History of the Trap: Epilogue - Morgan Cracks A Window Part 3

3

He was listening on his new headphones, delighting in the rich sound from his state of the art stereo system, enjoying the music from artists he had not really heard of before. He had just been "grooving" to Band on the Run by Paul McCartney and the Wings (the Beatles had broken up - hard to get used to that) and was just starting to get into Bennie and the Jets by Elton John.

Consequently, he missed the gentle smack of pebbles raining against his bedroom window.  His room was at the opposite end of his parents, in his family's rambling ranch house.  He even missed the rapping that followed.  At least until the Elton John song ended. 

He heard the rapping before the next song started, and took off his earphones, turning to see her at the window.  Oh great, he thought, one of the last persons he wanted to deal with.

"Open up!" she said, with an urgent command.  "It's me!"  Oh, god!  Everything she did seemed urgent and melodramatic.

He came over to the window.  "What is it?  What do you want?"

"Let me in!"

"I don't know if I should.  I'm not supposed to have girls in my room."

She was indignant.  "I'm not just a girl!  I'm Morgan LaDona Tigh!  I'm one of the survivors, you idiot!  Just like you are, whether you care to admit or not!"

He reluctantly opened the window, seeing that there was actual crack spider-webbing at the edge of the glass.  How was he going to explain that to this parents?  "Make it quick."

She came into the room, looking over all the stereo and camera equipment.  "Wow!  You do like your tunes, don't you?"

"What do you want, Morgan?"

"What do I want?  What do I always want?  We have to figure out some ways to help Lance."

"He told us to let him handle it himself.  That's what I'm doing."

Morgan paced the room, nervous.  Her energy level was sky high, as if she was on something.  But he knew better.  Morgan didn't need drugs to be hyper.  "We can't just sit back," she answered.  "He's on a course where either he'll be jailed for the rest of his life, or confined to a looney bin.  Those are his choices.  He deserves better.  He deserves to be free."

He slumped into his desk chair.  He wanted to have to stop thinking about this.  He wanted not to have to worry about what would happen to Lance.  "I know he does.  But I don't know what I can do without ruining my own life."

"Have I lost you?" she asked.  "Are you denying what happened too?"

"No.  Of course not," he said reluctantly.  "But he asked us to deny it publicly, and that's what I'm going to do."

"I'm not asking you to do anything in public.  I'm asking you to help me with something else."

He was confused as to what else she wanted.  "With what?"

"We need to find her.  We need to talk to her."

He didn't need to ask who she was referring to.  He knew all too well.  "W-why?"

"Because she knows things.  She more than anyone else can help us put this back together.  What she may know may help up break this open for Lance and save him."

"Are you sure?  She didn't even survive!"

"Yes, but you know how things ended.  Even if she didn't survive, she's special, you know that."

He turned away from Morgan.  This was more than he could bear.  "Why me?  Why do you think I can help?"

She put her hand on his shoulder and turned him towards her.  "Because at one time you two were very close.  I know, in the end, you felt betrayed by her.  But you have to set that aside and think of the best interests of Lance and the rest of the survivors."

He looked at Morgan, his eyes brimming with sadness, on the verge of tears.  "But she didn't survive.  No one who didn't survive remembers anything."

"I think she is the exception that proves the rule.  You know why.  I saw her very shortly after we came back, and I could see it in her eyes, even from across the school student lounge.  She knew something."

"And based on that you want us to go spelunking into her cave?"

"Don't talk about her like that!"  She pulled away from him.

"I'm sorry.  I just can't believe we're going to do this."

Morgan caught what he said.  "You mean, you're willing to do it?"

He sighed.  "I think you're crazy, Morgan, to be completely honest.  But if there is any possibility, I guess we have to look into it.  Besides, someone has to make sure you don't accidently start World War Three or anything."

Morgan hugged him.  "Thank you!  You won't regret it!"

"Oh, I already do!"

She started to go out his window.  "Meet me tomorrow night at 8 outside her place.  You remember where it is?"

"I remember."  Really, how could he forget?

He closed the window after Morgan had left.  She was still like a hurricane, stirring things up wherever she went.  But she was devoted to Lance, and he had faith that she was operating in his friend's best interests.

He put the headphones back on and was ready to get lost in I Won't Last A Day Without You by a duo called The Carpenters.

He remembered her, the girl he had agreed to see with Morgan.  Yes, there were things that she did that were terrifying, disturbing.  But there was something else there too.

There was also love.

Maybe there could be again.

THIS CONCLUDES

HISTORY OF THE TRAP: YEAR ONE

COMING SOON

HISTORY OF THE TRAP: RESTORATION, REVOLUTION & REBELLION

History of the Trap: Epilogue - Morgan Cracks A Window Part 2

2

Westland Village is a small but very upscale subdivision on the northern edge of Loren, close to the border of the wealthiest part of Huron.  Many of the most well off of Huron lived here, including the Tighs.

It was a large Tudor style home, looking impressive with a gray granite front around the doorway, and large oriel windows with red shutters, and white stucco laced with brown framing squares.  There was a huge enclosed garage, currently closed by a massive garage door.  Inside the garage were a couple of the newest model Cadillacs, but outside the garage in the driveway was another car, the red Camaro convertible that Eddie "Speedy" Tigh had given his daughter, Morgan LaDona Tigh.  The vehicles were easy for Eddie Tigh to acquire as one of the businesses he owned was Speedy's Cadillac & Chevrolet. Morgan had used her Camaro very little in the last month, as she was not going to school.  Her mother, Lu Ann Tigh, had decided it was okay for her not to go back to school until the fall.  Eddie was less sure keeping her out of school was a good thing, and there had been frequent intense arguments, usually winding up with Morgan shutting herself up in her room.

And this is where Morgan was now.  In her room, after another fight about school, she was furiously scribbling another note to bring to Lance.  Many of these notes she wound up crumpling up and tossing aside.  She felt she did not have Lance's gift for language, and often was embarrassed by the naked sentimentality of what she wrote.  She knew she had to balance things just right with Lance.  She wanted to support him, make sure he knew she loved him and would always be there for him, but do so without smothering him.

