Excerpt From “George”

“My brethren…I implore you to pray for my lost daughter and her friend…whoever he may be…” Reverend Kilgore preached to his “flock” that night at his church. He and his wife hadn’t heard anything in regards to Babs or the sedan. The boy? Who cares. Babs mom was beside herself with grief, and just wanted her little girl back home in one piece.
“Why did she run away Reverend? Who did she run away with?” one of the parishioners asked bluntly, catching the good reverend off guard.
“That’s a personal matter, Mr.White…but thank you for your thoughts and prayers!” Reverend Kilgore thanked him, sounding more like a spokesman than a father. If news got out why Babs did run away, he knew he and his family would be shamed out of town. He was doing the Lord’s work for the lost people of Sparrow and the surrounding area. He had to keep his image as a man of god, no matter what.
“I heard she was running around with that Johnny Sumpter!” an old lady stood up and said, “You know he used to be on the football team, before he got hurt…but he’s a little punk anyway!” she added, then waved her fan in disgust before sitting back down.
Another parishioner stood up, “Yeah, his old man owns the garage at the end of town…good guy.” he said, “But Johnny won’t have anything to do with him..”
The Reverend threw up his hands to calm them down, “Like I said, Brother Robinson, this is a personal matter and we need your prayers please.” he smiled a nervous smile, then glanced over to his wife in the front row. Their eyes locked, knowing that maybe they can’t hide the facts forever. Time will tell, but for now they want Babs back and that punk-ass Johnny-boy in jail. God will deal with him in time.

Revisiting A Troubled Old Man…

I opened my George.doc file this morning, for the first time in a long time. It didn’t have the feeling it had while I was working on it, but I’m sure that feeling will come back. The feeling of getting lost within your own prose is fantastic at times. I gotta have that feeling again.

In writing, there is such a thing as a beat or rhythm…just as in music. It’s not really there when you first start a story, but if you keep at writing and building the story on a daily basis, you will start to feel the rhythm or beat.

It takes me a couple of days…but once I get started, it’s like a drug, right? All these ideas start coming in, the story starts telling itself, and you don’t want to stop. You don’t want to lose one piece of precious information…so you try to get everything down, whether it ends up being edited out or not.

But sometimes, life happens (mainly, my bread and butter employment) and you do have to shut it down until the next day or so.

With my schedule (bread and butter), that next day turned into a year. I was working on a children’s story at the same time…so I finished it first.

George and the locals of his small hometown (I have done gone and forgot the fictional name…shame on me) have sat in limbo for too long. With several smaller storylines that will make this probably one of my biggest stories ever.

It will certainly be one of my most complex stories…I’ve never written something like this before. I have got alot of research to do, as I go along.

I hope when I knock on George’s old door tomorrow…he answers and forgives me.