I hadn't seen Herbie, one of my regular customers, all week. Knowing he'd had a heart attack several years, and that he lived alone, I was a little worried. He showed up today, having spent a couple of days in the hospital, replacing two stents and having another cleaned. He'd felt nauseous, and the doctors diagnosed it as a mild heart attack. Other than that the floating book shop went as expected today. All but two of the sales in Russian. Of the batch of 30 or so that were donated yesterday, only two remained. Michael's wife arrived just before closing with about 15 more. He passed away two weeks ago. Spasibo, madam, and thanks to all the other kind folks who made purchases, and to the gentleman who dropped off a bag o' romance novels.
Here's an excerpt from a short story, Threes, which was inspired by the superstition that the famous die in multiples of three. It is part of the A Hitch in Twilight collection, link below. The main character is a neurotic actress. I wouldn't describe writing as fun regarding the greater majority of my work. Engaging would be a better word. The speculative stuff that makes up ten percent of it, such as this, is more like play, at least during the first two drafts when creativity takes precedence over polish. The clip should take only a minute or two to read:
She decided to take the subway, as the set was just outside a station. She would not risk getting stuck in traffic in a cab. Age was closing in on her. She dared not be difficult or late. She adopted her eccentric old woman look: kerchief, scarf, sunglasses, black gloves. Although she enjoyed the public's attention when she wasn't working, she did not want to be bothered when she was. And she hated when people asked if her real name were Starr. She took pains to be unpretentious, grounded -- and the press and public still asked her that. What actress in her right mind would take such a name?
She left the sliding glass door open, although rain was in the forecast. Her chest tightened as she rode the elevator down. She feared it would get stuck – or worse. She was relieved no one else boarded, certain her distress was obvious. People in the building were the only ones liable to recognize her in her get up.
Underground, as soon as she pushed through the turnstile, she felt panic rise within her. She skirted to her immediate right, sidling as far from the tracks as possible.
"Are you all right, miss?" said a young man in a tailored suit.
She looked away, ashamed. To her relief, he was the only commuter on the platform. She took a seat on a wooden bench and closed her eyes. She did not open them until a train stormed into the station. She stepped on quickly, leery of the narrow space between the car and the edge of the platform. When she reached her destination, she hurried, almost ran to the street.
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