She had seen Lance three more times since the Razzbutt incident.  She probably should be grateful that she could see him at all, after pretending the Razzbutt was an explosive.  But Dr. Duncan had seen the value in her contact with Lance, and she had been on her best behavior since. 

It was hard to talk openly with Lance, as they both believed their conversations were being monitored (they weren't just being monitored - Doctor Duncan was recording every word - Recording Sessions MTLM1 and on).  Sometimes they would just sit and hold hands.  She was content with that, something the old Morgan never would be.  Once or twice she had felt him gently squeeze her hand, and at that her heart would almost flip out of her body.

She was careful in the notes she brought him, fearing they might be scrutinized by others.  She brought one longer note, running from three to five pages, detailing mundane things about her own world, and about things she thought might be of interest to Lance.  But she also brought him one very short note, on a small scrap of paper that fit into her hand and she would surreptitiously slip it into his. One had been as simple as "I am with you - always".  The most recent had been, "I think he can be approached again" and also included the initials of the person she was referring to.  Lance shook his head no, but even though she wanted to be completely respectful to Lance's wishes, she also knew she needed to do whatever she could to help him be free again.  She now understood she just couldn't just bring him out of his confinement, but that didn't mean she couldn't figure out ways to help.

Frustrated, she crumpled and tossed the note she had started, a half page that had already started to dribble into over romantic nonsense.  She was preparing to start over when she heard a knock on the door.

"Honey?" inquired her father.  "You in there?"

What an interruption!  She didn't even want to answer him.  She saw the door knob turn.  "Don't come in here!" she shouted.

"Why not?" shouted back her father.

"I'm not decent!" she indignantly replied.  She was actually fully dressed, in blue jeans and a red t-shirt.

"Well, get decent, sweetpuffs.  There's someone here to see you!"

Morgan was skeptical that it was anyone she wanted to see. "Who?"

"Does that matter?  It's company!  It's someone who wants to see you!"

"It does matter, Daddy!  Who is it?"

"It's just your old boyfriend.  You know, the one you were crazy about until just a few weeks ago?  C'mon, honey!  It's Mark Granite."

Her breathing actually stopped.  She turned pale, and after a few seconds, she gasped. "No!  You know I don't want to see him!"

Eddie Tigh stood outside his daughter's door, his anger building.  He thought her visits with Doctor Duncan might have made her better, but they had left her pretty much the same.  She was a bit more cheery, but still stayed isolated and obsessed with that murdering scum, Lance Martin.  If he could see that she was getting worse, he might be able to sue Duncan's ass off, but so far that had not been the case.  What the heck, he thought, I might sue him anyway. 

Her change of attitude towards Mark Granite confused him the most.  They were as thick as thieves before this pretend Trap nonsense, and he was sure he was going to be the one.  He was a gifted athlete, and he came from a good family.  Mark's father was the head of surgery at Huron General.  Eddie had reached his limit.  "Morgan, I don't care.  You've got to stop this.  You're going to come out and be courteous to this boy.  He just wants to see that you're doing okay.  You and he were very close until this nonsense, and I insist you at least come down and say hello."

"No!" she asserted.  "I'm not going to do it!"

"Yes, you are!" he shouted.  Morgan could picture her Daddy literally putting his foot down.  He continued in a quieter but more menacing tone. "You know, you only get to see Lance because I give my permission that it can happen."

"I don't like being threatened, Daddy.  That's not going to go over well when I tell Doctor Duncan."

That shocked Eddie a bit.  "Look, I'm sorry.  I lost my temper.  I'm just asking as your father, and I'm sure your mother agrees.  She's downstairs with him now.  I'm begging you.  Please come down and see him."

Morgan sighed.  She put down her pen, and realized what she would have to do.  She didn't want to put it off any longer.  Everything that evil psychopath did in the Trap came flooding back to her.  It terrified and shamed her.  "All right, Daddy.  Give me a minute to get dressed and I'll be down there.  You go down and tell him it'll just be a minute, okay, Daddy?"

"Sure thing, sweetpuffs!"  Eddie left, happy, excited to tell Mark Granite that Morgan would be coming down soon.

Morgan grabbed a light jacket and opened her second story window.  She knew what she had to do.  And it certainly wasn't meeting Mark Granite.

Left Out of the Prom

Many schools have both a Junior Prom and a Senior Prom.  My school did not.  Why?

It's because the decision as to whether or not to have a Junior Prom was left in the hands of the Seniors.  Each year, it was up to them to decide, as a class, whether or not the Juniors would be able to hold a prom.  And the Seniors, each and every year, would decide the same thing.  No.  No, there will be no Junior Prom.  Why?

Because they did not deserve it yet.  They had not been in school as long, they had not worked as hard, they had simply not paid their dues yet.  Besides, when those Seniors were Juniors, they did not get to enjoy a prom.  Why should the current Juniors get to enjoy a prom when they did not?

The whole idea that some people are not worthy enough, that they have not put in the time and effort to justify what  they get, that you are entitled where they are not, permeates our political landscape.  It the "others" privileges that put us at risk and restrain our resources, not the ones we get.  Those privileges are our reward because we earned them, we worked hard for them, and the "other" did not.

Many of us strive to elect politicians whom we believe we will believe will cut or withhold resources from those we deem not worthy.  Over recent decades, Georgia has careened wildly from a state with one party rule by Democrats to one party rule by Republicans, with very little transition time in-between.  This limits the ability of compromise, of two sides working together to bring about stronger, more inclusive legislation.  This creates laws that strives to leave more people out of the prom.

District gerrymandering and other factors have created monolithic voting areas, where there is very little opposition or discussion, indeed, where it can become dangerous even to utter an opposing point of view.  Sometimes people vote reflectively, without a lot of thought, without a lot of consideration to what their own interests may be.

I'm sure that there are number of public school personnel, lunch room workers and bus drivers, many of whom voted for the party currently in complete control of Georgia, who are surprised to find that they may have there health insurance cut off.  That these dedicated workers are going to be defined as part time workers and thereby excluded from something no one in modern society can do without - adequate health insurance.  Their hours are such, particularly with the bus drivers, that it is very difficult to find other work, particularly full time work that provides health insurance.  And instead of being more inclusive, instead of striving to expand who can get health insurance, they are going to throw more people out into an environment where the state has decided not to expand Medicaid, and is fighting the Affordable Care Act tooth and nail. More and more people are being left out of the prom.

