Part of my soon-to-be-published novel, Southern Discomfort, has been posted here on 8 Great Storytellers. It’s posted under its own tab, on the right side of the top menu. Updates will be added there as they become available. Comments and questions, please!
Category Archives: Chapter
(Chapter 15 of a forthcoming book, WOMAN IN WHITE, by Gildon Beall)
The graveyard of Rev. Cricklewood’s “Angelic Brotherhood Church” was illumined only by a pale sliver of moon peeking through thin clouds. It was quiet; the sort of night that mortals find oppressive or frightening, the appropriate venue for spirits. No living mortals were present. Evanescent vapors, chill breezes, and odors of decay heralded the time for Continue reading
I open the Red Badge of Courage and take a look through the first chapter. I don’t get it. Even when I study the words real hard, some of them don’t make sense. There is a big list at the bottom of every page that tries to explain the meaning of the stupid words that the writer is using. Words like “keer” and “sech” and “kilt,” that aren’t even English words. After awhile, I finally get it that people in those Civil War days didn’t talk the way we do now.
It takes me about two hours to get through the first chapter. Even though I’m really tired, I think I have an idea of what’s going on. These soldiers belong to the Union Army and they are all waiting for the battle to start. And a boy called Henry Fleming has joined up and is stuck into this regiment. Henry is all excited about the glory of war and how great it will be to go into battle for his country. But I don’t get that because the soldiers are fighting the Confederate guys who are also American soldiers. And even Henry’s Mom seems to want him to go, because she tells him not to do any “shirkin.” I looked up that word in the glossary and it means that he always has to be brave and do his duty by killing the enemy soldiers. I wonder if my Mom would ever want me to go to war like Henry’s Mom.
I toss the book on the table and crap out on the bed. I don’t even know if I’ve really learned Continue reading
Cecilia Rose, or Cece as called by her friends, ventured into town reluctantly. She had agreed to visit an old friend and now regretted it. After ten years in Los Angeles, her small, Northern California hometown made her uncomfortable and claustrophobic. She did not relish the prospect of running into people she used to know. But the desire to avoid being seen did not dissuade her from taking a quick detour . . . Continue reading
When I get home, I toss my book bag in my room. I flop on my bed, trying to figure out how I can get even with that lying prick, Brad Murphy. Then I hear Betty and my father busting in the front door. They come in my room.
“Steeeven!” Betty shouts. “Why have you been suspended? What have you done?”
My father’s face is beet red. He glares at me, waiting for me to say something.
I try to defend myself. “It’s not all that bad. The other guys lied and Mr. Aguilar believed them, just because Brad Murphy is the student body president.”
My father points a finger at me, “Not that bad? The Vice-principal said you used a knife on the boy.” Continue reading