The Writer's Life 10/27 - Unknowable

I found only one fresh item in today’s news: Jeb Bush is contemplating a run for president. Although he may be eminently qualified, this is a bad idea. The previous Bush administrations have been a failure, and the undecideds, crucial to every election, may be turned off. His candidacy would also seem like in-your-face defiance. There are plenty of qualified Republicans. A third Bush presidency is not needed.

Here’s an excerpt from a story, The Unknowable, published a few years ago. The main character is out on his morning walk. It’s no more than a two-minute read:

   He spotted an adolescent Asian boy sporting a backpack, standing between parked cars, shouting to his brother across the three-lane street, which broke into a fork here. The older boy displayed the listless indifference of a teenager and obviously didn’t want to be bothered. The younger moved a foot back as if bracing for a sprint, and glanced each way, rocking to generate momentum.
   “Hey!” Sal cried, a ripping in his gut. “Hey!”
   The boy froze. A van sped by in the middle lane. Sal rolled his eyes heavenward, relieved. His mind flashed back to the time he was struck by a car as a ten-year-old. Had he been a step faster, he would have been wiped from the face of the earth, no novels or short stories to show for his existence.
   And the world wouldn’t have missed a beat, he told himself. “Easy, big guy,” he said softly.
   “Thank you,” said the boy, smiling, embarrassed.
   Sal was surprised by the thanks. He wasn’t sure the boy even realized he may have been killed.
   The thin line, he thought, shaking his head, wondering if indeed he had saved a life. The incident was now amongst the unknowable, and he experienced a sense of having been cheated, one that gave him the creeps. Of what had he been deprived – recognition as a hero?
   You want credit? he thought; geez, grow up.
   He suspected it also had to do with the mystery of life, the longing to know, to understand what it was all about. And the troubling thoughts robbed any of the satisfaction he might have derived from the deed. Was any act pure?
   That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do them, he told himself.

It was a second straight session of no sales for the floating book shop. My current mantra is: Expect nothing, be grateful for anything.

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
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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

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