Whiskey Dreams Part 3

Part 3 of a fiction series.  Part 1 is here, and Part 2 is here.

I didn't put my thumb out for the first full day.  I had this idea of walking through the desert like Jesus of Nazareth.  Also, being a kid from the suburbs, you are told early and often about the dangers of hitchhiking.  I had no desire to get chopped up in cubes and having my organs sold on the black market.  Also, I was not yet hungry enough, thirsty enough, or bored enough to start looking for short cuts.  The other thing was that I literally had nowhere to go and nowhere to be.  Everything is within walking distance if you have the time.  So I walked.  At first, I hugged the freeway, walking along the shoulder.  It seemed safer than the barren and flat wilderness that spanned for miles in every direction.  If I followed alongside the freeway, I couldn't get lost.  Every now and again, a diesel truck would roll by.  I would feel it coming a mile before, as the hot asphalt began to vibrate and hum at its approach.  Heavier and louder and bearing down on me, until it would whoosh past, half pushing me away and half sucking me in, the sound a million decibels in my eardrums, and then it would be gone.  I should have been able to feel the tiny vibrations becoming more and more faint as it fled, but the dramatic noise that its arrival had caused created a vacuum, and my senses took a while to return to their former sensitivity. 

I guess that I spent the time thinking, but I couldn't tell you what about.  There were some snatches of conscious thought that made it through the filter; thoughts about my family, my friends, sporting events.  I thought about being a kid a lot.  I remembered hanging out with my Dad while he was BBQ'ing, and putting my hands on the grill to lift myself up to see.  I don't remember being taken away by an ambulance for 2nd degree burns on my palms, but I imagine what it must have been like all the same.  I remember when we lived in Oceanside, just north of San Diego.  This was before my brother was born, and I would walk with my parents down the boardwalk, feeding french fries to the sea gulls and watching the crabs scuttle around the rock jetties.  I remember that we always finished these walks with a stop at the ice cream parlor, where I always chose the neon blue bubble gum flavor.  I probably still have traces of bubble gum in my stomach from those days.

One thing that I did not think about was any consideration or doubt about the choice that I made.  I had expected to feel excitement, freedom, and a sense of adventure.  I did not.  Failing that, I had expected to feel doubt and worry that I was throwing my life away, or making a stupid decision.  I didn't feel that way either.  I didn't feel much of anything really.  My everything was tied up in each individual footstep and each individual breath.  I rationed my water, but I knew that at some point, I might have to hitch a ride to the nearest town in order to restock.  I was in the type of place where you would come across signs saying "next fuel stop, 12,163 miles away," and I was pretty sure that I didn't have enough water to walk that far.  It was hot as hell out.  I had soaked a bandanna in water and wrapped it around my head, but within minutes it felt like jacuzzi water leaking down the back of my neck and the front of my shirt.  Sometimes, when I walked in the middle of the freeway for novelty's sake, my shoes would pull the melting asphalt along with it, and black tar covered the bottoms of my Reebok hi-tops. 

As the sun started to slink behind the horizon that first night, I realized that I would have to decide on a sleeping situation.  Without a tent, my main concerns were snakes, scorpions, fire ants and spiders.  As I was limited in my ability to do anything about any of that, I benignly ignored the possibilities.  I left the comfort of the paved road and found a small outcropping of rocks a quarter mile off the shoulder.  I looked around carefully for ant holes or piles, and for smooth tracks where snakes may have slithered.  I didn't know how to look around for signs of scorpions, or even if there existed such a methodology.  To a novice eye like mine, everything looked as safe as I could be assured of, and I pulled out my sleeping bag from the backpack.  A foam pad would have been an awesome thing to bring, but it had somehow escaped my attention during the packing process.  I slipped inside the synthetic sleeping bag, freshly purchased from my local REI, and waited for the sun to go down.  I wasn't hungry.  I wasn't even thirsty, so I just watched the light slowly make its escape, dwindling until it was just a sliver of gold over the end of the earth, and then disappearing completely.

Whiskey Dreams, Part Two

Part 2 of a fiction series.  Part 1 is here.

The best way to avoid being called on is to always give the impression that you are paying attention, but don't quite understand. You want to understand; the teacher can tell by your focused and dedicated stare, but unfortunately, you wont be able to come up with the answer this time.  This is obvious from your furrowed brow & confused (but determined!) appearance.


