Shameless attempt to attract attention

I have discovered that the most difficult part of writing is trying to get someone - anyone to read the material. It is extremely difficult to get family and friends to go to the blog and read all the fresh material, let alone get someone in the industry's attention.Over time I have pondered how to get people to read my material. I have tried sending query letters to agents and publishers. I tried passing my manuscript around to friends. I tried self-publishing. Although I have received generally favorable reviews, I have not seen any of my material gain traction. Then last month, I read Mark Cuban's interview in Playboy. He is best known as the owner of the Dallas Mavericks. All I knew about him was what I had heard on Sports Center or other sports talk shows. I read the interview and I was totally blown away by his new business. He has invested in a theatre chain, television and DVD production. The idea is to put out original material on all 3 media simultaneously or nearly-simultaneously. Everyone I talk to thinks this is an incredibly stupid idea. I think it is absolutely revolutionary and visionary! It may actually be a little ahead of it's time, but it is coming. Instant access through a variety of media is the future - Mark Cuban is just leading the way. Just like he did with Broadcast.com - another visionary idea. As I was reading the story, the thing that immediately popped into my mind is that he is going to need content. Who better to supply ideas and material for screen plays for independent films than me? Since my ideas are perfect for this type of endeavor, I had to come up with a way to get my material in front of the desired audience. Therefore, I decided to embark upon a campaign to get him to read my material - not in the weird stalker sense - but in a professional manner of writing emails to promote my work. I plan to chronicle the effort here along with "The Break" and my other commentary. Hey even if he doesn't ever read anything I send him, reading my efforts here may get a laugh or two from the six of you reading this blog. My first email to Mr Cuban is posted below. In another thinly veiled attempt to curry favor, I have added a link to his blog, Blog Maverick. If you want to read about his independent movie release strategy, click on the link and read "Go See Bubble" and "What Business are theaters in?" They really are very interesting articles. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Email to Mark Cuban

Mr. Cuban, I am glad that you took the time to speak with Playboy magazine. Although I was familiar with your name and the fact that you are the owner of the Mavs, I must admit that I did not know much about you prior to reading the informative interview. The thing that stood out was the forward thinking behind HDNetFilms and the new distribution model for content (simultaneous release of In theatre, PPV and DVD) for two reasons. First, I just started a new job as a Product Manager for a small advertising firm that specializes in print media. Since print is a dying media, I was hired to use my technical management skills and vision of what can be done to take the organization to the level. My team and I are preparing to make the advertising leap to new media - whatever that happens to be - web, tivo, cell phones, etc. I understand that we are in the midst of a huge transition of content delivery and I want to be part of it. Second, I am an aspiring writer. For my entire life, I have wanted to tell stories. I have attempted to do this in my spare time while maintaining a real job. I believe I have great ideas and a talent for reaching people. Unfortunately, I have been unsuccessful in getting a large number of people to read my work. I have self-published a novel and a book of short stories on lulu.com (www.lulu.com/PaulGavin). Additionally, I started a blog (rebeleyeball.blogspot.com) to build a readership for my work. The material on the blog is my current novel and my commentary on writing the novel. As a very realistic person, I understand that you have many people asking you to take a look at their materials and/or ideas in the hopes that you will like them and in turn fund them. In that regard, I am no different. I want you to check out my stuff and be so blown away that you fly to Spokane, Washington to meet me. Not only am I extremely proud of the effort put forth, I believe that my first novel "Progressing Rapidly Over Uneven Terrain" would make an amazing and commercially successful movie that would attract new users to HDNetFilms. Please visit my web sites. If you like what you see, let me know. Regards, Paul Gavin Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Characters

When I am telling stories, I like to focus in on the characters. It is what makes the story for me. When I write about people, I try to focus in on the little things they do. Therefore, I try to focus on what the characters do with the hands, feet, hair. I try to tell the reader how the characters are standing or sitting. For example, if the charater is a smoker, I will attempted to capture some of the details of smoking. Most people still think the habit of smoking is about smoking cigerattes because the don't bother to watch the details. There are certain idiosyncrasies that go along with smoking. All the while I am trying to pass on their personalities traits by match those idiosyncrasies with the things they say and the things they don't say. Personally, I find it fasinating trying to focus in on the little things my characters do. If you pay attention to them, you might get to know them a little better. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul GavinCopyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