When you vote for people who say they hate government and want to reduce it's size, and that's your philosophy, that's fine.  But when you look at where to cut, don't start with the "other".  Start with yourself, and think about what you are willing to cut that benefits you.  Because, trust me, they won't hesitate to do just that.

When the prom doors close, do not be surprised if you are standing on the outside, locked out, left out of the prom.  Surprise!

Wednesdays Are Once Again Wandering

I have thoughts for about a half dozen posts, but none of them are coalescing fast enough to complete in the limited time I have in the morning to write.  Tax season is now in the thick of it, and my mind is in a foggy forest, where I can make out vague shapes but not individual trees.

This is a picture of puppies I found,.  I don't know why it's here.  I just like puppies.

This is the President of the United States.  He was elected twice.  You wouldn't know that around here.  You also wouldn't know that he is probably the most accomplished and successful President of our lifetime, rescuing us from the deepest recession of our lifetime  (unless you're over 80).  But it doesn't matter where I'm at.  If he balanced the budget, they would complain he hadn't eliminated the debt left behind by other administrations.  If he cured cancer, they would say he's putting doctors out of work. If he walked on water, they would call him Satan.  But me? I like the President of the Untied States.

This is like a spaceman or something.  It represents the world of science fiction.  Not everybody likes science fiction and fantasy.  But enough do to, say, make The Game of Thrones the highest rated show ever on HBO.  Many of the top movies that have made the most money at the box office are science fiction/fantasy.  That irritates some people.  It does not irritate me.  I like writing in those fields, and have just finished a novel called History of the Trap.  Some people will be inclined not to read it because it has elements of science fiction/fantasy in it.  Well, others might not because it is written by an amateur writer and not a real writer.  But no matter.  I like science fiction and fantasy.

Here's something I don't like.  Tax season.  Blech.

Oh, well.  Back to the stone of grind.

Winter Theater in Waycross!

Please note the above poster dates should be 2015.

Play by Ossie Davis, noted actor/activist and native of Waycross. Peformed for Black History Month and as a tribute to Ossie Davis The dates are Feb. 20 and 21 2015 at 8 p.m. and Sunday, the 22nd, at 3 p.m.

You won't want to miss this one!  Written by one of the area's most successful and extraordinary artists, Ossie Davis, this play is a special treat performed by an exceptional cast.  Director Barabara Griffin and the Okefenokee Heritage Center are to be commended for bringing this fine play to us!  Be sure to make plans to see it now!





ALSO.....coming the first two weeks in March, Cinderella!  Performed at the Ritz by the Waycross Area Community Theater!





AND....coming in early spring....ANNIE!....by Flying Dragon Arts Center!



If you are a theater group in the area, and you have an upcoming production, please let me know....I will happily promote it on The Strait Line!

Pixalated Weekend and Other Monday Musings

Our vestry was recognized and blessed at church Sunday, both new and old members alike.  In the front are Brandy Holland, Wayne Hardy, Una Fulford, Ann Combs, and me, looking like a fat green frog.  In the back is Allen Hamilton, Steve Bean, John Pharr, Ric Charlatt, Rev. Kit Brinson, Senior Warden David Rollison and Junior Warden Dayton Lang.  Has ever a more motley crew been assembled?

Another very special part of mass today, was Benjamin stepping up and being a first time usher!  He did a fantastic job, with no trips and stumbles like his old man is prone to.  I was very, very proud of him.  He has been a member of Grace Episcopal all his life, what we call a "cradle Episcopalian".  It has been wonderful to watch as he has grown from baptism, to acolyte, to confirmation, to starting to take on more and more grown up responsibilities in the church.  Who knows?  Maybe someday soon he'll be in that vestry group up there!

Benjamin spent some time on the computer this weekend, and then came out and said he was "making pixies".  We thought, you mean, like fairies, for a game or something?  No, he must have found some art program somewhere and is making pictures pixel by pixel.  He says his friends are starting to request some too!

This is just a heads up in case you see my profile picture radically change, here or on other social media.

Woot!  Woot!  Our foster, Hugo, was adopted yesterday!  He had been with us a little over nine weeks, and grown to be a very friendly and happy dog.  Someone has a very special dog in their home now!  I will miss him, but I am happy he found a good home.

-------------------------------

A frustrating weekend writing wise, but that's often the case in tax season.  The review process for History of the Trap is taking longer than I expected, and my thin skin is showing.  I am anxious just to get it out there, but fear that changes and marketing may be more than I can handle at this time of year.

A topic that had been on my mind the last couple of weeks I did get a chance to write a post on Sunday.  I felt like I needed to say something, even though it was a topic that was probably bound to arouse more resentment than anything else I could write on right now.  I feel like I failed as a writer, as the reaction to it was not what I was expecting.  I led people down a line of reasoning and reaction that missed the point of what I was writing.  I struggled for almost two weeks with what to say, and still did not achieve it.

Oh, well.  One does the best one can, and then strive to do one's best and risk falling short someplace else.

Until next time,

T. M. Strait

Heroes

Heroes.

A definition of hero from the online encyclopedia Wikipedia:

A hero (masculine or gender-neutral) or heroine (feminine) (Ancient Greek: ἥρως, hḗrōs) is a person or character in literature who, in the face of danger and adversity or from a position of weakness, displays courage or self-sacrifice—that is, heroism—for some greater good. Historically, the first heros displayed courage or excellence as warriors. The word's meaning was later extended to include moral excellence.

........faces danger from a POSITION OF WEAKNESS

.......courage or self-sacrifice for a GREATER GOOD

........MORAL EXCELLENCE

Was there a greater hero than Jesus Christ?  Yes, he may have had all the powers of the divine, but he chose to live as one of us, to walk among us.  He didn't come as a ruler, a soldier armed with militaristic weapons, someone who dictated his will with brute force.  He was the light of the world, and illuminated us with the spoken word, with the greater power of love and faith, through parables, through healing, through the ultimate act of self-sacrifice.  He did not judge us from afar, or lay in ambush to punish us for our transgressions.  Jesus Christ was a true hero.

