All posts tagged: Prose

A Work of Art, Chapter 1

That motorcycle noise from that neighbor behind the house, across the backyard, woke him into a headache. What time could it be? Max felt like he could be dead, or on his way to his death. His left eye discerned the number 12 on the digital clock and closed again. It would be one of those days, the day after too much drinking, something he had vowed to never repeat again. Download: Chapter 1 – Max falls apart.pdf About “A Work of Art”

A Work of Art, Chapter 2

“A work of art!” Peter thought, wondering at the same time why he would so qualify the gigantic, mostly white, digitally rendered portrait of the Golden Gate Bridge. He reminded himself not to judge. Sam stood behind the print, laid out on the living room floor where they had moved the furniture aside, waiting for a word from the frame maker. Download: Chapter 2 – the framing.pdf About “A Work of Art”

A Work of Art, Chapter 3

Peter! You have been at the party long enough! It’s time for you to stand up and leave these so-called artists, because it’s you that I need, because you are my artist. You, the chosen one, will paint me, and I’m not sure all that free booze has helped you stay focused on your goal, our common goal, in fact, my life. It’s almost twelve hours since you drew the first sketches, and what have you achieved since? Have you attained clarity in your mind about what it is that you want to paint? You must be tired, and I’m almost sorry this will be our night. Download: Chapter 3 – POV the painting.pdf About “A Work of Art”

A Work of Art, Chapter 4

“Very well, Sir, your man will be there at 7:00pm. Have a good day.” Jeremy said to the phone before replacing it on its wired base. A difficult customer, this man, he thought, a guest at the hotel where Jeremy worked. It would be one for Max, he thought. Download: Chapter 4 – Tour Guides About “A Work of Art”

A Work of Art, Chapter 7

They drove in Sam’s little antique red MG, a gift from Gerald, driven by Gerald who, as Sam recognized, was more adept at driving it in town and parallel parking. They drove with the top off, enjoying the September sun and the warmth that those who had been in San Francisco only a few years called unusual. They had learned, anyway, that to enjoy the ride in a convertible car, you had to leave the heater at its highest setting. It made no difference on a hot day, and tempered the inevitable variations between shade, sun, and wind. Download: Chapter 7 – Convergence About “A Work of Art”

A Work of Art, Chapter 8

They had reserved a table for three at Chez Matthieu, one of the newest French Fusion restaurants in the neighborhood. Reservations had to be made at least a week in advance, and Matthieu didn’t care if you were the Queen of England or a fabulous queen of the neighborhood. Patrons were never pushed out to make space for others, and they could stay for as long as they wanted, until closing time. Matthieu’s fans who had been to France said it was like being in France. You couldn’t ask for substitutions in the menu, which was short enough to limit your indecision. Download: Chapter 8 – Critics and love About “A Work of Art”

The Flight of the Lost One

An almond fell off the spoon, bounced on his right shoe, and landed on the dusty pavement near his customer’s foot. Diego plunged the spoon in his bucket again, hoping to remain steady if another explosion startled him. Every year, the firecrackers of December penetrated Diego’s mind to haunt him. Signs of celebration for those who lit them, preparing for Christmas and New Year, they awoke in Diego the feelings he had tried to put to rest for many years already. The peddler of nuts – cashews, almonds, macadamia, etc. – not normally affected by the noises of everyday life in Guatemala, the passing of trucks, tuk-tuks, and buses, could not blend the explosions into his soundscape. So many years had passed since the end of the war and his daily nightmare, that he had managed to forget most of it. He could now make a modest living from the sales of nuts to passersby, mostly tourists with little else to do than considering the flow of good deals coming to their eyes. Over time …

Let the Jaw Drop, a one-page story

Click Here to Download the PDF BEFORE THE THEATRE PLUNGED into complete darkness, a serious voice asked the members of the audience to turn their cell phones off, and to unwrap their candy now, rather than later, when the urge to cough would warrant it. To Dorothy, these were somewhat contradictory life instructions, for what should one do with the unwrapped candy? It probably mattered less than the annoyance she felt at her husband consequently unwrapping a piece of gum, because of how he chewed it – with such an extreme jaw drop that one could hear the clicking of his overused masseter muscle, and observe his ears as they moved, as if directly attached to the jaw. Years ago, they had laughed together at his ability to move his ears, and even parts of his ears, independently… Click Here to Download the PDF

Enclosed, a Short Story

Download the PDF (4 pages, printable on two-sided letter-size paper, or display on your computer) I GOT STUCK IN THE ELEVATOR, somewhere below the fortieth floor of my attorney’s building. I did not panic, of course, but strangely enough I had a sense that the incident could have been related to something I did. I am not superstitious, and not even religious, so I rarely attribute an event like a power failure in an elevator to a higher authority. Yet, when you are inside an elevator, you can’t resist the thought that you are at the mercy of an invisible force… Download the PDF

A Work of Art

I’ve started working on this project again, after nearly two years.  I think my attitude towards it has changed, and I’m more comfortable with it.  One important detail is that I got excited reading the drafts, posing the hard question: which draft will I take, or should I just rewrite these anyway?  How do I deal with the complexity of a novel, writing chapters not in order, filling blank chapters that I may not be as excited about as others… So today I decided to turn off the Internet and the phone (that was easy, if you know my aversion to the phone), and work. Here’s an excerpt, just a paragraph really.  The story is about a painting of a young man after an encounter, and how the painter falls in love with his art and his subject. He woke up at ten past ten, the hands of his alarm clock spread in panic. He had to open his shop at eleven, and he was sure there would be a customer waiting at the door …