intro to abuse

           “James Martin” 

            I turned with anticipation, eager to see who was calling me. Actually, I didn’t know if I’d truly heard it because it wasn’t like a real greeting. Just a name. Maybe I was imagining it—trying to put what I wanted to hear in the air.  I looked and I didn’t see anyone except this black guy dressed in a polo shirt and loafers with rolled up pant legs.  Then I looked again.

Abuse

By about midnight on Sunday night, everyone else had pretty much gone to bed. Kevin is downstairs and I don’t really know what he is doing. I guess it didn’t matter much to me, because I was working on a hugely important lesson plan.  I never gave him any indication that I wanted him to stay overnight, he never asked if he could. I assumed that he would go back to Bettendorf or Davenport or wherever he lives or stays or…whatever he does. 

impulsive and forgettful

Write about one of your faults 

           My flight was scheduled to leave at 7:55 am.  I arrived at the airport at 5:00 after sleeping on the floor in my friend's English teaching center that is located half a city closer to Moscow Domodedovo airport than my room.

clunk, clunk. clunk--an old man sprinting

I jog up to my chosen starting point, and put on a colossal burst of energy as I cross the stripe on the asphalt. My whole body shakes. I begin well, concentrating… “knees, toes.” I’m actually thinking about running on my toes and picking up my knees. Supposedly, this is what one must do to run at the absolute fastest pace possible. 

The HIT!

The Hit

Every year, the coaches tell the seniors that they should play the final game—even their entire final season—like it was their last. This was it, our last football game. My team, the Newell Panthers, were visiting Wall Lake to take on the Comets.

To the hog house

To the hog house

I didn’t bother opening the wooden gate because the latch sometimes didn’t fall back into place cleanly and you’d have to fiddle around with it. I’d rather just climb over. Fences are so cool. People can climb over a fence, but cattle—much bigger, tougher, stronger—have to stand on the other side, watching.

the unemployed writer

Unemployed writer

I’m an unemployed writer. Oh, yes, I write, but nothing goes anywhere except to my own self-published blogs. I really need to break into the business and become a successful writer. I don’t need to get paid. I want the satisfaction that comes from producing something that others think is worthy of distribution.  If I start getting some stuff out there, whether it is at online publications, or in local newspapers, I will find the encouragement needed to keep going.  Then, maybe we’ll get around to thinking about payment, and then the best seller, and the notoriety, yada, yada, yada.