The teacher can sense that here, finally, is a pupil that actually cares. He may not be the most talented student, but that is less important than desire and ambition.  Such a hunger must not be discouraged by repeated failure, but carefully nurtured.  The best way to help this individual learn would be to call on some more naturally intelligent student this time.  When your peer gives the answer, squint for a moment as you work your way through the complex process. Allow your eyes to widen with sudden understanding. You may even nod your head and make a silent "oh," followed by a triumphant smile.  That's if you really want to milk it, but be careful not to overplay your hand. Trust me, this works every time. After a bit of practice, you can go through the entire act without conscious thought.  This leaves your brain free to focus on more interesting subjects.  For me, this usually consisted of the lacy tease of Elena Goodman's thong, peeking out from the top of her low-cut jeans two desks in front of me.  I made it from freshman year of high school through college like this.

Now, the first few weeks of a semester is always a crapshoot.  You may get called on by the teacher as often as anyone else, as he or she has not yet been clued in on how you learn most effectively.  Just remember when this happens that what you need to communicate is earnestness, sincerity, and a heart-felt desire to understand. To your dismay and embarassment, you don't quite get it this time. Convey these qualities in your looks and words, and the situation will work itself out quickly.

Whiskey Dreams

Things could be worse. My neck is so stiff that I have to turn my whole body to look in either direction.  The palms of both hands are ripped across the meaty part, open and festering wounds where callouses and blisters had proven themselves insufficient to the the task of protection.  I haven't had a good nights sleep in weeks, making due with snack-sized portions of rest when both time and inclination allow.  The problem seems to be that these twin forces rarely come together any more.

I look slowly around the room that has been my home since I set out six weeks ago.  The room usually rents by the hour, by I was able to convince the manager to let me buy my time in bulk.  The one lamp flickers, and I cannot image that the bulb has much life remaining.  There is a large crack running from the door all the way to the kitchen.  I note, with surprise, that there are no cockroaches currently visible.

Still, things could be worse.  I take a sip of stale whiskey, bringing the plastic cup to my lips without moving my head; the better to accommodate my stiffening neck.  The Kentucky Rye came in a mason jar, and tastes about like you'd expect for $5.99.  For a single, bleak second, I crave a few ice cubes, but there is no fridge in the room, let alone a freezer, and there damn sure aint one of those fancy ice dispenser contraptions that they have at the end of the hall in decent places.

Still, things could be worse.  I have to go to work soon, and the responsible thing to do would be to catch some shut-eye, eat something, and maybe even wash one of the two pairs of work clothes that I own.  Anything other than sitting here drinking cheap whiskey and killing cockroaches would be a giant step forward in terms of being responsible.  Of course, the entire point of taking this job and this life was so that I didn't have to do the responsible thing.  The trade-off is that I have the time to think long and deeply about anything and everything.  I mull this over slowly, and stay where I am, and take another long pull.

Book Review - "Shantaram," by Gregory David Roberts

    My taste in books is usually pretty different from what most people like.  I tend to enjoy the ridiculous, and the dark humor, and the simple.  But I also love the occasional epic adventure where the author actually has the skill to pull it off.  I have found this to be pretty rare.  Huge novels that span generations and continents are just massive in breadth, and I feel like that usually, even good authors get lost in their stories at times.  Two notable exceptions are "Pillars of the Earth," by Ken Follett, and "The Power of One," by Bryce Courtney, although Courtney seemed to lose his way in the sequels. 

    In any case, despite pressure to read "Shantaram" by a person who's taste in books I trust, I put it off for a long while.  I finally picked up the giant 900 page tome around New Years, and just finished it last night in a marathon session culminating in a 2am sprint. 

    It. Is. Amazing.  And it's based on the author's true story.  Gregory David Roberts was a convicted felon, who escaped from a maximum security prison and flew to the urban jungle of Bombay, India (now Mumbai).  With a little luck and a little faith, he finds himself a citizen of one of the huge Marathi slums of the city.  With his previous medical training, he is able to open up a free clinic for the poorest of the city's inhabitants.  He also becomes involved with the Bombay Mafia, and his adventures stretch from India to Pakistan to the battlefields of Afghanistan.  Despite his activities as a criminal, Roberts is a very real person that you can sympathize with, and even like.  This is one of the best stories that I have ever read about redemption, love, adventure, passion and forgiveness.  It's one of the best books that I have ever read, period.

