See what had happen was….

I started this blog as a place to store my short stories, sort of a cyber filing cabinet, and it got out of hand.  Seems like the fact that I could say what I wanted to, rant about what I wanted to, created a monster.  Thus did it begin.

But the stories are still there, maybe one day they’ll be polished enough to attract the attention of someone, and I’ll find a deranged publisher.  I have several more running around in my mind that I’d like to lay down in print, but haven’t had time lately to write.

I decided to start posting excerpts from some of the stories and see if anyone even pays attention to what I post, and is intriqued enough to go on and read them.

I’ll be keeping my eye on the site to see how many hits I get.  If you are crazy enough to read them, then please, by all means, leave a comment good or bad.

Peace Out

An excerpt from South of Southlands

The boy picked up dry ears of corn while the grandfather used a large flat shovel to scoop up corn and dump into the basket. Little mice scurried away into the mountain of corn on the crib floor.

When the basket was full, the grandfather slid it to the door and stepped down, shoving hungry cows back, “git back dere Molly, here now, here now, come on.”

He strolled away from the crib with the basket, shaking corn out onto the ground as he walked, the boy stayed in his perch in the crib, peeking over the door and tossing the occasional ear at an offending cow who dared peek back. He worriedly watched the grandfather to make sure he would come back. The ever present fear of being left in the crib haunted him for once, thinking the boy was with him, the grandfather had gone back to the house only to return and find the boy sobbing inside.

 The grandfather slowly made a large circle dispensing the corn, and returned to the crib, opening the door he slid the basket inside and picked up the child again. Situating the boy on his shoulder just so, he strode over to the hay barn and again placed the boy inside. This was one of the boy’s favorite parts of the day, putting out the hay. On the south side of the hay barn, a trough ran the full length of the building, and he was small enough to walk from end to end, dragging hay for the cows, which were still busy eating the corn. He always made sure he started at the end away from the door and worked his way back to keep from getting caught by an eager cow. He finished before they arrived, and then began to hunt in the hay stored inside for mice nest. Once he’d found a whole family of small mice, pink and hairless, in a nest built inside a can of rusty bolts someone had left there. He’d proudly shown his grandfather, who took the can and without ceremony, dumped all the mice onto the ground for the barn cats that roamed freely among the buildings.  The boy had been upset for a while about that, but the grandfather had explained that the cats would care for the mice, and that explanation was enough for the boy. Years later, he found occasion to use the same excuse with his own children.