To begin...
I don't write erotica or porn (soft or hardcore). Do not look for signs of either in my writing. Conversely, I have no issues with any writer who chooses to pursue those genres. There is definitely a niche market, money to be made, and a good segment of readers seeking to be entertained by their writing.
I do try to write with emotion. And I try to write what I know.
Every beginning writer has heard those words. "Write what you know." It's a good way to start. It is the basis for what I write and it is the subject of today's post.
It was late summer. The University of Georgia campus in Athens was alive with the busyness of college life. Walter Templeton, my friend and cohort through many misadventures, walked in, waving a flyer he'd taken from the Russell dorm community board. The unadorned page, in the simplest, yet most inviting of phrases, announced a community cookout at the Tri Delt sorority house. We should be there, the flyer told us. We needed to be there.
The decision was made before I had a chance to speak. One does what one must do.
Passing the gate onto the beautifully manicured lawn, Walter and I were greeted by two of the most beautiful and evocatively dressed women we'd ever encountered. It seemed a natural thing to take the cups they offered. Anything within must be nectar, having come from these flawless creatures.
We were led through a host of smiling faces. Handsome guys, gorgeous girls, hands offered and shaken, smiles and glances, pats on the back and words of welcome abounded.
A large pit had been dug in the center of the spacious back lawn. Preparations must have taken days. Chunks of firewood, gathered, hauled, and thrown into the waiting maw had been set alight. A large spit spanned the entire length of glowing embers. It turned and softly clicked, carrying a beautiful side of beef.
Everything had been prepared and waited each eager plate and fork, but that was for later. Now was for finishing the thirst quenching amber essence in our cups. Delicate hands lifted, tilted, pressed, insisted against the cups in our hands. Alison and Julia had a second offering ready. I don't actually recall their names. But within the ether of memory, Alison and Julia fit very nicely.
The second urging led to the third and a natural fourth. Walter and I were led by the hand into the cool downstairs of the house. We exchanged a glance, smiling as friends do. The fifth urging of liquid intoxication offered and consumed, the girls made their decisions. Julia pulled Walter across the room and I followed, with Alison leading the way.
It seemed odd that they would stop in the center of the room. It seemed odd that Walter and I faced each other across the green surface of a ping-pong table. It seemed odd that Alison took the now empty cup from my hand, sliding a paddle and ball in its place. It seemed odd that we were supposed to play ping-pong, doubles ping-pong.
Alison and Julia looked in high competitive mode. Walter couldn't wipe the smile from his face. I stood there, looking, wondering what would happen next.
Alison touched my arm, smiled, and told me it was my serve.
I wondered what the prize would be for the victor. I wondered what would happen if we won the first point. I wondered if Alison would lean against me and kiss me for each small victory. I wondered if this was strip ping-pong.
I
had
to
win
this
point.
I drew back, tossed the ball in the air, and brought my paddle forward with a Goliath force.
It was surprising to all four of us. The ball spun and sailed and turned and struck, dropping back onto the surface after hitting Alison in the side of the head.
Walter was the science guru. He knew the laws of physics. Yet he was completely dumbstruck. What caused the ball to sail sideways instead of across the net?
I was the English major. I was good with words. Naturally I handled the situation with tact and etiquette.
"Oops."
That was all I had. I had been using words, writing poems, waxing eloquent for years. But all I had at the moment was "Oops".
Alison handed the ball into my waiting grasp. This time it would be different. This time I would use less force and spin. This time I would think my way to a perfect serve.
This time I hit Alison just below her chin.
I wasn't surprised when Alison and Julia walked away. I wasn't surprised when Walter started laughing. I wasn't surprised when we were told to have a nice evening and shown back to the gate. But that was the way of things.
I've thought about that day, and many others like it, when I've been writing. I've thought about the anticipation and the disappointment, the embarrassment and the laughter. I've thought about all the might have been's.
Every moment in life holds a lesson and a well of emotions. Many of mine, though embarrassing in the moment, have led me here.
Gabriel Simmons, last weeks "click on" offering, was written from a sense of pain and rejection I'd felt at one time. This weeks offering taps into another of the emotions from my past. When writing, I find the sad and embarrassing moments to be the best fuel for every question of "what might be?"
I hope you've enjoyed.
This weeks selection provides the opening pages from one of my "What's Coming Next" projects. Assuming Room Temperature is a crime thriller I wrote in 1999-2000. I am "rebirthing" it for today's world. My wife, Kelly, enjoys my writing, but has a hard time with this one. She loves the way it's written, but the villain is the stuff of nightmares. The work is not yet edited and may have indent issues in the translation from Word. Click the Contact button with any thoughts and suggestions. I hope you enjoy.
8/9/16 I've included the first six chapters in the click here selection.