New Story up at Literary Orphans

You always wonder how much people will read you into whatever you write. This story is titled, Father’s Day. I feel the need to write this note because my father is nothing like the father in the story. He did teach me how to play baseball, and he went to my games but he didn’t display any of the other behaviors in the story. He didn’t and doesn’t drink excessively. At least not around me.  We have been to Lookout Mountain. I highly recommend it unless you are afraid of Gnomes. But if you are afraid of Gnomes and want the ultimate place to face your fears, you can do it inside a cave and on a mountain top there.  I’m deflecting here. The bartender is a composite of several women that I didn’t actually know. I have known stale pretzels in bars. The pretzels are based on actual pretzels. Rereading the story, I wish I had added some detail about whether they were the kind of pretzels that make a knot or whether they were straight. It makes a difference. They were knots, and they did have salt. Still deflecting. What do I share with this character? I do like whiskey. I’m not above drinking it from coffee cups. I did play some third base in little league. But the rest of it? Nothing like me. And if you do sniff out a resemblance, pretend that you don’t. Writers depend on the friends that read their work to employ that  polite fiction. Otherwise, it would be madness to write at all.

Here’s the link:

http://www.literaryorphans.org/playdb/fathers-day-jason-primm/

Some Thoughts as the Year Comes to a Close…

Some thoughts as the year comes to a close….

 

To the owners of the closed sex shop on Sixth Avenue that I walk by everyday on the way to work: you may get more offers if you take down the “Sweet Sinsations” awning.

 

To the bear that used to reside in the Emerald Pub, good luck in your new music venue bar. Threadbare though you were, somehow, you seemed despair resistant.

 

To the margaritas of Cowgirl: I forgive you my trespass.

 

To the literary journals that have rejected my poetry over the last year: A simultaneous raspberry and a I guess you know what you are doing.

 

To the gumbo I’ll eat in Louisiana in a few weeks:  yum.

 

To my elbow: stop smarting.

 

To the pedestrian safety officers on Varick in front of the Holland tunnel: Your job sucks.  What matadors of the impossible!  I sincerely hope you all have good holidays.

 

To the everything bagel: keep on doing what you’re doing.

 

To the cart couple that make my bacon, egg and cheese on roll: I need a little warning before you go out of town and have a good holiday.

 

To Mike the Tiger: it could be worse. You could be on that Life of Pi boat.

 

To the future: I hope you don’t humiliate me too much.