The Break - Chapter 7

Chapter 7 As Annie pulled into the parking lot, she felt the dread building. It was her second day on the job, her first job ever. During her first training shift last night, her trainer made her feel like a teenager again. “That girl was not very nice.” Annie thought. “I’m glad she won’t be training me again.” At the end of the shift, Mary had made it quite clear that she did not want to train her again. The manager told her that a guy named Ronnie would work with her trainer on her next shift. Maybe that would make a difference. It just had to. Needless to say, her first shift had not gone well at all. In addition to being totally in awe with how efficient all the waiters were, she had made several dumb mistakes. Which Mary, the trainer, was more than happy to point out in a very loud voice. Trying to muster confidence, Mary decided to give herself a pep talk. She adjusted her mirror so that she could look at herself while she talked. “Today will be different.” She said out loud. “You can do this. New job, new routine.” One last time, Annie reviewed what had gone wrong the previous evening. Last night she lay in bed for hours thinking it through. Finally, it came to her. “When I was getting ready for work, I followed my before school ritual.” She said to herself. “Work is different than school. All I need to do is come up with a new pre-work ritual.” Before getting out of the car, Annie turned the car off and restarted and turned it off again. Then she flipped the automatic door locks exactly four times. Finally, she tapped in the center of the steering wheel seven times. Now she was ready to go into work. Everything would be better. Annie got out of her car and walked to the front door of the restaurant. She was almost there when she heard a voice. “Hey, new kid.” Annie turned and saw a very tall, skinny guy hustling to catch up from behind her. “I’m Ronnie.” Ronnie said as he did a quick scan of Annie. “Guess,you’re your trainer tonight.” Ronnie was surprised he was able to get the last part out. In the brief moment he had taken to check out Annie, he noticed how beautiful she was. “She’s freaking gorgeous.” He thought. “No wonder Mary doesn’t like her.” “Hi, Ronnie. I’m Annie.” She said as she extended her hand. “Nice to meet you.” Ronnie accepted her outstretched hand and shook it firmly and stared directly into her eyes. “Nice to meet you, too.” Ronnie said. He held on to her hand and gazed into her eyes a touch longer than he should have. Annie looked away from the stare. Ronnie noticed Annie’s discomfort and quickly released her hand and turned and opened the door. “Let’s go do it. Just stick by me tonight.” Ronnie said with a hint of false enthusiasm. “After you.” Annie looked back into Ronnie’s eyes and gave him a sweet smile. “Okay, thanks Ronnie.” She said as she pulled on her left ear three times. Ronnie responded with a smile of his own. “Oh yeah.” He thought. “She’s in to the Ron man.” As Annie walked past, Ronnie took a quick look at her butt. “Now that’s nice.” He said to himself. “This has potential.” He followed her into the restaurant. “Over here.” Ronnie said to Annie. “I’ll show you how to get off to an excellent start.” “Okay.” Annie said with a shrug of her shoulder. Without a question, she followed Ronnie to the bar. Ronnie approached the bar and said. “Evenin’ Mr. James.” Ronnie said in artificially formal voice. “How goes it?” “Not bad Ronnie.” Pete replied as he wiped of the bar in front of him. “How the hell are ya, ya big pussy?” Ronnie flinched and looked over his shoulder to see if Annie had heard the crude remark. Relived, he noticed that she had not. Effortlessly, Pete busied himself by putting away the freshly washed glasses. “Dude,” Ronnie said under his breath as he leaned in and motioned towards Annie with his eyes. “Take it easy. She’s new.” “Oh right. I’ll make sure to be more careful.” Pete leaned in and whispered as nodded his head knowingly. Standing fully erect, he added loudly enough to be sure Annie would hear. “You big pussy.” Ronnie let his chin drop to his chest and he shook it back and forth slowly. “Classy.” He said. Looking up at Annie, he gave her a smile and said. “All righty then Annie, this is Pete. Pete this is Annie.” Annie extended her hand and Pete took immediately. He squeezed a little too hard and Ronnie noticed as Annie winced. “How the hell are ya, Annie?” Pete said. “Damn dude, take it easy.” Ronnie admonished him as he threw Pete a glare. “Anyway, Pete’s the bartender tonight. He’ll help us out quite a bit. Right dude?” “Course, man. That’s why you tip me out.” He said. “You take care of me and I’ll take care of you, know what I mean?” He added with a wink. Then he raised eyebrows. Annie was taken aback by his brashness, but she was going to let it show. She did not want to repeat the mistake she had made with Mary. She desperately wanted to show she could fit in with the rest of the staff. “Are you sure you could handle it?” She asked. Totally stunned, Ronnie burst out laughing. “Dude, she told you.” He said to Pete, who quickly joined in laughing. “Guess she did.” Pete agreed. “Gonna have to keep an eye on you.” “Now give us our ticket book, bitch.” Ronnie said feeling more comfortable about being himself in front of Annie. “Yeah, she’s gonna be fine here.” He thought and a smile slowly crossed his face. Turning, Ronnie walked away without saying anything. Annie dutifully fell in step behind her trainer. Ronnie spent the next fifteen minutes running through his process for getting ready to start a shift. “I always make sure my wait station is ready to rock.” He explained. “It’s going to be crazy in here in about an hour and you don’t want to get off to a bad start.” Annie was very impressed by Ronnie’s dedication. “I’m impressed.” She said out loud. “You really put a lot into this. Is this that great a place to work?” “Hail, no.” Ronnie said. “I don’t do this cause I give a crap. I do it cause it’s the only way to make money.” Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul GavinCopyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

RSS

Recently, I discovered the power of RSS. Okay, so I am a million years behind the times. What can I say? RSS stands for Really Simple Syndication. It is a very cool protocol that allows any web site to obtain an information feed from any other. If you are behind the times like me, here’s how to set up an RSS feed. If you have an account with Yahoo! or Google: 1. Login to your account 2. Look for a link “Add Content” 3. Click on the link 4. Look for “Add Content by url” 5. Copy and paste: http://rebeleyeball.blogspot.com/atom.xml 6. Click save Now you should see the most recent updates from this blog. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Direction

In case there was any doubt, I have a significant portion of this story written. I know where I want to go with it and I really have a pretty good idea how I am going to get there. I guess the problem I am having at this point is how to introduce all the characters, yet keep interest in the story. I put out 3 more chapters to keep up interest and try to give an idea of the direction I am going. Another thing I have been thinking about - who should a writer write for? When I wrote Progressing Rapidly Over Uneven Terrain, it was basically therapy. I wrote to get over a personal issue in my life. One of the reasons it is dark and twisted is that was the way I felt at the time. When I started this project, I was in a place where I was a little confused but I thought I could write an equally twisted yet more fun - but I was writing for the audience. Now that I am reviewing and posting this, I am starting to think I need to get back to writing for me. So, I am going to write what I want to write and let it come off my fingers without caring if anyone reads it. I like this story and I want to finish it. Stick around for the ride or don't - it's up to you. I really do hope I am able to reach someone, but I am doing this because I want to. One other thing - has anyone considered clicking on one of the links at the top of the page? Just curious. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