Was there a greater hero in modern times than Martin Luther King, Jr.?  Yes, he was not divine.  He was a human being with human weaknesses.  But that did not stop him from constantly putting himself on the line for the rights and dignity of others.  He demonstrated to us the infinite power of non-violent protest and demonstrations.  He moved this country farther on the path of love and tolerance and civil rights, than anyone ever dared dream, and moved it farther than violence and weaponry ever could.  His putting himself at risk finally caught up with him, as he was assassinated by a sniper's bullet. Martin Luther King, Jr.  was a true hero.

Does a hero also speak the truth to a culture that is not always ready to receive it?  Yes, both Jesus,and Martin Luther King, Jr. did that.  And so, admittedly to a lesser degree, but doing it nonetheless, does Michael Moore.  He spoke out about the Iraq War at a time when this country would not tolerate dissenting voices, creating a magnet of hatred for the millions that opposed him.  He walked into the halls of corporate power, without weapons or power or support, and challenged them in a way that had them running and hiding.  He reveals in his movies essential truths that sometimes takes us years to catch up to.  He's taken on the monolithic gun lobby, our broken health care system, and the weaknesses of capitalism.  And his reward has been vilification and death threats, to himself and his family.  It takes courage and bravery to be on the forefront of where we want to go, and where many are not ready to go yet.  Yes, like it or not, Michael Moore meets the definition of true hero.

Michael Moore, although clearly not a supporter of all our military engagements, is a true defender and lover of our soldiers and veterans.  He has done much over the years to support and defend them, particularly relating to veteran's benefits.  Michael has had military members in his family, including an uncle who lost his life in war, cut down by a sniper's bullet.

There have been many, many military heroes over the centuries.  Soldiers who have put themselves on the line to defend their fellow soldiers.  Whether or not the war was popular or just, they have done their all, and deserved to be commended, respected and honored.  

Whatever the front they are fighting on, religious or civic or military, for all those who stand bravely on the front lines, facing those who would resist and challenge, I owe you my respect, admiration and thanks.

You are heroes all.


UPDATE:  I normally don't like to do this, but I want to clarify some things that people have already jumped on.

I am NOT equating Michael Moore with Jesus Christ and Martin Luther King, Jr.  in level of achievement and importance.  He has said some important and courageous things, but I recognize, even though I often (but not always) agree with him, he is a propagandist.  His methods even leave me uncomfortable sometimes, like his pursuit and over-interrogation of an elderly Charlton Heston.  He just sometimes meets the definition of hero that I give. 

AS DO MANY OF US.  First responders, police, medical personnel, soldiers, union organizers, civil rights marchers, those who defend their families and homes....all these and more are heroes, and even more so than most, because their heroism is often not individually recognized and honored.  

If I have not made this abundantly clear in my original post, I humbly apologize.

History of the Trap: Epilogue, Morgan Cracks a Window Part 1

Epilogue

Morgan Cracks a Window

1

Doctor Frederick P. Duncan

Patient:  Lance E. Martin

Date: 6/7/74

Recording No.: LM23

....the delusion is much more elaborate than even I suspected.  He has gone into great detail, and has only gotten to the first year of what he has said were ten years trapped.  I think the number of details would have been even greater had he had more than two weeks to write.

His story is interesting but implausible, of course.  Even in the context of the fantasy he has concocted, it impossible to believe they would have the resources to sustain themselves for such a long period.  Even given the presence of supplies in a fallout shelter, I would not think they had enough food for one or two weeks, much less ten years.  Continued electricity, unlimited water, having enough clothing apparel, the stars stagnate in the sky,  how the crops gestate so quickly yet the children do not appear to age hardly at all, with little need to shave, and the girls irrationally not experiencing a menstrual cycle - all of this is highly improbable.

Well, I must check myself.  I am acting as if his delusion is something that needs to be disproved.  I must have another session soon with Morgan LeBow Tigh, and see if her memories of the so-called first year coincide with Lances, if only to see how widespread their mass hysteria is.  I believe that, for at least those two, that they have communicated and reinforced the shared delusion.  I wonder how far into connected detail they can go.  They do not appear to have much to do with each other in the story Lance has told so far.  That may change as his description of the delusion continues.

I need to take into account, that by his own admission, Lance is an elaborate storyteller.  In the world of his delusion, he is known primarily as the writer of a soap opera, The Sands of Loren, sort of a delusion within a delusion.

Based on his narrative, I am able to narrow his diagnosis.  He is not a sociopath, as he does reflect an empathy and caring for others, and he agonizes over the effect of his decisions on others.  He is not a psychopath, as he does not appear to delight or dwell on the more violent aspects of his tale.  He does express a high order of delusional thinking and paranoia, which may border into schizophrenia.  He also appears to be depressed and morose, but not suicidal.

The question I am faced with, from the state's point of view, is whether he is competent to stand trial.  On that, I have not yet decided.  Except for his incredible delusion, he appears to be able to discuss things rationally and calmly, and he understands everything I ask of him.  I have seen no aggression or anger coming from him.  At present, I have prescribed no medication for him.  I want his mind as unclouded as possible while he writes his history of the trap.

The writings do say a lot about his relationships with family and friends.  He admires his father a great deal, but must feel like he falls short in his father's eyes.  I have seen nothing but love and support from Clive Martin to his son, and he has been Lance's most frequent visitor.  Still, there is probably strain there as Mr. Martin is very successful and well-liked, someone whom Lance sees excel at every day as Principal of his school, and Lance may feel like it is impossible for him to meet those standards.

His relationship with his sister, Diane, seems positive but distant.  I am surprised that she has not played a larger role in his story to date, but that may come in time.

The most interesting relationship is with the family member that is not in the trap; his mother.  His dream sequence with her and his longing references to her indicates that he misses her a great deal.  This is particularly interesting in that his mother, Patricia Marie Martin, walked out of the house a little over two years ago and has not been seen since.  It is not known what happened to her, whether she just quit the family and moved to somewhere else either by herself or with a lover, whether she was abducted and murdered, or even whether she just wandered out on to Lake Huron and got swallowed in its depths.  The date she went missing?  On April 17, 1972 - exactly two years to the date that Lance's trap fell.

