The Writer's Life: The Writer's Life 10/15

My thanks to the woman who dropped off a bag'o books, one of which, Secrets in the Attic by V.C. Andrews, Herbie bought. Among the others are novels by John Grisham, Dean Koontz and Nelson DeMille. I don't know if anything will help during this tough stretch, but such popular authors certainly won't hurt.

Here’s an excerpt from a short story, Panorama, published several years ago. It’s 700 or so words, a few minutes read:

   Brooklyn was crisp and sunny this day. Ben walked slowly down the quiet street, face hot. He hoped the temperature would cool what he assumed was a symptom of hypertension. He wondered if worrying about it exacerbated it. He'd hoped to go his whole life without using prescription medication. He'd done all the right things: diet, exercise. If the readings remained high, he would have to concede, although it would be a blow to his pride. He had a daughter to put through three more years of college. She would be home in a few weeks. He was eager to see her. How hurt he'd been that she chose to spend spring break with friends rather than family. In his heart, she would always be the baby. The absence of his son and elder daughter had been mitigated by her sweet presence. She was the greatest mistake he had, or anyone could have,
ever made. He was amazed at how much more he worried about his girls than his boy.
   Sexist dog, he thought.
   Suddenly he realized there wasn't any pain in the right side of his hip. That’s one good thing, he thought. He didn't understand it. It came and went. He was even able to swing a golf club with no problem. Was it deterioration, arthritis? Even the doctor wasn't sure. There would be no x-rays unless the pain worsened.
   He was shaken from his musing by the charge of a stocky, red-haired young woman, perhaps 20, from an apartment building. She was speaking loudly into a cell phone.
   "He keeps textin' me, sayin' he wants to _ _ _ _ me, wants to _ _ _ _ in the ...."
   Ben sniffed contemptuously. He didn't know why he was surprised, although it was the most outrageous cell phone conversation he'd ever overheard. He stifled the urge to shush her, certain she would tell him to "_ _ _ _ off." She seemed excited rather than appalled, and without care if her parents or neighbors, let alone strangers, heard her. Of course, Ben's thoughts were immediately of his daughters. Were they part of the pornographic mindset that seemed to be gripping much of the nation? Several female educators had joined it, seducing the underaged. Even an astronaut, one of the country’s so-called best and brightest, had. Whenever he saw an image of young revelry in the media, he looked away, fearful he would spot one of his children.
   A block later he was telling himself not to gaze across the street to check the price of gasoline. Don't, he thought; no. He was unable to resist, and muttered angrily when he saw the sign. He was not placated by the knowledge, just gleaned from an editorial, that the price, measured against inflation, was at the level it was in 1982. After all, thirty cents of it was taxes, and then there was the cost of changing to the silly summer blend environmental wackos demanded. He wanted to see crude oil go down to $30 a barrel, see the president of Venezuela hanged in the streets by those who’d bought his populist nonsense, see al Qaeda bankrupted.
   He flushed crimson and gazed about as he passed gas. Fortunately, no one had heard. This was another of the irksome quirks that now afflicted him.
   Too bad you can’t put that in the tank, he said to himself.
   His eyes were forced shut as he recalled the humiliation he’d suffered last week in the cafeteria when a young man complained about the flatulence. He tried to make a joke of it, was berated for minutes, and just sat there, taking it. And although the young man was 30 years his junior and apparently eager for a fight, Ben felt like a coward for not retaliating verbally. He had to struggle to keep his mind from making a racial incident of it, especially when the word “disrespect” was uttered. Even though no one else had been present, he was unable to forget it. It seemed his humiliation would linger forever. He wanted to believe that not having challenged the young man was the right course of action, but he was unable to shake the suspicion that this was mere rationalization.
To read the entire story and others, go here: http://fictionaut.com/stories/vic-fortezza/panorama

Vic's 4th novel: tinyurl.com/bszwlxh

Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3

Vic's Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx
Vic's Short Story Collection: http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tiny.cc/0iHLb Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kx3d3uf
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/rP7o9

Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp

Vic's Horror Screenplay: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3f

Vic's Blog: http://vicfortezza.blogspot.com/

Vic's Web Site: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/