With the wind gusting and the temperature in the 20's, I decided to forgo the floating book shop. Since the cold has arrived early this year, I've already begun the projects I expected to get me through winter -- nine days before the solstice even arrives. I've already proofed and offer A Truth Universally Acknowledged as a Kindle book, and now I've begun removing the huge rug that covers most of my large studio. I now know what's beneath it -- a wooden floor. It's in pitiful shape, but so were those in our old house. After sanding and staining, they look new. Of course, I can't do that myself, but I can lay a floor of interlocking wood tiles over it. I think I've had my last dust-collecting rug.
Since nothing in today's news caught my eye, I will follow my usual course and post an excerpt. With Christmas only two weeks away, I scoured my mind and realized I've rarely written about the yuletide. Maybe that's because I much prefer warm weather. Here's a 500-word clip from Killing. When considering a name for tonight's blog, Elvis' Blue Christmas came to mind. Dante's marriage is on the rocks. In fact, he's soon to go Out of the Blue and Into the Black, to use a phrase from Neil Young:
The house was eerily quiet on Christmas Eve. Although the exterior was as intricately decorated as ever, the interior was more funereal than festive, despite the tree and its trimmings, which seemed hypocrisy itself. There was no hubbub, no brisk movement in and out of the house, in and out of rooms, no aroma of seafood frying, no last minute wrapping of gifts. Despite the many plants that hung in the windows, nothing in the house seemed to be living. Even the tree seemed to lack the intoxicating fragrance of past years.
Dante lay on the sofa, listening to holiday music, awaiting his mother's call to dinner. His children were at the homes of their respective paramours. He'd given them his blessing, despite the pain he knew their absence would cause him. It was the first Christmas Eve the family would not be dining together, the second consecutive he would be spending without his son. He hadn't the heart to ask them to stay, to share his suffering. He now regretted having dismissed his daughter's concern and guilt. And tomorrow would be no better. Deanna would be dining with her parents. He'd heard her speak to her mother on the phone. She said he would be staying home because of the flu. The next day, upon failing to persuade her children to accompany her, she was forced to call again. His chest swelled with pride at his children's allegiance, although he realized that, overall, the situation may have been exacerbated. He hoped a grilling by her parents would shake Deanna to her senses, although he doubted she would reveal the true cause of their rift.
Tears welled in his eyes as Sinatra's version of I'll Be Home for Christmas aired. He'd never understood the man's mystique, the reverence with which he was regarded, especially by his father's generation. The Rolling Stones and the Doors had been his favorites until he'd lost almost all interest in music. He still got goosebumps whenever he heard certain songs popular during the Vietnam era, especially Unchained Melody, which had been a favorite of "Motown."* Recently, it had been resurrected by a hit film. It was heard everywhere and, in public, Dante had to fight to block it from tapping into his emotions.
Suddenly Sinatra's voice seemed deep and beautiful rather than flat and passe. The longing expressed exactly what Dante was feeling. How in the world had his father perceived such artistry? he wondered. He surmised it'd been simply a blind following of a large consensus. That was so unlike his father, however, as he was more likely to go against the grain. Dante also suspected his own aversion stemmed from the singer's alleged ties to the mob, or from the fact that he'd walked out on his wife. The more he thought about it, his father and Sinatra seemed a lot alike.
An aching in his gut, Dante imagined Deanna was listening as well, weeping in bed. At least he hoped she was. He then realized she might be crying about Ryan and not her husband. He wondered when he would find the bottom of his despair.
*A soldier in Dante's outfit in Vietnam.
Vic's 4th Novel: http://tinyurl.com/bszwlxh
Vic's 3rd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/7e9jty3
Vic's Website: http://members.tripod.com/vic_fortezza/Literature/
Vic's Short Story Collection (Print or Kindle): http://www.tiny.cc/Oycgb
Vic's 2nd Novel: http://tinyurl.com/6b86st6
Vic's 1st Novel: http://tiny.cc/94t5h
Vic's Horror Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/cyckn3
Vic's Rom-Com Screenplay on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/kny5llp
Vic’s Short Story on Kindle: http://tinyurl.com/k95k3nx
No comments:
Post a Comment