The Break - Chapter 6

Chapter 6 Ronnie walked in the garage. Everyone else was already there. Ass was behind the drums and Ben was strapping on his bass. “Sorry, I’m late.” Ronnie said apologetically. “I was working on something.” As Ronnie opened his guitar case “It’s cool,” Ass said. “We just got here.” Ronnie quickly plugged in. “All right, roll the tape. Pay attention and check this shit out.” He said. “Join in when you catch the groove.” Ronnie strummed the strings a few times as if he was searching for the hook that would start the riff. He paused for a moment and dove head first into a critical riff. It began its repetitive lurch with a dirty, fuzzy sound. The other three band members listened to Ronnie grind out the harsh tones. Ass felt his head moving, he found the right beat. He began thumping on the bass drum with the foot petal. Then, he added the snare and the high hat. Nothing major, just a solid beat, they’d work out the rest later. Ben took his cue from Ass. In perfect rhythm with his section mate, he entered the fray with a very basic, very heavy bass line. “Just what this riff needs.” He thought to himself. Pete matched what Ronnie was playing, only an octave higher. He smiled as he played. It was the same riff only he was playing it cleaner. The merged sound was good, but it was missing a few things. They had done this before many times and they knew the process. Everyone needed to get in the same groove and then they would play off each other. Sometimes they were on and they got what they were looking for. Other times, it was crap. That’s why the tape machine was always rolling. So, if they found the groove they could repeat it later. Ben felt the urge first. He awkwardly changed his rhythm just slightly and added a few notes to the basic line he had been playing. “Fuck!” Ben said disgusted and stop playing. “Wrong rhythm.” Ass thought as the other three continued. He didn’t have to say it out loud. He knew that Ben knew. They had been the rhythm section for eight years now. They both knew what was right, when it was right. That wasn’t it. “What the fuck was that?” Ben asked himself. “C’mon, this is badass, get in to it.” After a quick moment it was time to go again. He bounced his head twice in sync with Ass and picked up the basic line again, kept the same rhythm and added a few different notes and felt the groove picking up. “That’s it.” He thought to himself. “YEAH!” Ass called out as he took a quick run across his tom-toms. “This is starting to come together.” Ronnie thought. All we need is a little lead. “Pete …” He started. “Already there, dude.” Pete replied before Ronnie could finish his sentence. Pete tore into a frenzied guitar solo. It met the rhythm, the pitch and the spirit of the riff. Ben and Ass made their adjustments and additions, always in perfect sync with each other. Ronnie stuck slavishly to the riff. They really started to cook. They had already been jamming for about twenty minutes. It had all come together and it was now a song. They continued for two more minute and then Ronnie dropped the riff. Seeing that Ronnie stopped, Ass let his arms go slack and dropped one stick on the head of the snared. Pete peeled off his solo, let go off his guitar and allowed it to dangle from his shoulder strap. “God damn.” Pete said. “That was fucking hot. Where did that come from?” “Dunno,” Ronnie replied. ”I been kickin it round up here for a while.” He said as he pointed to his head. “I like it.” Ass said enthusiastically. “Yeah, buddy.” Ben said as he continued playing the base line he just developed. “This fucker just plays itself, dude. I mean, listen.” They all bounced their heads in unison to Ben’s beat. “Got any lyrics?” Pete asked Ronnie. “I think so, but before I sing anything I wanted to see where you thought the breaks should be. Wanna listen to the tape?” “Yeah.” They said almost simultaneously. Ronnie crossed the room, stopped the tape and rewound it. They had quite the set up. Although Ronnie wasn’t a football star, Big Ron understood what music meant to Ronnie and he had purchased him an almost state-of-the-art recording facility. The tape was completely rewound, so Ronnie pressed play. They listened to what they had just spawned, three times. During each playback, they tinkered around with the sound to see where they could improve it. A few things changed, but not much. It was one of those extremely rare occasions where it just clicked. “So, what do you think?” Ronnie asked. “First off,” Pete started. “I like that tuning intro.” “What?” Ronnie asked surprised. “When I was warming up?” “Yeah, there’s something about that.” Pete explained. “It just … I don’t know …” “Like, you’re searching for something.” Ass added. “Yeah, searching.” Pete said. “One thing, though. After the pause, could you come in just a touch nastier? I think the nastier the better.” “I hear ya, let’s give it a go.” Ronnie said. “So, start like this?” He repeated the warm up strums he played at the beginning of the session, paused for a moment and blasted into the riff even raunchier than the first time around. “Like that?” Ronnie asked as he stopped playing. “Yeah dude, totally.” Pete said approvingly. “I like it.” Ass added enthusiastically. True to form, Ben just nodded his head. “Okay then, let’s put it together and see if my lyrics fit.” Ronnie said. “From the top. Again he began the same way and all four began to groove. It was loud, driving and very abrasive – just as it should be. This was the sound they wanted and each was playing the crap out of it. This was their sound. Just as Ronnie had started, Big Ron entered the garage from the doorway that led to the house. Big Ron actually enjoyed listening to Ronnie play. Although the style was a little heavier than he cared for, Ron could appreciate the talent the boys had. He listened as Ronnie began sing-screeching the lyrics to the new song. Big Ron could hear how the voice matched the music perfectly. It was impressive to hear. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

