciated)

Most of us are so caught up in life that we forget to live it.
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12-01-2014, 03:35 PM
Post: #7
RE: Scriveners & Scribblings
Bill Carter sat in an ornate dining room chair. Both the chair and the occupant were old and battered. They looked very much out of place in the middle of the abandoned road, near the edge of a crumbling bridge. The old man was sitting upright, hands on his lap and eyes closed-listening. It normally did not take too long if the timing was right. On this day, it was. His voice was a whisper.

“Missy, I’m here baby.” A moment passed. He caught the scent of homemade soap and vanilla extract. He opened his eyes and smiled.

Most of us are so caught up in life that we forget to live it.
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12-01-2014, 08:32 PM (This post was last modified: 12-01-2014 08:33 PM by Nettie.)
Post: #8
RE: Scriveners & Scribblings
I can't wait to see where this story line is going!

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12-01-2014, 09:39 PM (This post was last modified: 12-01-2014 10:06 PM by Mufasa.)
Post: #9
RE: Scriveners & Scribblings

Jonathan passed the picket fence that surrounded his front yard. The front door of the house was open, and the screen door glass was pulled up to let in the breeze. He stopped and looked at the faded paint and wooden steps that needed to be replaced. Sighing, he shook his head and went into his home.

“Mom?” He didn't think that she was home yet. Joan Masters worked at the local A&P, and her schedule was never written in stone. Working as many hours as she was offered for the last seven years, Joan had been the main source of income for this family. The family now consisted only of Joan and Jonathan. Charles “Charlie” Jackson was killed on a job site by a faulty electrical panel, and their world changed overnight.

Satisfied that he was alone, he dropped his pack onto the small couch and walked into the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator and closing it without removing anything, he turned to the kitchen window and leaned on the sink. “I can't do this any longer.” Tears nearly spilling, he ran cold water and splashed his face. He wandered the living room for a few moments, until the room began to close in on him, causing his breathing to feel labored. He shoved the storm door open and went out to the front porch swing. The swing chains squeaked as he moved his leg back and forth. The rhythmic sound and gentle motion soon released him into a light sleep.

February – Seven Months Earlier

The literature class was a joke. Most of the students in it could not form a coherent sentence of their own making. The only ones that could were ridiculed by the true morons attending. Corbin Reece led the small pack. The saving grace was Abby. She had completed college only months earlier, stepping in when Mrs. Green had suddenly died from a heart attack. Abby was sort of local, growing up about twenty miles north of Siever, Oregon. There was no one else that even applied for the position. She was accepted with little discussion among the school board. And she was wonderful.

Abby Akers was twenty three, an English lit major, slim, brunette, and smart as hell. She was the all American girl, and Jonathan was so in love with her that it hurt. It began innocently, as most teen love affairs do, with a smile and kind words. His review of The Grapes Of Wrath stunned Miss Akers... Abby, in part because Jonathan was one of six in the class that completed the assignment, and more so because of his views on the story. Her request for him to stay a few minutes after class was greeted with cat calls and wolf whistles. Abby had chilled the moron club by telling them that if they had even bothered to complete the assignment, they would have been asked to stay and discuss their reviews as well. It had shut them down like a light switch. But Jonathan was still the lone student with her after that class.

By the time the conversation on Steinbeck had concluded, it was obvious that the attraction was more than teacher admiration for a good student, and student lust for a beautiful, young teacher. They respected each other, and saw the same hidden treasures and forbidden allusions in the story. But it was more than that; it was basic attraction. After their initial conversation, Jonathan never saw Abby as “an older woman.” She was simply Abby, and he loved her with a fierceness and completeness that frightened him. They spent any time together that they could manage. It was obvious to anyone that saw them that they were lovers, but nothing could be proven. No one ever saw any questionable behavior between them, other than the fact that they spent a great deal of time together. A few board members raised the issue, but they were warned to be certain of a charge or the counter charges would be equally damaging. Slander was not taken lightly in a small town. There was no evidence-until the dance.

Shaky had closed the door for the evening, the neon OPEN sign was unplugged, and the two remaining customers felt safe enough to risk a single dance. Shaky leaned on his broom and smiled at the dancers, who held each other with tenderness and moved with easy grace, gliding around the empty room as Elvis wafted softly from the juke box. Jonathan held her as if she were a great treasure. In truth, she was. Abby's right hand held his left, and her other hand rested softly on his shoulder. They moved like wraiths; mist over calm water. Unmarred and perfect. Mouths inches apart. Breath shared. Promises silently made to one another. For a moment-only a moment-the world stopped spinning and stood in awe of them.

The front door was shoved open, and three of the moron pack glared at the dancers. Corbin Reece's face was a picture of malice... and envy.

Most of us are so caught up in life that we forget to live it.
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12-01-2014, 09:44 PM
Post: #10
RE: Scriveners & Scribblings
Thank you J - it will all come together.


Most of us are so caught up in life that we forget to live it.
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