Posts filed under ‘UNPUBLISHED WORKS’
These are the thoughts of an old man as the world sees me. I feel I am younger than they think. Reality has not yet caught up to me.
NO GOING BACK
These are the thoughts of an old man as the world sees me. I feel I am younger than they think. Reality has not yet caught up to me. NO GOING BACK
I want to go back
To right my wrongs,
I want to go back
To enjoy the moments
The best moments
Of my life,
I want to go back
To appreciate the good
And try to obliterate
The bad,
I know this a dream Impossible,
But in dreams
My desires Are accomplished.
November 7, 2019 at 11:17 pm
This poem is based on an incident I cannot forget.
Grandpa, while on a cruise ship held his granddaughter
on the edge of a window looking out on the ocean.
The eighteen-month old child struggled and grandpa
lost his grip. And the child plummeted.
I cannot imagine what the remainder of the cruise
Was like for this family,
Guilt, sorrow and the hate, all these emotions
generated on a relaxing vacation.
I cannot imagine the thoughts this child had
as she fell, sure there was safety waiting for her.
THE THOUGHTS OF A CHILD
The child’s thoughts
Falling,
Sure welcoming arms
Awaited her,
The child’s thoughts,
The mystery of this event,
Too young
To make this lonely journey,
Waiting for safety
As you fall
Into the sea,
Into the abyss
To which we all must journey.
September 10, 2019 at 10:26 pm
Here is a free story. It is free for I cannot think of anyone who would publish it, except me.
You may consider the story not done. That is intentional. That is to give the reader an opportunity
to draw their own conclusions as to what Joe experienced.
If you read this, let me know what your conclusions are.
BEYOND DEATH
Joe Palmer was just your ordinary guy. In his mid-forties, married with two boys ages five and eight. He was happy with his family, he always wanted sons. When he first met his wife Megan, he could not believe he even had a chance to talk to her. Rich black hair, blue eyes and a figure that turned men’s heads. To his surprise they began a conversation, a courtship and married. When he was honest with himself, when they were first married, he considered Megan a trophy wife. But as he grew to know her as more than a possession, and as a person, his love grew and the term trophy wife disappeared. The boys helped strengthen the marriage and everything was fine, until that night.
* * *
Megan was cooking the evening’s dinner, and realized she did not have an ingredient essential for the recipe, mozzarella cheese. Joe was sitting in the family room and reading the newspaper, his usual ritual this time of day. His wrinkled brow told her he was reading a political story. She thought, This should give him a break.
“Joe,” Megan said, “would you mind running to the store for me? I need some mozzarella cheese for tonight’s dinner. Without it, it just wouldn’t be the same. Megan glanced out the window and added, “If you’re going you better get your butt in gear. Grey clouds are building. Better take an umbrella.”
Joe replied, “Okay Meg, I’ll get the cheese.’ He knew the dish Megan was making and it was one of his favorites. The store was only two blocks away and even with the threat of a storm he decided to walk. Beginning to feel his age, he walked whenever he could.
He made it to the store, purchased the cheese and as he walked out the door heavy rain drops began splattering the sidewalk. Grateful for his umbrella, he raised it and set out for home.
And then it happened.
Joe’s neighborhood was a new development. Devoid of mature trees. Only saplings lined the streets. Also, the terrain was extremely flat. He lived in Kansas and the highest point in the area was probably a mound created by a child in a sandbox.
Lightning began flashing the like of which he had never seen. With only a block to go, gripping his umbrella with its metal tip, he took a step into the water filled gutter. That was when his life ended. Joe felt a searing pain. He had been struck by lightning.
Once the pain subsided, he felt at peace. A peace he had never before experienced. Joe felt he was floating, and looking down he could see his still smoking and contorted body. But what was looking down? Was it his mind or his soul, vaguely remembering this phenomenon had been duplicated in the lab. But this was not a lab experiment. This was the reality of death. Ahead of him appeared the legendary light drawing him. Others had reported this same light, but none had gone beyond. He was certain that was his destination. What would he find? Would it be an emptiness, a void? Or would he morph into something like the celestial fetus found at the end of the movie 2001? Ready to take the next step in a wonderous adventure, a journey beyond imagination.
Wondering what was taking Joe so long to return, Megan went looking for him. She found Joe’s inert bony on the ground, half in the gutter and half on the sidewalk. She cried hysterically over her lost husband and the prospect of a future without him.