The Break - Chapter 5

Chapter 5 Frustration was quickly giving way to anger. Not only had the Furby’s had avoided all of Ronnie’s traps, but they had stolen an alarming amount of his dope. He would take care of the Furbys later. That was his destiny. But right now he had a more immediate need, he had to score. In order to replenish his supply, he needed to see Schnieder. Ronnie was not looking forward to going to see Schnieder. Schnieder was a freak and not in the good way. But regardless, he always had dope. That was why was driving his 1973 VW bug up 285 towards Bailey at ten a night. Ronnie continued on 285, barely able to follow the curves in the road. In addition to the dim headlights, the windshield was filthy. “Might wanna wash Janice every year or so.” Ronnie thought. “Or at least fill up the blue juice.” When he came to Schaeffer’s crossing, he turned left and drove about three miles to a dirt road. He followed the poorly maintained road to a barely perceptible break in the underbrush, which was actually a dirt driveway. Ronnie turned right between two very large trees. Almost immediately he had to steer hard to the left to avoid a giant rut in the driveway. Ronnie gingerly made his way up the weather damaged driveway to the doublewide trailer that was approximately a half-mile from the dirt road. From all outward appearances, it looked as if the trailer was abandoned. Ronnie knew differently. Schnieder left the trailer exactly once a month to get supplies. The rest of the time, he stayed in the trailer. Ronnie came to a stop, turned off his car and set the parking brake. Then he reached out the window and used the outside door handle to open the door. He let the door swing freely as he mentally prepared himself for what he was about to experience. Finally, he slowly got out of the car. Ronnie knew he was being watched because Schnieder could hear a vehicle coming from the start of the driveway. That meant Schnieder knew Ronnie was there and that meant he was watching from somewhere inside the house. He intently watched every vehicle that came up the driveway. Ronnie walked up the dilapidated steps to a shaky porch. He paused briefly, inhaled deeply and said to himself, “Get it over with.” He reached up and knocked on the door. “Who the fuck is it?” A voice boomed threateningly. “Schnieder, it’s Ronnie ," he replied. "What the fuck do you want?” The voice continued angrily. “I need a full one.” Ronnie replied. “Were you followed?” The voice asked. “No dude, I wasn’t followed.” “Are you fucking sure?” “Yeah, really. I made sure. C’mon dude.” Ronnie lied to appease the voice. “All right. Gimme a minute.” Schnieder responded. This was no surprise to Ronnie. He had been getting his dope from Schnieder since high school. A friend had brought him to the doublewide the first time. It was the last time Ronnie had ever been to the trailer with another person. Schnieder didn’t like people and he would only allow one person at a time. It was always the same routine. Schnieder asked his three questions – “Who the fuck is it?” – “Were you followed?” – and “Are you sure you weren’t followed?”. Once he was satisfied, he would ask for the quantity and then leave to get it. Within five minutes the door would open and an arm would shoot out with the requested size bag. You simply took the bag, paid and left immediately. Ronnie wasn’t even sure if he knew what Schnieder looked like. He had only seen his face a few times. Ronnie shook his head and thought, “This dude is wack!” The thought barely had time to flash through Ronnie’s brain when suddenly the door swung open and Ronnie was staring at the barrel of an M16 assault rifle. “You a fucking fed?” Schnieder asked. Ronnie was shocked. He had never had a gun pointed at him and he didn’t really like it. He had no idea how to react. He took a shaky step backward as he lifted his hands to show submission. “Uh…n-n-no, I’m not a fed, Schnieder.” Ronnie was finally able to say. “You know that. I-I-I been getting dope from you for years, dude. It’s cool.” “Yeah, I just like to check. I know your cool, man.” Schnieder said as he lowered the barrel of the weapon. “I know you’re all right. Didn’t scare ya, did I?” He added as he nervous surveyed his property, like a chipmunk searching for an owl. “Uh…um…nah dude. Didn’t phase me.” Ronnie lied almost convincingly. “Hey man, you wanna come in for a minute?” Schnieder asked. “W-What?” Ronnie asked, unable to cover the shock in his voice. “Yeah, I know.” Schnieder said sheepishly. “I know what people think about me. It’s just that I gotta problem and I was wondering if you could help me out.” Schnieder said as he searched Ronnie’s eyes for a glimmer of friendship. “Serious man, I like you Ronnie. Even when you’re scared, you at least know to cover it up. I’d go in the shit with you.” “Uh…thanks…uh…I guess.” Ronnie said awkwardly. “So, you coming in or what?” A little disappointed that Ronnie had not recognize the magnitude of the compliment Schnieder had just given him. “Sure…yeah…uh… I guess. Yeah, that would be cool.” Ronnie answered suspiciously. Schnieder stepped back from the door to allow Ronnie to pass and he quickly glanced around to ensure no one else was around. Quickly, Schnieder closed the door and flipped the three deadbolts. He turn and made a sweeping gesture to the living room and said, “Have a seat, man.” Ronnie quickly surveyed the trailer. Much to Ronnie’s surprise, the trailer was very tidy and nicely decorated. Ronnie moved to couch and sat down. Schnieder joined him on the couch and quickly picked up a cigar box. He opened the cigar box and extracted a ziplock baggie of marijuana and package of ZigZag rolling papers. Ronnie watched in amazement as Schnieder rolled an absolutely perfect joint in less than thirty seconds. Schnieder lit the joint, took a long drag and passed it to Ronnie. Ronnie took the joint and took a hit. Before he passed it back, Ronnie stared at the joint as he rolled it between his thumb and forefinger. “This joint is amazing.” Ronnie said in admiration. “It looks just like a cigarette. How do you do that?” “I dunno, just do. I guess I’ve rolled a few, maybe.” They smoked the rest of the joint in silence. Finally, Schnieder took one last hit and snubbed it out in the ashtray. As he blew the smoke out, he turned to Ronnie and said, “Look, man. I know you’re cool. I mean, hell, you’re all right. You ain’t working for the feds or anything and I can trust you.” Schnieder said. The effects of the pot got the best of Ronnie. It was quite possibly the best weed he had ever smoked. Before he knew what he was saying, he said, “What’s up with you and the feds, dude?” Ronnie asked. “Look man, those fuckers been trying to kill me since I was eighteen.” Schniedner responded with a crazy look in his eye. “Huh?” Was the only response Ronnie could manage. “The fuckers sent me to ‘Nam and shit.” Schnieder spit out venomously. “You were in Vietnam?” Ronnie asked. “Fuckin’ A.” Schnieder grunted in confirmation. “Whoa, that’s intense.” Ronnie uttered. “What the fuck do you know about it? Were you there, mother fucker? Huh?” Schnieder asked accusingly. Even through the marijuana haze, Ronnie could see that Schnieder was beginning to get a little agitated. “Well, no man. I wasn’t there, but I read about it.” Ronnie said apologetically trying to placate Schnieder. “I saw