"Blood Meridian," by Cormac McCarthy

McCarthy writes some dark and twisted stories.  "Blood Meridian" has to be the darkest and most twisted of them all.

Follows the adventures of "the kid" and "the judge" over the course of their marauding and terrorizing reign through the western frontier of the 19th century.  They have been contracted to protect the different Mexican settlements from Apache war parties, and they do so with an iron fist.  Since they are paid by the scalp, they make no differentiation between indian tribes that are peaceful or those that are warlike, and there are several massacres of entire villages.  Some of the descriptions are the bloodiest and most brutal that I have ever read.

Underlying all of that murder and violence is the theme that McCarthy presents of redemption and justice.  "The Judge" is basically evil incarnate, and there are few protagonists in the history of literature as chilling as this character.  "The Kid" is something slightly more human, and he makes some effort near the end to make amends for all of the "meanness" that he has been involved in. 

Like all of McCarthy's work, the prose is set in a very flowing and non-punctuated style.  Sentences can run on for half a page or longer.  This can be distracting at times, but the writing is so beautiful that it makes up for it.  I did find myself having to re-read certain sections.  This is not an easy book, but it is a rewarding one. 

NaNoWriMo - Day 7

I'm still behind, but today was some of my best writing so far. Not that it matters really, since the important thing is volume, but I was able to focus more deeply on the story today than any other day prior. I think what helped is my decision to just write about different episodes or scenes of the story instead of going through it chronologically. It seemed to help a lot with writer's block.

Word Count (Expected): 11,662
Word Count (Actual): 6,717

NaNoWriMo - Day 6 Part II

Ok, I am a little ashamed of my pathetic whining below. I will continue on with the same story. One thing that should help is that I can ignore what I have already written. Since I am unsure which direction I want the story to go, I can write different scenarios, conversations, etc. and just scrap the ones I don't like or don't match in the editing process.

As we were then...

NaNoWriMo - Day 6

In over my head. The story's plot was nice and neat in my outline, but it is all over the place now. It's not even the same story. Got about 1,300 words in today, whilst nursing a hang-over, but I'm having a lot of trouble getting the story on track. I may have bitten off more than I can chew for a first novel. Something more simple as a storyline like "The Old Man and the Sea" may have been a better idea.

Debating whether to scrap this story for a different one, and just start again tonight at midnight for the official challenge.

Word Count: 5,701

NaNoWriMo - Day 5

What utter crap this story is turning into. And I am way behind. Need to write about 2,700 words on both Saturday and Sunday to catch up.

Swell. That should go great with my hangover.

Word Count: 4,435
Pages: About 11.5

NaNoWriMo - Day 3

Today was my lowest output since starting, and I am currently at only 65% of the volume that I should be at. It wasn't a complete waste though. I spent a lot of time thinking about my story, and I have a much clearer picture of where I want things to go. That doesn't mean that the story will listen, but I do feel a bit more confident than I did yesterday.

Word Count: 607/3,185

NaNoWriMo - Day 2

I thought this would be hard, and it's harder than I thought. 2,500 words in and my story is already going all over the place. My characters aren't acting the way they are supposed to, and my plot gets bigger and smaller at the same time. I am also not writing fast enough, due to my desire to edit, erase and change what I have just written.

I need to just let go a bit, word-dump everything for a month, and then pick up the pieces afterward.

No more editing. Even if something new contradicts something old, no more editing.

Word Count: 1,208/2,625

NaNoWriMo - Day 1

As my trip to Thailand cuts November a bit short for me, Day 1 of National Writing Month will begin today. Now, actually. Right after this blog post. And after I check facebook one more time.

I am armed with a fresh pot of coffee (black), a phone on silent, a playlist of "This Will Destroy You," and loose scraps of a story that just might turn out to be decent.

I am a bit daunted by the task. I have to write 50,000 words in 30 days, and my current tally is zero.

Here we go.

Word Count: 1,374/1,374