The funeral was somber for such a young man taken from life, with plans and dreams left unfulfilled. His boys cried. Megan was close to hysterics as the coffin was lowered with all that remained of Joe Palmer.
** *
The event is still unexplained and remains so to this day. Two weeks later at the very spot, at the very time of Joe’s death, he reappeared. To say Joe was confused was an understatement. Somehow a mistake in the time-space continuum or a tear in some property of physics took place. Joe’s return was an event beyond comprehension.
The only course Joe could think of was to go home. He tried the door to the house. It was locked. Using the key under the mat, he opened the door and heard voices. He quietly followed the voices into the kitchen. Not knowing how to announce his presence, without too much shock to his family, he simply said, “Hi Meg.”
He instantly realized his greeting was a mistake. But what else could he do? For Megan turned around, saw Joe, and instantly dropped to the floor, and as hard as Joe tried, unable to be revived. He dialed 911 and within minutes he could hear sirens. As the sound came closer it was blaring, then sudden silence. Joe ran and opened the front door.
The EMTs tended to Megan and in ten minutes she began to come around. Confused, as you might expect, it took time for Megan to focus on what she had just experienced. When she looked and saw Joe, she nearly passed out again, but she held on. The EMTs left and Joe and Megan embraced. Megan had endless questions, but not as many as Joe.
* * *
Joe was not a religious man. Megan was Baptist and attended services with her boys most Sundays. On occasion, Joe would go too, when he planned to take the family out for breakfast. He respected the Baptist minister, Rev. Ruben, after hearing some of his sermons. But now he needed answers scientists could not provide so he sought out someone to explain with whom he could discuss his return. Since his reappearance Joe had not left the house. If anyone saw him, what would they think? Megan called Rev. Ruben saying she had a friend who needed counseling. An appointment was made.
Joe donned a wig of black hair over his almost completely bald head and a hoody. obscuring his face. Megan then drove Joe to the church. Joe presented himself to the pastor with as little shock as possible.
Rev. Ruben seemed to recognize his visitor. But why? He had never seen this man before. Ruben motioned for his visitor to take a seat. But first Joe removed his wig and Rev. Ruben, who was standing collapsed into his chair, “I buried you!”
Joe responded, “Yes reverend, but here I am. I do not know how or why, but here I am.” In any other case small-talk would have followed eventually approaching the subject of the visit, but this was not the case for small-talk.
The two men talked for hours and when they were done both realized this conversation was far from over. Rev. Ruben said, “Joe, I have no control over you. But if the public learns what you experienced it will alter every religion in the world. Please, please, please keep this knowledge hidden. But both men knew the world was owed the story of Joe’s experience.
May 3, 2019 at 7:25 pm
Some time ago I received a questionnaire from Book Buzzr, a marketing website I’m using to promote my novel, New Moon Rising. I thought I would share my answers to give you a closer look into who I am.
BOOK BUZZR
Could you tell us a little about yourself?
Now a retired scientist, I spent 34 years studying renal physiology.
I’m a Newark, New Jersey boy now living in West Chester, Pennsylvania, divorced with two outstanding daughters. One is a farmer working for the Rodale Institute and the other is pursing and MFA in fiction at Syracuse University.
Describe your book, New Moon Rising, in 30 words or less.
The novel is science fiction centered on the Ring of Fire. Think of the movie, Deep Impact, but in reverse.
What was the hardest part of writing this book?
Editing? I hate editing. The initial story just flowed. I went along with the characters and saw the action through their eyes. But when it came to editing the adventure was over, and I missed it.
What books had the greatest influence on you?
When I was in high school I read three books by Tom Dooley, a doctor who went to Laos, among other countries, to provide medical assistance. Of the three, the only title I can remember is The Night They Burned the Mountain.
His work was influential in establishing CARE.
What Dooley did to me I could never reverse. His words established in me the need for a sense of purpose, that you must strive to make a difference. Even at my advanced age, I cannot shake this mind-set.
Briefly share with us what you do to market your book.
Not enough. I have has one signing at a local bookstore which went quite well.
I am, of course on your site. I also have a blog, walttriznastories.wordpress.com, where I have discussed my novel and have provided links to my publisher, Melange Books, barns&noble.com and amazon.com., where my novel is available. But the primary purpose of my blog is to provide help for writers on the road to publication.