something about the Tet offensive on the History Channel.” “Tet, Tet, Tet. Fuck Tet. That’s all I ever hear about. You should have been there in ’74 like I was.” Schnieder said proudly. “That was some shit, I tell ya.” “Really, I thought it was pretty much over by then.” Ronnie said ignorantly. With that Ronnie turned his attention to the rolling paper in his hand completely unprepared for the wrath that was about to be unleashed on him. “Over, over? What the fuck you talking ‘bout, mother fucker? Where you fucking there?” Schnieder said in a raised voice. “We were out there in the shit, just like Tet or any other fucking time. But we were there when the fucking ARVN pussies were running and trying to get on Uncle Sam’s planes so they could get to the big PX, mother fucker.” Schneider scooped the roach from the ashtray and fired it up again. Very agitated, he puffed at the joint. ‘Yeah, those ARVN fucks man. We were supposed to be their support. Back’em up, dig.” “Yeah.” Ronnie agreed in an attempt to placate Schnieder. “But when the shit hit, they’d fall back and let us take it.” He inhaled deeply. “Plus, think you could tell the difference between an ARVN soldier and Charlie?” “Uh…I…well…” Ronnie made a feeble attempt to answer. “Well, ya can’t mother fucker.” Schnieder almost screamed. “A gook’s a gook.” Schnieder suddenly stopped and looked around the room. He became aware that he was hovering over Ronnie in a fairly menacing way. Stepping back, he pressed his right palm on his forehead and then slid his hand over the top of his head running his fingers through his hair. He inhaled deeply and then exhaled as he slumped down into his chair. Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on knees. “A gook’s a gook.” He repeated in a barely audible tone. Ronnie sat in stunned silence, not really sure what he had just witnessed. He had seen Big Ron flip out a few times, but Big Ron usually had a reason. This came out of nowhere. Ronnie had never seen a look like that in anyone’s eyes before. “So, here’s my problem.” Schnieder said calmly as he lifted his head. “I have been growing for several years, but I don’t have a distribution system.” He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, inhaling deeply as he did. “So, I have a very large inventory, if you know what I mean.” “I think I do.” Ronnie replied with a knowing grin. “So, I been looking for someone cool.” He continued as if nothing happened. “Someone I can trust, to help me move some shit.” He stood up and started to cross the room. He turned and said, “C’mon man, I got something to show ya.” Nervously, Ronnie stood up and followed Schnieder down the darkened hall. Schnieder walked up to a door on the left side of the hallway. He reached down and pulled on his stretchy key chain thingy that was attached to his belt, selected the proper key and inserted into the lock. He turned and looked directly into Ronnie’s eyes and said, “The worm has turned for you, my friend.” He swung the door open. Light erupted from the room. Schnieder quickly disappeared inside. Ronnie stood paralyzed by the intense light. “Schnieder! Fuck, dude. I can’t see shit.” Ronnie whined as he walked forward. Schnieder did not warn Ronnie to step down. As he moved forward he tripped and fell flat on his face. “Fuck Schnieder, dude. Where the fuck are you. What’s going on? What are we doing?” “Hold your fuckin’ horses, man. I’m getting the grow lights.” Schnieder said. Ronnie heard a large circuit breaker switch and suddenly he was able to see. Actually, he wasn’t sure if he could really see. “Damn, did those lights fuck up my eyes or am I really seeing this shit?” He asked himself. He really didn’t know, so he repeated himself out loud this time. “Schnieder, dude, am I really seeing this shit?” He asked tentatively. “Depends on what you see, man.” Schnieder said as he walked back to where Ronnie was standing. “If you talking about my two hundred pot plants, you’re really seeing the shit. Ronnie stood and tried to take in what he was seeing. He slowly turned, mouth open and stared a neat row after neat row of seven-foot tall marijuana plants. The entire half of the double wide was full of pot plants. “Holy shit!” Ronnie said. “See my problem?” Schnieder asked. “Holy shit.” Ronnie repeated in disbelief. “I never seen this much dope in my entire life.” “That’s zactly my problem, man.” Schnieder began. “I don’t get out much, so I have all these plants and I don’t know what to do with them and all the other shit.” “There’s more?” Ronnie said unable to comprehend anything at this point. “Well, yeah sure. I been growing this shit for ten years.” Schnieder said. “I been freeze drying the shit.” He continued. “I got at least a half-ton out back.” “Let me get this right, dude. You have a thousand pounds of dope and two hundred pot plants?” “Yeah, something like that.” Schnieder said nonchalantly. Ronnie was stunned. He had no idea what to say. What can you say about this? It was un-fucking-believable. “Un-fucking-believable.” Ronnie said. Ronnie could not stop looking at the plants. He was totally captivated. “This is so cool.” Ronnie said. “It’s like I died and gone to doper heaven, dude.” “Sure kid.” Schnieder responded less than enthusiastically. “So, think you can help me with my problem?” “Exactly what would you like me to do?” Ronnie asked. “I want you to help me get rid of the shit.” Schnieder said testily. “C’mon man, use you’re fuckin’ head.” “Are you serious?” Ronnie asked tentatively. “I mean, I’m a burner and all, but damn it would take years to smoke … “No, dumbass.” Schnieder said as burst out laughing. “I want you to help me sell it.” “Ohhh…yeah…I mean…makes sense.” Ronnie said a little embarrassed as his stoned brain began working again. “I not sure though, dude.” Ronnie hesitated. “Ya know, like I like to smoke and all, but I’m not sure I’m into dealing.” “You too good for that or what?” “No, no, nothing like that, dude.” Ronnie continued. “Just I have this thing bout jail.” “What?” “You know… I mean … like, I’m not interested in doing time.” “You ain’t gonna get caught, man.” Schnieder tried to convince Ronnie. “Plus whatever you sell we’ll split 50/50. C’mon man, I’m telling you, the man is coming down hard on me right now. He wants the property taxes and I ain’t got no money. This is the only thing that I can do.” “You could get a job.” Ronnie said without thinking. “Get a job, fuck that man. Don’t you get it? I can’t go out there. I go out there and the man is going to kill me. I’m telling he’s after me and he wants me dead.” “Huh?” “Nevermind, man.” Schneider said nervously. “Are you in or what?” “I can sell some, but I don’t really want to be a dealer. I got plans, dude.” “Plans? What kinda plans you got, man?” Schneider hissed as he recovered his surly tone. “Dude, I going to be a rock star!” Ronnie said confidently “A rock star? Are you in a band?” “Yeah, were pretty good. We know over two hundred songs.” “Shit, really…that’s a lot of songs.” Schneider said truly impressed. “Where do you guys play?” “In my old man’s garage.” Answered Ronnie. “No, I mean, where are your gigs?” Schneider asked as he walked toward the door. “Oh, well, we haven’t actually played a gig.” Ronnie replied sheepishly as he turned to follow. “How long you been together?” “Bout eight years.” Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