And yet, he writes about her as if she had never left.  As if she were home the morning the trap fell.  Now, in his narrative, he did not see her that morning because she supposedly had not gotten up yet, but he talks as if she was there.  Mr. Clive Martin has told me that the hardest part to deal with (other than the murder Lance may have committed) is that his son seemed to expect that his mother was home, and was shocked to find out she was not.  It was the most emotion Lance had shown in his return from the trap, crying and raging for most of a night.

If the State and individual parents will allow me, it would be helpful to talk to different friends of Lance and see how the state of their relationships compares to what he has described in his narrative.  It would be particularly interesting to interview Lisa Carlton, the one he seemed to care so much for and was so devastated when he failed to protect her.  What was their real connection?  Had they had much contact?  Was she aware of his strong feelings for her? 

Well, these are just some of my thoughts on initial review of his so-called history.  I am going to speak with him tomorrow morning at 9, and will try to get more clarification, and further refine my diagnosis.

End recording session LM23.

History of the Trap: April Again Part 3

3

I know.

I'm running out of time.

In a few minutes, your people will come to take the last of my writings.  I have pushed off your deadlines as much as you'll let me. 

One more thing.

I followed him as much as I could.  I didn't think I had any special talent for spying, but I wasn't somebody many took particular notice of.  He noticed me once, and I thought the jig was up.  He came up to me and said, "Do you miss her much?"  He didn't seem angry, which is what I would have expected.  After all, as the trial ended, he had just basically threatened to kill me by mouthing the words, "You're next", to me from across the room.  He seemed almost sad, even wistful as he said it, which was not the emotion I was expecting at all.  I was so taken aback, that he was gone before I could I even think of a reply.

Late at night, Robert Pelley would often sneak out to the boy's locker room.  He would meet with other guys there, and they would laugh and tell jokes, often crude jokes about what girls they would like to 'do it' with.  His buddies, Walter Drayton and Stevey Tubbs (with Robert, they formed the trio Artie and I called 'The Three Hoodlums') were often there.  At other times there were various athletes, including Mark Granite and Wilbur James.

How did I observe this?  I had a key to Coach Walterzak's office, and to the adjoining equipment room, keys that I had obtained from my father's old office, now the new principal's office, Mr. Larry Tate.  How did I get into Mr. Tate's office?  I had always had a key to my father's office, something they either forgot or never knew.

Going in to Coach Walterzak's office, I then entered the equipment room.  The equipment room opened into part of the men's locker room (the part that included benches, exercise equipment and whirlpools).  The door was slatted, like a closet door, and the slats could be opened ever so slightly so you could see what was going on in that first part of the locker room.

There was almost always drinking going on, the rough moonshine made from strawberries and other fruit.  I didn't think they were making it themselves - except for maybe Mark Granite or Wilbur James, that seemed to be well above their intelligence grade (I didn't know how to make it either, but I had no interest in it).  It had to have been David Izzner, which meant that he had made accommodations to the Grani-Knights, but making accommodations was what Izzner did best.  This almost certainly meant I could no longer count on him as an ally.

Occasionally, they had a few girls with them.  I am not a voyeur, and some of that I had to divert my attention from.  They seemed willing.  Other than that, I don't care to discuss it.

Anyways, I only have a few minutes left to write, so to the point.  There was a night, a night that was actually April 16th, the night before we would have been trapped one full year, a night where I lost where Robert Pelley was going.  And where did I go to try to find him?  To my hidey hole behind the door of the equipment room.

At first, I could just hear sobbing; sobbing that sounded if it came from an adult woman.  "Why?  Why are you doing this?" she pleaded, in a voice I instantly recognized, a voice that would have been one of the last ones I ever expected to hear coming from the men's locker room.   It belonged to Mrs. Dorrie Forsyth, and she sounded terrified.

I opened the slat more and I saw Robert Pelley.  But he did not have Mrs. Forsyth.  He was standing there, shivering, shaking with nervous laughter.  He looked crazed, terrified, his eyes bugging out.

Who had Mrs. Forsyth?  I turned towards the sound of the new voice I heard.  "Why? You ask why?" he said, oozing a sarcastic hatred.  "Because I can."

And then I saw it.  He took a small knife and raked it quickly across her throat.  Blood gushed out of her, even on to the face and hands of the boy who killed her.  Mark Granite stood there, smiling maniacally in his blood-splattered glory.  He let her body go, and she fell to the floor, dead.

I couldn't stop myself.  I let out a loud gasp.

Robert Pelley turned towards the equipment room door.  He stared right at where I stood.  I froze in fear.  He pointed towards the door.  "I heard something!  I think there's someone there!"

They both came towards the door, Mark Granite with his bloody knife in hand.

Your staff is here to pick up my writings.  I will have to finish this next time.

Poetry Back Ribs

I'm going try my hardest
To get my poetry back.
I will surely do my darndest.
I know that I've been slack.

But the late night fires
That used to fuel me
Have grown dim; I tires.
The next line I  don't see.

It's a tremendous strain.
My muse has done gone and fled.
Every thought is a terrible pain.
Nothing coherent to am I led.

There is no refrain that lights my soul.
No pentametric rhythm that gives me Joy.
If only I could pay a hard-earned toll,
Force my imagination to not be so coy.

There is no question about it.
Poetry is not for the feint of heart.
I really, really don't want to quit.
I just need to jump the cliff and start.

My Year In Writing 2014 Plus

It wasn't THE year in my writing life, but it was about the best one yet.

The Okefenokee Heritage Center Writer's Guild was stronger than ever. with fun, well-attended meetings, the launching of Poetry Nights, and a successful inaugural year for our Writing Contest.  We had over fifty entries, and some high quality winners.  Most of these winners are posted on The Strait Line - check them out!

I attended a great Writer's Conference in Wayne County, sponsored by Leslie Crane and the Wayne Arts Council, and spent quality time with award-winning writer Jack McDevitt.  If you like science fiction, and/or good writing, you need to check his books out!  My conversations with him gave me encouragement and focus for the rest of the year.

