The story of an unknown man
This is a continuation of excepts from Harry Nicholson’s excellent book, Tom Fleck. –Jeff Guenther
Read Part I
Introduction: “Tom Fleck is partly a response to the flush of novels about Tudor royalty. I feel small connection with those great lords and their ladies; I sense more kinship with the lives of ordinary folk. So I’ve imagined the lives and adventures of unknown men and women, people without heraldry, people who left no marks of their passing except for the blood that flows in our veins.” –Harry Nicholson
More Fragments of Tom’s world:
Tom is with his father, about to dig into a burial mound on the Cleveland Hills: Continue reading
Today’s guest poster is Harry Nicholson. I met Harry on Goodreads and was very impressed by the quality of his writing. And his poetry. And his artwork. The following post showcases his evocative prose, selections from ‘Tom Fleck,’ a novel. –Jeff Guenther
The story of an unknown man.
Tom Fleck Amazon Link
Introduction: “When I was tapping out Morse in the pitching wireless cabins of tropical steamers in the 1950’s, story-telling was not in my mind. A career in television studios might have brought it about – thirty years working with stories in pictures soaks the mind with images. These days, in a valley below the moorlands of North Yorkshire, I have more time to imagine at leisure. My first tale is about a humble farm labourer and his struggles to be free in Tudor England.” Continue reading
The Glassblower, by Petra Durst-Benning, is a little slow to get into, but the story of the Steinmann sisters and their struggles in glassblowing soon drew me in. With the death of their father, Johanna, Ruth, and Marie have lost their last parent and their income. Life becomes frighteningly uncertain, and the young women face near-starvation. Continue reading
Red sun blisterin’ hot, dryin’ out morning dew. No money till pickin’ time. Plastic sheets coverin’ sulfury-smellin’ dirt, screechin’ underfoot. Findin’ her place, bucket in hand. Endless rows of plump fruit fixin’ to swamp her. Mr. C. livin’ in her head, pushin’. “Hey, girl, you late. No profit in dallyin’. Finish yer row, have somethin’ special for ya tonight.” Seen Mr. C’s special before; not bitin’ today. Continue reading
“A penny saved is a penny earned.” That’s what Grandma said every time she slipped me some coins. I had no idea what she was talking about. For me having pennies in my pocket meant a trip to the candy store to buy wax lips or Tootsie Rolls. But now that Grandma’s gone, her sayings keep coming back to me. Guess that’s why I started saving my pennies. You know, those pesky little coppers that clog up your change purse. I got out an old sock and every night I dropped in the pennies I’d collected that day. You’d be surprised how fast the sock got heavy. Grandma would approve, I thought….which shows you how much I know. Continue reading
(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
“More sex,” he said.
I was having coffee with an old friend, a publicist, who had offered advice on book promotion. I hadn’t expected “sex” to be on the agenda, but he was the expert, so I went with it. And he was, after all, doing me a favor. He even paid for my double-shot, low-fat, half-caff latte.
I took a sip and licked some foam off my Continue reading
The Beauty of a Second Chance. Ebook and paperback editions available at Amazon.
STAR TUCKED HER CHAMPAGNE glass inside the Boeing 757’s seat flap in front of her. “I can’t believe I dated one of the richest men in Italy for two months and I’m coming home with less money in my purse than I started out with.”
“You won’t be poor for long.” Casey slouched lower in the leather seat she had just snuck into. “I bet you’ll make a ton of money modeling in New York.”
“I doubt it. That city is crawling with pretty women. That’s why I was shipped off to Europe in the first place. My agent told me I needed foreign photographs in my portfolio to bump it up to a professional level—which is a joke because neither one of us managed to accomplish that.”
“We got experience,” Casey said.
Star laughed. “Too bad it wasn’t the kind we can use to book fashion campaigns. No biggie. I’m not going to let anything or anyone stop me.”
“From what? Continue reading