The Break - Chapter 4

Chapter 4 Anita bounded down the narrow hallway of the television studio. Literally feeling the blood rush through her veins, she could not remember a time when she had been more excited. Just ten minutes ago she received the call. The boss wanted to see her. It could only mean one thing. It was the call. The call she had been waiting for over her entire career. “Let’s be honest.” She thought. “I’ve been waiting for this moment may entire life. She felt a tingling in her toes as if her foot had fallen asleep. It began to flow up her body, gaining momentum until she heard a sound explode from mouth. “I’m going network!” She heard her voice say. As the words hit her ears, she cringed. “I hope no one heard that.” She thought. “People can be so petty when they are jealous.” Indeed Cord Brenner had called Anita, but it was not to talk about going to the network. As Anita giddily pranced down the hall, Cord inhaled deeply as he tried to regain his composure. In the twenty-odd hours passed since the explosion, his phone had not stopped ringing. His secretary bore the brunt, but it seemed every single person that he had ever given his private line had called him directly. “That ego driven bitch.” He thought to himself. “She couldn’t just go with it could she? Did she have any human feelings?” When he heard the knock on the door, Cord felt the burning in his stomach. He absoluted hated confrontation, especially this type. Inhaling deeply, he planted both feet on the ground and sat upright in his chair. Slowly , he blew the bad air out. “Come in.” He managed after drawing in another two deep breaths. Anita opened the door and allowed it to swing open. When she had a clear view of Cord, she strode though the opening as if she had just been announced to the court of Grimaldi. Her face beamed with self-aggrandizing pride. She felt as if she was being anointed into a sacred brotherhood – the network television anchor. “Ah jeez.” Cord thought. “Does she have to be so freaking happy?” Caught up in the moment of her own construction, Anita missed the frown that clouded Cord’s face. “Have a seat, Anita.” Cord asked the sky-high anchor. Anita took a moment from her flight of euphoria to float down into the chair opposite of Cord. The whiteness of her over exposed teeth was almost too much for Cord to bear. The only thing that made it bearable was that Cord was fairly confident that she wouldn't be smiling much longer. “Thanks for coming, Anita.” Cord started. “My pleasure, Cord.” Anita responded knowingly. “What can I do for you.” “Since last night’s broadcast, my phone has been ringing off the hook…” “Oh, I bet it has Cord.” Anite interrupted cheerfully. “That Pepsi Center explosion certainly was something. “Well, yes it …” Cord tried. “I mean, a news anchor could wait an entire career for something like that.” Anita babbled happily. “And to have it happen right here in our own backyard and I nailed it. It was so amazing …” A jolt ran up Anita’s spine as Cord slapped the desk in front of him with the palm o his hand. “Enough.” Cord barked. “Jesus Christ, are you even human?” “What?’ Anita asked as her teeth instantly retracted to the normal location for human facial structure. “Anita, over 8,000 people are dead.” Cord snapped. “D-E-A-D. Get it?” “Well, yeah. “ Anita said dumbfounded. “That’s what makes it a news story.” Cord no longer felt nervous about this confrontation. He only felt the rage of moral indignation. “News Story? NEWS STORY!” Cord shouted. “It’s a fucking TRAGEDY! These people had lives, families …” “That’s exactly why it such a great story.” Anita stated flatly, her tone expressed her lack of understanding. For a solid minute, all Cord could do was to sit and stare at Anita. He was sure that his eyes were blinking. Then he became aware that his mouth was still hanging open. “Really, Anita?” He finally asked. “Truly, is that the way you see the world? Whether or not it is a good story?” “Well,” she started. “I never really thought about it, but … yeah … I think all good reporters see the story. That’s what makes them good reporters, right?” As he closed his eyes, Cord’s chin dropped slightly and he felt the air drain from his lungs. He had no idea how long he sat like. “Ah-hum, Cord.” Anita interrupted. “Did you want to tell me something?” “Yes, I did.” Cord said as he gathered himself together. “As I said, my phone has been ringing off the hook since …” “So what did the network say?” Anita interrupted again. “Do they want me to come to New York right away or do they want me to cover the story from here?” “What?” Was all Cord could manage. “They probably want me to cover the story from here.” Anita continued babbling. “That makes sense. All the anchors shoot from location when something really big happens.” “For Christ’s sake Anita, will you shut the fuck up for a minute and let me finish a sentence.” Cord scolded. “Look, the network doesn’t want you. Nobody wants you. You are so self-absorbed, you have absolutely no idea how incredibly offensive you are.” “What?” Anita asked. It was her turn to be confused. As he picked up a stack of phone messages from his desk, Cord shifted his weight in his seat and leaned in towards Anita. He took the first one from the pile. “Completely insensitive to human suffering.” He read as he put the slip of paper down and picked up the next one. “Most cold-blooded thing I have ever seen.” Continuing. “Absolutely dumbfounded as to how she could treat this tragedy like a regular story.” Cord put the stack down and looked directly into Anita’s eyes. “And those are the nice ones.” Cord said. “You don’t want me to read the one from the network.” Anita bit her lower lip for the first time in years. It was an old habit that she had vigorously trained herself not to do. She felt herself twitching and noticed that she was scratching her arm. “What is going on?” She asked herself silently. “I got rid of these habits a long time ago.” Cord paused for a reaction. He had never seen her appear to be nervous before in the five years they had worked together. It was very odd to see this. “Are you starting to get it now?” Cord asked. “The way you treated Jim and Bobbie was completely messed up.” “That little bitch was the one messing things up.” Anita replied angrily. “She couldn’t even give comprehendible update.” Cord shook his head in disbelief. Then he remembered who he was talking to and realized he would need to change tactics in order to get through to her. “Anita.” Cord said softly. “In situations like this, what do you think people want to see?” “Well, they want to see accurate reporting by professionals.” “No, they don’t.” Cord explained. “Something like this is more than story. It’s life … well, death ... uh … life and death … on a major scale. People expect to see shock, horror, rage and especially compassion. You showed none of those emotions. In fact, did you have any idea that you were actually smiling?” “I was?” She asked stunned. “Yeah.” Cord replied as he picked up another phone message. “That ghoulish smile was the most frightening thing I had ever seen.” Quickly, he picked up another. “What was she smiling about, is she some kind of twisted b… Anyway, get the point.” Anita’s chin dropped all the way to her chest. She began to twist a lock of hair around her right index finger. “Oh, great.” She said as she forced her hand back into her lap as if she could control all of her unconscious habits. “Another girlish habit.” After a moment of silence, Cord was confident that he had gotten through to her. “Well, that was an interesting critique.” Anita said. “What is the positive feedback?” “Uh…you’re kidding, right?” Cord asked puzzled. “Kidding? Of course not.” Anita said. “I accept that I have things to work on. So, now I would like to hear the good things people had to say.” Cord closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He held it for a count of ten and then exhaled slowly, evenly. “Anita, you just aren’t getting it.” He explained. “There is no…I repeat…no positive feedback. This was the worst, most callous news report I have ever seen…” “Do I need to do an on air apology?” Anita asked meekly. “Anita…” Cord said softly. “You won’t be going on the air again at this station or any other affiliate in this network.” “But I’m the top-rated local anchor for this network.” Anita said desperately. “How…” “Anita, please.” Jim said compassionately. “I understand how difficult this is for you. But even the Governor called the network to complain. You’re done.” They sat for a moment in silence. Cord watched Anita as she fixated on pattern of his office carpet. Finally, Cord reached for the phone and pressed the speaker phone button. When he heard the dial tone, he quickly entered four digits. The phone was answered on the second ring. “Human Resources.” The woman’s voice said. “This is Ginny.” “Hi Ginny, this is Cord.” He said into the speaker. “I’m here with Anita. We are ready for you to come in and finish up.” “Be right there.” Ginny responded. Cord picked up the receiver and hung it up again. Looking into Anita’s eyes, he could see the painful recognition of the magnitude of the issue. “Is this really happening?” Anita asked softly. “Sorry, Anita.” Cord said gently. “But, yes, it is.” Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