The Strait Line hit a record number of page views in November, well over 20,000.  It has gone back down some the last two months, but is still substantially more than what it was.  Politics, religion and family continue to draw the most page views.  My poetry has dried up, but maybe that will come back in 2016.  You never know with poetry.  I do miss having advertising.  It didn't bring in a lot of money, but it did help create the illusion that I was actually making money off writing.

One of the most exciting writing achievements of 2014, albeit starting late into the year, was that I will be having newspaper columns appear periodically in two newspapers, The Blackshear Times and Effingham Now.  I'm not sure how often they'll use the columns (The Blackshear Times have ran two so far), but I am submitting a new to them each week.  Hopefully, this will increase my name recognition and reading base.

I tried some to market a few short stories and poems, but I had trouble staying consistent with it, and I had no luck.  My focus shifted to concentrating on my two novel projects.  Crowley Stories: Swamp's Edge is now about two thirds finished, getting to the murder mystery that lay at the center of my original concept for the stories.

A few months ago, I stopped writing on the Crowley Stories, and instead focused exclusive on The History of the Trap.  It is with great pride that I am able to tell you that is now complete through a second edit!  It is currently going through a final review by a small group of writing/reading enthusiasts, and then I hope to ready it for publication!  I look forward to seeing it in print (and/or as an ebook), but right now, I am just happy that I actually finished a whole book project, one in excess of 85,000 words.

In the coming year, my plan is to finalize The History of The Trap and market it for someone else to publish, and failing that, to self-publish.  As unlikely as it may be, I can't come this far and not at least see if I can get it published.

I will be going back to the Crowley Stories and see if I can't finish that up.  This will give me a second book to market during the year.  Once the Crowley Stories are finished, I will exclusively work on short stories.  They will cover a variety of topics and genres.   Inspired by conversations with Jack McDevitt, I do hope to write some science fiction stories that are more optimistic in nature, to contrast with the dystopian thrust of much of current science fiction.

I continue to work with the Okefenokee Writer's Guild, and look forward to helping with the second Writer's Contest, with the hopes of making it bigger and better than ever.

For those of you who read what I write, and have followed me here or on Wattpad, I appreciate your support and kindness mare than you can imagine.  For those of you don't....well, you don't even know I just wrote this, do you?

Thank you all so much!  I will continue to strive to improve, and be as entertaining as a possum twirling plates on a stick in the middle of I-75.

Something like that.

Why Don't You Google It?

Why don't you Google it?

They have become the five most dismissive words in our modern language.  The new most devastating thing you can say to somebody (not including racial or personal slurs, obviously).

Why don't you Google it?

It's difficult for me to start conversations with people.  Sometimes I ask questions about stuff just to get things started.  Has this actor ever done anything before?  How does that really work?  Why do Baptists go to church twice on Sunday?  I'm trying to engage, people! Instead, I'll be abruptly and gruffly cut off with....why don't you Google it?

It didn't used to be that way.  Finding answers would require much more discussion and research.  In college, I and my roommate had a disagreement over who starred in the fifties classic, War of the Worlds....I thought it was Gregory Peck; he thought it was somebody else.  So we settled it in the best way we could at that time.  We wrote a letter to the Detroit Free Press movie/TV columnist, and waited for an answer.  Two weeks later, she responded in the newspaper, and we got our answer.  Yes, now all of metro Detroit and Ann Arbor now knew that I was wrong.  It starred Gene Barry, not Gregory Peck.  I owed somebody a lot of pizza.

Now, things are entirely different.  I can find out about who was in any movie or show at the drop of a hat.  Well, at the touch of a smart phone, looking it up within seconds on IMDb (Internet Movie Database) or a similar app (application).  Of course, all that knowledge at our fingertips, and so many of us use it to look up cat videos.

I wonder how a roommate would react now to that question.  If he was curious, you or he may look up the answer in an instant.  If he wasn't, he would just look up from his phone or tablet or laptop for a second, and say, "Why don't you Google it?" and then go back to ignoring you.

What a world.

Ripping Good Yarns: Oscar Nominees and the Lack of Rip

The beginnings of Ripping Good Yarns, as a group on Facebook, and as a label for a set of blog stories, began from primarily two motivations.  One was to have a place on Facebook where people could discuss their favorite TV shows, movies or books without a lot of commentary by people who either didn't like them or felt they were above such things.  Statements like - "I haven't watched television in years, I don't waste my time with such drivel", "I am way too busy to sit and read a book", "Movies are far too expensive to sit through such Hollywood crap".

The second was my seeing constantly, that in award shows, the truly entertaining was often shoved aside by biopics and arty films.  The great movies that made your heart beat fast, your pulse quicken, that told a melodramatic and involving story was pushed aside in favor of other films or programs.

And such is the case with the current crop of Oscar nominees.  Some of them are very good films.  But very few approach what I would call a ripping good yarn.

First, we can eliminate all the biopics and historical dramas.  There are three biopics in this year's crop - The Imitation Game,The Theory of Everything and American Sniper.  There is one historical drama, and that is Selma.  These are fine movies, and I have seen The Theory of Everything and Selma, and understand why they were nominated.  They're just by definition not Ripping Good Yarns.

An important word about biopics and historical dramas....non-documentary.  That means they are not meant to be historically perfect - that is impossible to achieve.  They are trying to tell you a story with important truths about a character and/or events, and they have to consolidate them to fit the two hours or so time frame that movies have.  The sexual peccadilloes of Stephen and Jane Hawkings, of Alan Turing, may not be drawn in full.  The gruffness of the American Sniper may not be shown, nor the lives and feelings of those he kills.  And the degree that Martin Luther King, Jr, had to prod LBJ may be sharpened to provide story contrast.  When you see any movie like this, you're are seeing things through one filter or source.  If you want the full picture, you'll have to look at more.

Secondly, we have a group of films that, to a varying degree, are more arty than ripping.  Boyhood is an interesting premise, using the same actors over the course of filming for twelve years.  The reviews I've seen indicate that the story isn't really much, but it's fascinating to watch the characters age naturally and that there are some good slice of life moments.  So to be cold, it's basically a stunt.  A very well done stunt, but a stunt nonetheless.  Birdman is an interesting premise and it is one I want to see, but it is basically a movie that rips super hero movies and makes fun of blockbusters.  This may be an important premise, but doesn't lend itself to being called a ripping good yarn.  Whiplash is promising, but it is also a very small-scale film, with an almost documentary feel. It is very unlikely to come to a theater near you, or be there for very long if it does.