How do you spend your time when you are not writing?
I read a great deal, as most writers do. I firmly believe the basis for any writers desire to write begins with reading and the love for books. Of house and outside chores also require certain amount of time.
What are you working on next?
I have multiple short stories I am editing and hope to publish.
I also have two novels that are written and need to be edited and published.
The first, Sweet Depression, follows a corrupt high-level officer in a pharmaceutical company fulfilling his need for control and greed with devastating results. Think of a cross between novels written by James Patterson and Robin Cook.
The second novel, The Beast Awaits, combines illicit stem cell research creating a monster mindlessly intent on destroying our world.
October 7, 2016 at 9:24 pm
Written 11/23/15
Lisa Eckert, died when 25.
Today would have been 41.
She is remembered.
Lisa
There is a love beyond description,
Beyond the commonplace,
The love of a child
Fractured by fate,
Innocent of understanding
In a world
Where that may be a gift,
Surrounded love,
Existing in love,
Until love took her home.
April 18, 2016 at 7:28 pm
I don’t know how or why this began, but it’s a series of children’s poems with more to follow.
If you know my writing you will know this is most out of character. In fact, in the near future I shall post the first chapter of a novel, fully written and currently being edited, which goes beyond horrific. For now, please enjoy these poems.
DRAGON EGGS
Dragon eggs, though very small
Will yield a beast surprisingly tall.
All it takes is a safe wet abode
To yield a monster oh so bold.
So if you find their eggs, it would set the world a shiver
With the awesome possibility the beast may someday deliver.
But if it’s near the dawn of the day
Take your find, then straight away
Invite your friends, but tell not what you found
And create a huge omelet to go around.
DRAGON EGG OMELET
You’ve made your omelet,
A massive omelet
With good things deep inside,
Your friends all joined
But now they’re gone
Perhaps you better hide.
For left alone
To clean the kitchen
What is that smell of burning?
The ground is shaking, thump, thump, thump,
For company now you’re yearning.
A roar does sound
A mighty roar
And things fall off the wall,
A flame roars past the window,
Should 911 you call?
The house grows hot,
So very hot
A huge eye peers the window,
Seeking the eggs she made with love
The dragon’s come to find you.
DRAGON’S DISCOVERY
She roars a voice
A mighty voice
The tell you of her anger.
You’ve done her harm
A mighty harm
With omelets to your favor.
They were so good
So very good
Good food inside your tummy.
But the dragon roars
A mighty roar,
That isn’t very funny.
She cries, “My kids, my kids are gone,
“Your evil killed my offspring,
“Who will replace me?
“Who will live on?
“What future does your kill bring?”
She weeps a tear,
A mighty tear
That tears your heart asunder,
The thunder roars, a mighty roar
How could you know her sorrow?
She loves her family,
Her now gone family,
Family love she cannot hide,
Her heart is broken, mightily broken,
With sorrow now you cry.
February 26, 2015 at 8:45 pm
Here’s a little piece I wrote for my writers group, The Wordwrights, in response to a prompt described in the story as the ‘headline’, born from a list of random phrases spliced together.
I submitted it once and received a rejection. Maybe because it was too dark, or humorless or just plain sucked. I have a great deal of work in progress so for now this story is not even near the back burner. In fact, it can be found hovering around the circular file. With that in mind, I thought I’d share my cleverness with you.
In all honest, I have some reluctance posting unpublished work online, in my blog. There are some venues, at least for short stories, which consider any online appearance as the piece being already published and will not touch it.
In the future I plan to throw caution to the wind and post a few chapters of my unpublished and oft rejected novel, The Beast Awaits. Perhaps someone out there will enjoy the chapters enough to provide some feedback.
In parting, let me share a small piece of parting wisdom from an obscure author someday to be devoured by time, ‘No fame, no gain’.
In the vast majority of the world gain equals monetary value. But in the writer’s world, at least this writer’s world, gain is having his words read and appreciated.
THE HEADLINE
I sit alone in my cell. Tonight, at eleven, they will start the IV that will end my life. How could I be so stupid?
The headline shouted in huge bold letters, ‘AFTER TOO MANY CUPS OF COFFEE A CHILD GENIUS DEVELOPS THE ABILITY TO FLY’. Did I check the date? What difference would that make? Papers publish only the truth.