The Break - Chapter 3

Chapter 3 Ronnie was stoned – again. But that wasn’t the only thing he was feeling. No, right now he was full of lust – blood lust. That’s right, he wanted to kill. He wanted to kill badly. His previous efforts had been so exciting and so easy that he had to do it again. Musing over his previous conquest, he realized that he didn’t even have to sneak up on them. Actually, they had practically walked right up to him. They were so friendly. They had talked a lot and cheerfully right up to the point that he ended their lives. The only thing that bothered Ronnie was that he knew it wasn’t going to be as easy this time. No, he hadn’t seen any of them for a very long time. Not since he had killed the first two. He had to have a plan. There had to be a way. He knew they were around. He heard them at night when they snuck in to steal his dope. All he would have to do was to place some traps, preferably close to his dope. He was losing a lot of dope to them and it had to stop. There was absolutely no way he was going through an ounce a week, so it had to be them. “That’s it.” He thought. “I’ll set traps, catch them, kill them and then I will be able to create my coat.” Quickly, Ronnie fired up a bong and began to plot his strategy. Something was wrong though. Something was very wrong. How could he possibly expect to catch them if he didn’t have his hat? Ronnie reached over to his dresser and picked up his freshly made Furby-skinned cap. If he was going to get enough Furby skins for his coat, he would have to wear the hat. “To trap a Furby,” he mused. “I gotta to think like a Furby. I gotta become a Furby.” The hat was going to bridge the gap for him. He adjusted his cap, fired up another bong and blew the smoke out through his nose. Now he was ready. He would set the traps and come back to check them after work. He should have at least one by then. He wasn’t taking any chances though. He picked up his bag and put it in the pocket of his jeans. “Those little rat-fuckers aren’t getting any more of my dope.” He thought to himself. Ronnie was running late, though. So, he quickly set the last trap, grabbed his apron and headed out the door. He jumped into his VW bug, squeezed on the steering column with his left hand and turned the key with his right hand. “Fuck, c’mon car!” Ronnie said out loud. The starter made a horrific noise for almost five seconds and then the engine caught. It coughed and sputtered as Ronnie pumped on the accelerator. “C’mon Janice baby, that’s it. You can do it sweetie.” He coaxed the car. After ten or so pumps, he held the accelerator to the floor. The engine whined loudly. Ronnie let up on the accelerator and the engine idled smoothly. “That’s it. I knew you could do it, Janice baby.” He cooed to the car. “Sorry, I yelled at you, baby.” This was the normal process for starting the twenty-seven year-old car. In the winter, it took twice as long. Confident that the engine would continue running smoothly, Ronnie jammed the gearshift into reverse and backed out of the driveway. He pressed the play button on his CD player and was greeted by the sounds of Nine Inch Nails. “Let’s fly baby.” He encouraged the car. He stole a quick look at his watch. “I just might make it.” He thought. It was thirteen till eleven and it took nineteen minutes for Ronnie to get to Appleby’s. They wouldn’t write him up for being five minutes late, but any later and he would have a paper to sign and he knew he was running out of chances. “Just have to make all the lights, baby. Lets go.” He said out loud and then picked up singing with the music. “Bow down before the one you serve, you’re going to get what you deserve …” A few songs later, Ronnie pulled into a parking spot in the area designated for employees, grabbed his apron and ran into the building. “Harrison, you’re late again.” Was the greeting from his manager. “Uh…yeah…uh…well…sorry boss. You know Janice, she didn’t wanna roll over this morning. You know how it is.” “Harrison,” his manager continued. “You know what you need to do with that car.” “What’s that boss?” He asked as he tied his apron around his waist. “You need to jack it up and …” “And what?” He asked. “Dive a new car in underneath it.” “Damn, Mike that’s messed up.” Ronnie complained. “You know I love Janice. I could never do that to her.” “Freak!” Mike replied. “And take that stupid hat off. You can’t wear that in front of customers.” “Oh, yeah. I forgot.” Ronnie replied and he giggled a bit and began searching fruitlessly for his ticket pad. “You stoned again, Ronnie.” Mike asked. “Uh...well…uh…yeah.” He answered. “When are you going to hook me up with some?” Mike asked “You know the dude I been getting it from moved. I’ve been dry for a week.” Ronnie noted the desperation in Mike’s voice. He knew an opportunity when it presented itself. “I might be able to do something for you tomorrow – maybe, all right?” Ronnie said. “But if I help you out, we are going to have to talk about my paperwork.” Not being the sharpest, it took Mike a moment to understand what Ronnie was saying. “Right dude, I gotcha.” Mike said finally. “You take care of me and I make sure you stick, right.” “Exactly.” Ronnie said to emphasize his point. “Janice is a little temperamental and I can’t always vouch for her performance, ya know?” “Cool, dude.” Mike said as his heart jumped a little. He rubbed his hands together happily and smiled. “So tomorrow?” Mike repeated a little too excitedly. “Can I get a full?” “Take it easy, dude.” Ronnie said coolly. “I said maybe.” “Ronnie, man really. You have no idea.” Mike began to explain. “I’ve been scraping resin and mixing it with stems just to get a little buzz.” Ronnie never had any supply problems. In fact, he had a quarter pound in his car right now. He could walk out and get the ounce Mike asked for, but Ronnie didn’t really like Mike. “Dude is hundred percent asshole on the floor.” Ronnie thought. “Then he’s all ‘dude this’ and ‘dude that’ when he needs some weed. Fuck him, he can wait.” “Bummer dude, that’s sucks.” Ronnie replied insincerely. “I’ll try for tomorrow. But like you said, it’s pretty dry around here.” “Cool, tomorrow, cool.” He mumbled. “I can handle that.” Mike turned and walked through the swinging doors the dish area. “End-delay!” Mike yelled at the dishwasher as the door swung closed. Suddenly, Ronnie felt a jolt run down his spine. “Hey, Mike hitting you up for weed again?” Pete’s voice said as he pulled his open hand from Ronnie’s back. Instantly he rubbed the sting of impact from the palm of his hand Turning, Ronnie saw Pete and swung without responding he smashed his fist into Pete’s left bicep. “Dickhead! Do not sneak up on me like that.” Ronnie rebuked. “Damn dude, chill. Shit, I was just fuckin’ wit cha.” Pete said. “Yeah, sorry. Just Mike is a fuck.” Ronnie replied. “Know what I’m saying?” “Dude.” Pete replied as nodded his head knowingly. Ronnie looked over Pete’s shoulder and saw Mary approaching. She smiled brightly as she strode towards them. “Ronnie, I just sat three at table sixty-two.” Mary said. “And good morning to you, too.” Ronnie said sarcastically as he fetched three sets of silverware from the bin. “Sorry,” she said softly. “Good morning, how you doing?” Ronnie started towards his table, stopped and turned back to Mary. “Hey, I’m training the new girl tonight.” “Annie? Have fun.” Mary groaned. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

The Blogosphere

First of all, do people in the "blogosphere" actually use the term? Or is it just a convenient label the media uses? Did you ever notice that when the traditional media wants to talk about something they don't understand, they pick these easy terms to try to tie everything up with a pretty little bow? Second, I didn't spend much time writing last night. Instead, I spent the evening registering my blog at various blog directory sites. Additionally, I spent some time visiting various blogs. It really is interesting to see the wide variety of subject matter covered. Maybe I should tell you that I am very new to the whole blogging thing. Like everyone else, I have heard of blogs and blogging and had a general idea of what blogging was all about - or at least I thought I did. It is very interesting to look around and see. First thing I noticed - it seems like most blogs have a shelf life of about 4-6 months. Also, I decided to publish Chapter 3 tonight to keep things rolling a bit. I hope you like it. Last thing, this is all about communication and introducing people to each other. You may have noticed that I added a link to Mark Sunderland Photography on the left sidebar. I highly recommend the site. Mark has taken some of the very best photographs of the US Southwest that I have ever seen. Check it out and see if you agree. Also, at the end of every post there is a little envelope icon - if you click on it, you can leave comments - hint, hint ;-). Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul GavinCopyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