That leaves us with The Grand Budapest Hotel.  Yes it is arty, but it also has melodramatic and over the top plotting, with some very quirky and interesting characters.  And it doesn't appear to be making fun of these types of stories - it appears just to be having a great time.  I am not as big a fan of director Wes Anderson as my Hollywood son, Greg, is, but I do think that this movie, along with Moonrise Kingdom, are this creator's finest works.

Yes, I do think that films like Guardians of the Galaxy, Gone Girl and Rise of the Planet of the Apes should have been nominated.  They were overwhelmingly well reviewed, they were popular, and they were definitely ripping.

But films like that only get nominated once or twice every few years, and they only win once a decade or less (Return of the King, The Silence of the Lambs).


Of this year's group, I would not pick The Grand Budapest Hotel, however.  I would have to go off the Ripper's list and choose Selma.  But that is not where the Academy is leaning this year, as evidenced by it's lack of nominations for Director or acting.

Expect that to go to either Boyhood (viva la stunt), or Birdman (Hollywood loves movies about itself).

Sigh.

There's always next year.

History of the Trap: April Again Part 2

2

"I'm leaving," said Robert Bond.  "I'm going to go where I'm needed."

Artie refused to even look at him.  He had argued with him for days, and finally conceded to reality.  Our group was set to dwindle once again.  His oldest and most enduring friendship, his constant companion, his next door neighbor who had been by his side since toddlerhood, was going away. 

Of course, in the Trap, it was not possible to truly go away (although it did seem that some had just vanished into thin air).  Robert's area of expertise was in agriculture and he had decided to go to the farm, and assist the other guys there with raising the animals and growing the crops.

It was surprising to see Robert leave Artie's side.  He had always been there, ever since I could remember.  They were friends long before I came along.  Robert seemed to practically worship Artie.  But he had grown discontent as Artie's involvement with other people had increased.  Artie's sudden political emergence meant he spent more time away from us.  And for some reason, I think Artie's relationship with Ginny bothered Robert.  Artie had had girlfriends before (including, for a brief time, my sister), but none had been quite as close as his connection with Ginny.  Robert may have felt that he had been moved from first wheel to second wheel to spare tire.

Robert was going away.  We might still see him, but it was going to be much rarer now.  Our group, our 'Artie's Gang' had changed and morphed over time.  We probably actually had more people in our clique than we had before the Trap.  They just weren't the same ones.

The core group of guys that had bonded in Junior High was now down to Artie and me.  Tom Bodell and Jim Kurrash were lost in the tunnel explosion.  Randy Sherman had once again found a new girlfriend outside the group, and no longer came around.  Now the quiet rock of our group, Robert Bond, was leaving. 

Jerry Mack had wandered into our group sometime during our Freshman year, coming over to our table in the mornings and listening in silence to what we had to say, laughing at our jokes, nodding when he agreed with us (of course Spider-Man could beat Plant  Lad!).  He was small and sickly, and offered input only rarely, but he was with us, and he seemed to really worship Artie.

As sophomores, we were joined by Ginny Estill, who was a great flaky wonderment to our group.  For almost a year, she felt like just another one of the guys, but it did not take me long to develop a crush on her.    Just before the Trap fell, I was getting ready to ask her to the dance, but it had been six months or more than I had been trying to work up the nerve to approach.  I was gun-shy, particularly after at the first of the school year telling Carol Dietrich that I loved her, and wound getting laughed at.  Ginny's friendship meant too much to me to risk losing it because I pushed things too far.

With my glacially slow approach, it gave time for Ginny and Artie to kindle a relationship with each other.  But maybe I was kidding myself.  Maybe it didn't matter whether I moved slow or fast.  Maybe Ginny and Artie were destined to be together anyways.  Maybe, had I started dating her, it would have just hurt all the more when she moved to Artie.

At the beginning of our junior year, Ginny's sister, Mary Estill, joined us.  Other girls might come by once in awhile, but no other females were regular.  Two that we occasionally saw were Sue Boschman and Lisa Carlton.  And then once the Trap fell, those two became regulars.  Sue became very close to Tom Bodell, and I became very close to Lisa.  And now, of us four, I was the only one left alive.

More recently, Arlette Mierkey and Larry Weisman had joined our table gathering.  Arlette was funny, confident and an avid reader.  She made me remember how much I loved books, and if I could ever get things settled down, my soap under control and a murderer revealed, I would love to get back into rediscovering books. Larry was so bright.  He was like David Yankovich (lost in the tunnel explosion that may have been the fault of design flaws that he would never admit to), but without the smarmy arrogance.

Except for talking to a couple of the science teachers, Larry and I had kept what we found out about the stars to ourselves.  We weren't quite sure what it meant, that the night skies weren't changing, and until we got more confirmation from the science staff, we didn't see the need to panic everybody.

Phil Irman, my friend from the TV studio, would come by sometimes, but he wasn't a regular.  Katie Kurrash, Jim's younger sister, was starting to hang with us. Lindsay Starn, the junior class Council representative, had just started showing up regular in the last couple of months.  I think she was sweet on me, but I just wasn't ready for anything like that.  I had things about that I had to resolve.  I would not rest until justice was achieved.  It was hard to think of anything else while Robert Pelley, Lisa's killer, strutted around a free man.

An interesting group, to be sure.  And there would be other changes as time went on.  As I am sure you know, Doctor Duncan, from the group that was gathered together at the house where the crime occurred that I have been accused of, some of these people survive until the end of the Trap.  Most do not.

Artie broke his silence.  "You don't have to go out there, Robert, to help with the farming.  There's an agricultural team based right here.  Don't you like working with Mr. Bruchow?  He's right here.  He's not out there at the Barn. Why do you want to go out there?"

"I don't want to go out there," said Robert.  "I need to go out there.  I love you, Artie, but it's time for me to do my own thing."

They hugged.  Robert didn't seem to want to let go.  I didn't understand if Artie meant so much to him, why did he have to leave?  "You stay in touch, you hear?  It's not like you're on the moon, you understand?"