I’ve had some mental issues in the past, nothing big, just a couple nervous breakdowns and hearing the occasional mysterious voice. After a couple of years in institutions, I snapped out of it, or so my handlers said. I was released with a clean bill of health. I was cured! My wife was confident enough to let me watch our six year old son while she went to work, and she is one of the ‘trusted ones’. The voices told me so.
Let me tell you about our son. At the age of six he can read, kind of, can count and knows most of the alphabet. The kid was a regular genius. After all he did spring from my loins. That damn headline stuck in my mind, so while I was alone with the kid, I began priming him for stardom. Starting with half coffee and half milk and with tons of sugar, I eventually got the little guy to drink it black. He couldn’t get enough of the stuff. My genius kid was soon drinking six huge cups of black joe a day. When I thought he was ready, and this was confirmed by one of my voices; I opened the window of our tenth floor apartment and tossed him out. I craned my neck looking skyward. Nothing. Finally, I looked down – oops.
Later I would find that the damned headline appeared on April 1st. I guess the joke was on me.
September 8, 2014 at 2:34 am
While reading the May, 19 issue of Time over breakfast this morning, I came across an article which proved quite exciting for me. The article discussed movies released or soon to be such as Godzilla, Into the Storm and Snowpiercer.
In discussing these movies, a new genre was mentioned, at least new to me, cli-fi. This is a story of science fiction or fantasy dealing with a climate or environmental factor.
My novel, The Beast Awaits, which I sure you are all getting sick of hearing about, is about stem cell research gone bad leading to global warming. Is that a fit or what?
I plan to start working on a new query letter and will share it with you soon to see what you think.
May 19, 2014 at 6:56 pm
What if all activists, all those that are sure their vision of how things should be would make the world a better place, had their desires made reality? I find nothing wrong with people having strong feelings about the way things should be done and how, who believe if only society would listen to them, the world would be a better place.
Here is where I may get into trouble.
The problem I have with many activists, please note that I did not say all it’s ‘save my ass time’, is that their narrow-mindedness and unwillingness to listen to reason, at times, or do their homework. In some instances some have already won, but do they know it? I’ll get to this latter, in a rather nebulous manner, in a future project.
Here’s one example about not listening to reason, I can think of more. I can recall listening to an NPR show where a guest was discussing the latest methods in farming to improve crop production when a young woman called. She thought all farming should return to the way it once was, a more natural process with nothing artificial. The guest understood her viewpoint but said that if that was done, with the amount those methods would cause yields to diminish, that people would starve. Nothing would deter her in her opinion no matter what the guest said. She just went on saying how things should be more natural. Tell me, in this instance, who was right?
I’ll now talk about what started me on this train of thought.
I’m now in the process of a major rewrite of my novel, Sweet Depression, hoping to God that someday you will have a chance to read it. At the same time I’m also toying with the plot for a sequel. Now I know the accepted rule is not to write a sequel until the first book in the series is published, but at times it’s difficult to control the production of my brain, the direction my mind chooses to take. I just take notes and hope something worthwhile results. That is the reason this piece came into being. In the sequel to Sweet Depression activists have their way. Guess whether the results are beneficial or have a horrible conclusion.
I’m not the first to come up with a plot centered on activists. I suggest you read Michael Crichton’s novel, State of Fear, to see how an excellent writer handles the subject.
May 12, 2014 at 6:58 pm
I’ve mentioned Elmo in the past. He exists as a figment of my imagination. One that I’ve grown to know over the years since he was first created. He began life as a short story, but due to his thirst for adventure, he grew into a novella, Elmo’s Sojourn. In this story he is a retired Los Alamos scientist experimenting in his cellar when he stumbles on a method of space travel through wormholes. This novella will be available as an eBook released next February by Melange Books. For those who can’t wait, Elmo’s Sojourn is already available now in an anthology, Curious Hearts, also published by Melange Books.
I decided for Elmo to have more adventures, but during his earlier years while working at Los Alamos resulting in another novella, Elmo’s Invention. In this episode he sets out to invent a time machine. His machine works, but not as he had anticipated and results in a caustic response from the public. This novella is in the editing process and will hopefully find a home.
I will continue to follow Elmo into his youth.
October 26, 2013 at 8:10 pm
Older Posts
Walttriznastories's Blog 