The Break - Chapter 1 and Chapter 2

Chapter 1 Sitting at the desk, the local anchorwoman quickly reviewed the notes. She was on in less than a minute. This was the biggest news story to hit Denver since the Columbine massacre and the producer was letting her read it. She felt a nervous excitement. The network was looking for a new anchor and although Denver was a medium-sized market, she had been getting a great deal of attention. The interviews had been last week and this could be the story that sealed the deal for Anita. Looking up, she saw the count down to airtime start. Inhaling deeply, she told herself she was going to be great. She let out the breath and her nerves exited her body on the air expelled from her lungs. “Good Evening. I’m Anita Sanchez.” She started with a somber expression. “And I’m Jim Meissner.” He co-anchor said. “Breaking News: There has been an explosion at the Pepsi Center. Denver police officials say they suspect a bomb was planted.” Anita continued evenly, betraying neither her nerves nor the magnitude of the situation. “So far, we have not heard any causality reports or the extent of the damage. All we know at this point is an explosion did occur and that there are some fatalities. Let’s go to Bobbie Colran live at the Pepsi Center for an update. Bobbie, what’s happening there?” “Anita, chaos is the only word to describe the scene.” Bobbie replied frantically. “Many people are wandering around in a daze, more than a few of them bleeding.” Being off camera, Anita allowed herself a heavy frown. She was disappointed at the lack of professionalism her remote co-worker displayed. “Guess that’s why Bobbie is still a field reporter.” She said to herself. “Do we have any idea what happened at this point?” Anita asked. “All we know at this point is that there was a large explosion at the Pepsi Center and … and … and …” “Yes, Bobbie.” Anita barked disdainfully. “…and police say it was … it was …intentionally set.” Bobbie tried. “This is unbelievable …” She broke off sobbing. Anita was losing patience with her sister in the field. “Can you go on or do we need to send another reporter?” Anita asked callously. It was almost as if she thought she was off the air. The tears were streaming down Bobbie’s cheeks. Quickly she bowed her head to hide the tears. Just as quickly, she raised her hand and attempted to wipe off river of tears that were now flowing. “Can you please pull it together and describe the situation?” Anita repeated in an even more condescending tone. Bobbie was still unable to respond. “Bobbie? Bobbie?” Her voice trembled betraying her anger. “Are you okay? Can you please update us on what is happening there?” “You wanna update?” Bobbie asked defiantly as she stared into the camera. “I’ll give you an update.” “If you could be so kind.” “Well, within ten feet of where I am standing, I see various body parts of the individuals that were inside at the time of the explosion, including four heads. That’s human heads … and arms … and legs. Zat what you want, you cold-hearted b…” For a moment the screen went black. When it came back, Anita appeared again. “Well, I guess Bobbie is a little overwrought.” She hissed in a contemptuous tone. “I must apologize to all of our viewers. We here at the station do not condone the use of that type of language, regardless of the circumstances.” Anita paused for effect. “I show that little bitch to try and one up me.” She thought. She was completely unaware that the smile spreading across her face was noticeable. “The police believe they have a suspect in the bombing. He is currently in intensive care and is under heavy guard a Denver General Hospital.” Anita felt herself relaxing. She had gotten through the most difficult part; the introduction and it was fantastic, if she didn’t say so herself. She could feel the jealous gaze of Jim on her as she turned to camera two. “Screw him.” She thought. “I’m going network.” “Police say they suspect Ron Harrison of Conifer as the bomber. He was found at the scene less than 25 feet from the explosion.” She said without missing a beat. “Since he has not regained consciousness, it is still unclear as to Harrison’s motive for destroying the Pepsi Center. Police estimate the bomb killed at least 1000 people. Jim.” “Thanks, Anita.” Jim replied brusquely, still incensed that Anita got the lead. “Ron Harrison is well known in the Denver area. After a successful stint leading the Buffs in the late seventies, Harrison began a high profile career as a real estate agent and a major land developer all over the state.” “You really are a cold-hearted bitch.” Jim hissed his agreement with the field reporter when they were clear. Anita didn’t even notice that Jim speaking. She was so excited she could barely contain herself. She wanted badly to celebrate her flawless story. “That did it.” She thought. “God, I am good.” Chapter 2 A bead of sweat ran down his forehead and directly into his left eye. His attempts to blink it out proved futile. Normally, he would have wiped his forehead, but he had no time for that now. Besides being busy, he was scared beyond belief. Since he couldn’t decide if he should let the fear paralyze him or run away, he decided to stay and do what he was here to do. He had never dealt with anything like this before. And although none of them knew it, twenty thousand lives depended on him. Even though it probably meant he was going to be dead in less than a minute, he was going to do what he needed to do because his only son was in the crowd. Even though they had struggled to make even the most remote connection for the last twenty-five years, Ron Harrison was willing to give his life for Ron, Jr., for Ronnie. All he had to do was cut the wire. If he cut the right one, there were no problems. The wrong one, game over – no second chance. Ron shouldn’t be here. It wasn’t like he had a death wish, but he couldn’t stand by and let all those people die. He could have tried to call the cops, but he knew the bomber had a remote control. So, it was too risky to use the cell phone and if he left, the bomber might see him and he didn’t want to risk letting him know he was on to him. No the best chance was for him to be the hero and even if the bomb blew now, the death toll would be much lower, since the gates had just opened. No, it was up to him and he had to make the decision right now. “Damn, what the fuck am I doing here?” Ron thought to himself. “Like I need this shit. Okay, take it easy. How tough can this be? I know this guy, he is not that smart. I don’t have to worry about it going of because I cut a wire. Just have to make sure I cut the right one. Another bead of sweat rolled into his eye, the stinging sensation was way too much this time. He had to drop the wire and wipe the sweat from his eye. “Damn, that’s it! I am just cutting the red one.” He said out loud. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” A voice said sternly. “Cause then I gotta kill you and re-splice it. “What are you doing here?” Ron asked taken completely by surprise. “Where the fuck did you come from?” “I’m a fuckin’ professional, man.” The voice continued. “You don’t think I wouldn’t check out my work, do ya? This is going off with out a hitch and you certainly aren’t stopping me, you obnoxious fuck.” “Really?” Ron said as he stood up and puffed out his chest. “Well, I’m cutting the wire and then I’m going to kick your ass. What do you think about that?” “We’ll you are a big man, but there is this one thing see. I have this guy on my side.” The bomber said as he produced a 9 mm semi-automatic from his coat pocket and pointed it at Ron. All of the blood ran from Ron’s face. He knew this fucker and he knew he wasn’t messing around. That meant Ron was dead right now without even a chance to save all the people. In a flash Ron acted, he dove to the left just as the bomber pulled the trigger. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul Gavin Copyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.

Why I am doing this

For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to tell stories. Funny stories, crazy stories, ghost stories - you name it. There was never a time when I couldn't come up with a story. I made a few attempts at writing in college. But it always seemed like something, drinking maybe, got in the way. Then after college, life seemed to get in the way. To me, the one of the most important things in life is being able to carrying my own weight. That means paying rent, buying car insurance, food - you get the idea. Even though my parents always had money - nothing extravagant - but they could have given me spending money, paid for my college and subsidized me and my wife after we graduated while I spent time becoming a writer. But,I preferred to make my own money. That meant I had to work which I have been doing since I was 13-years old. I spent my twenties working at some pretty crappy jobs for very low pay, but I always made enough to do what I needed to do. Finally, I got sick of that life and went back to school – which I managed to pay for and still kept paying the mortgage. My thirties were spent making up for all the time I lost working to live. Living the American dream, stimulating the economy, buying this and that, traveling over there and having a great time doing it. But I still felt the need to tell stories. Finally, five years ago, I sat down and wrote my first novel – “Progressing Rapidly Over Uneven Terrain”. Then I set about the daunting task of getting someone to read it – not an easy thing to do. After getting no response from agents or publishers, I decided to self-publish. Even though it’s been available online for two years at http://www.lulu.com/content/64761, I’ve only sold 9 copies. Currently, I am writing a new story and I would like to serialize here to see if others think I have the talent that I think I have and maybe build a readership. I have a seemingly endless supply of stories, but it doesn’t seem to make much sense to write them down if no one is reading them, does it? I will post the first chapter tonight and then do a chapter a week to see what you think. Tags: Fiction, Online Book, Rebeleyeball, Paul GavinCopyright (c) 2006 Paul Gavin. All rights reserved.