"No, Artie.  It's not the moon," said Robert, a tear tumbling down his cheek. He grabbed a duffel bag filled with his few belongings.  "Come out and visit me and the cows and goats sometimes.  Catch you all later."

Ginny hugged him as he was leaving, but he kind of shrugged it off, and stared at her like he wanted to say something mean, but instead just turned and walked away.

As the Trap progressed, I would understand Robert's feelings better.  But at the time he left, I was naive.  That was not a dimension I thought in much, so I didn't have a clue.

What with the change in administration, and with Mark Granite's increasing influence, we were having more frequent dances.  They were not pleasant entirely, as even though they were more regulated by a student police force, their enforcement of discipline was quite selective.  Lindsay told me she wanted to go to the dance, but that she didn't want to go by herself.  Would I mind going with her and hanging out around her?  Not as a date, of course, she assured me, but as two friends watching out for each other.

I hated to say no, but I couldn't do it.  Not just because I wasn't ready to step out like that, but because I had something else I had to do.  Something else that I was obsessed with, something that I couldn't ask anyone else to risk being involved with.

Robert Pelley was going down.  Whatever it took.

My Year In Theater 2014

Boy, this will be a short one.  In reviewing what I did in theater in 2014, it is even sparser than I thought.

I participated in nothing the first four moths of the year, thanx and a hat's tip to tax season.

I passed on Driving Miss Daisy, which I regretted because my good friend Anita Lynn got the Miss Daisy part.  The upside was that I did get to see her act, and give one of the best performances of the year.

The next play WACT (Waycross Area Community Theater) did was The Dixie Swim Club.  I had waited long enough, and was ready to participate.  But acting would have to wait.  There were only  five parts, all for females.  I have done a lot in theatre, but drag ain't one of them.

So I decided to direct instead.

Here is The Dixie Swim Club team.  Alison was stage manager on the left.  I am surrounded by our our fabulous, first-rate cast - Nadine Borrelli, Rhonda Powers, Anna Pinder, Mary Beth Kennedy and Caroline Sanford.  Not shown is my son, Benjamin, who worked the lights and sound.

And it was AMAZING!  Quite simply one of the bast cast and crews I've ever had the privilege of working with.  There was some cast turnover, but once we settled in, it was quickly apparent that we had something special.  The cast blended into their characters perfectly, and the audiences laughed more than in any play I've ever worked with.

I only direct, on average, about once every three or four years.  I am glad that it was this one that I got to be associated with.  It leaves a very good memory to savor until I work up the desire to direct three or four years from now.

The second and only other play I was in was The Best Christmas Pageant Ever.  LOTS of children, which could have resulted in a lot of chaos, but they really put on a wonderful show.  We had large, enthusiastic crowds, and everyone enjoyed themselves.

Benjamin had a good sized part, playing one of the Herdmans, five siblings who start out wild and rowdy, but gradually learn the message of Christmas.  He did a great job of playing a bully who later softens.  

I also got to act, a small part as the Reverend of the church that is putting on the pageant.  I had a whopping five lines, but I made the most of them.

I saw many good performances in 2014.  Particular standouts were Blake Kildow as the perfect Scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz (performed by WACT), and Ryan Beverly in When We All Get to Heaven (performed by Trembling Earth at the Okefenokee Heritage Center).

Flying Dragon Arts Center had a challenging year. with some facility problems, but they still put a great slate of shows, and are very deserving of community support.  A vibrant children's theater is an important measure of a community's health, spirit and vitality.

Yes, I only had five lines in 2014.  But it was still an enjoyable year.  And I look forward to 2015.

As soon as I can get this tax season thing over with.

Failing the Shirt Test

My cue that it is time to take back control of my diet doesn't necessarily come from the new year.  It does not result directly from the barrage of advertising aimed at holiday overindulgers, although I certainly had a vary good holiday, food consumption-wise.  No, it comes from something a bit more tangible.

I fail the shirt test.

I have a row of dress shirts, part of the standard garb for an accountant,  that I must choose between to make it through the work week.  Half of the m are one half-size smaller than the others.  The first thing that goes is the smaller size.  Stage one they become tight.  Stage two, the buttons strain when I try to button it up.  So, at that point, I have cut my shirt supply in half.

But that is not enough to cue me.  It is when some of the larger size starts to get tight, that I finally realize I have to do something.  Because if I don't, I will have to do one of the things I dread most.....

I will have to shop for new shirts.

And whether it is a male thing or just a me thing, I hate to shop for new clothes.  It is especially painful when you have to break into bigger sizes.  I have to start wandering into the Big 'n' Tall section, and trust me, it ain't because I am tall.

I prefer to wear clothes relatively loose.  I cannot stand to be tightly bound in my clothing.  Unfortunately, that is difficult to maintain, as my other problem is the goldfish syndrome.  It is said that a goldfish will expand and grow to the size of its tank.  The rare times I have had goldfish, that has been true.  And I am like a goldfish in my clothes.  I expand until whatever clothes I'm wearing get to be tight.  Ah, how comfortable, I think.  Why, I can eat what I want because my clothes are wonderful and loose!  And the next thing you know...I'm looking at a closet full of clothes I can barely fit into.  I fear what will happen when I retire and spend most of my time in stretchable sweat pants.  Like the goldfish, somebody'll  have to go out and get a bigger tank.

I have gotten to the point and age where getting my weight under control is for more than just making myself more attractive.  Why, I'm already about as purty as the world can stand, at least according to the person that matters the most, my truly beautiful espousal connection, Alison.  I need to do better in order to improve my health.  I'm in pretty good health, but that's not going to last unless I take care of myself.  As much as I want to eat like my teenage boy (time for another pizza/ice cream run!), it's probably no longer the best thing for me.

All the diets I see are very confusing. Disregarding those that are cons and gimmicks, they all seem to come down to the same thing - eat less, exercise more.  That is real easy to say, but much harder to put in practice.  Sort of like love your God, love your neighbor.  You understand what you're supposed to do, but often human frailty and worldly temptation gets in the way.  

So wish me luck.  And if you see me clothes shopping, know that chances are I have failed.  Know that it means that this goldfish has given up and just decided to get a bigger tank.