Here is a snippet of my new manuscript, working title, The Book of Ample.
Ample is the protagonist in this generational family saga. I don’t exactly know what she’ll be up to at all times yet, but I do care about her and want her to be around for a while. Now, I’d like to introduce you to her grandfather and promise she’ll show up in a later installment. I would love your feedback, please comment on my site. Hell, have your friends comment too, I’ll surely take them all seriously.
I spent 50 plus years researching my memoir, Fixed. As a 56 year old, I just don’t have that kind of time. I’ve got to make shit up, and fast.
Dagmar Snorklson, suffered from impulse control disorder. His mind always seemed to be out of step with his mouth and body. He had zero comprehension of what the consequences would be after he acted out. As far as bad guys went, he was a good one, quite sensitive and always sincerely sorry for what he’d done.
A prison psychologist once noted, “trying to follow Snorklson’s thought patterns would be like chasing beads of mercury.”
So far, the damage was minimal, only having put the hurt upon himself. His malady would become a cycle of life and cost him years of his freedom. He would always have a room reserved at McNeil Island penitentiary. Alcatraz junior.
Dag had no criminal intent, nor did he lack money. He had been the recent recipient of his Dad, Olaf’s life insurance policy, lost at sea, sort of. Bested by an angry Halibut before Dag’s very eyes. As a coping mechanism, Dag had become obsessed with film noir and escaped in to play-acting. Once he got in to character, the lines of reality blurred, the shadows appeared on the wall and the jazz played loud inside his head. Kind of like yelling, “bomb” on an airplane, there would be no turning back.
The first time his spontaneous behavior cost him, he was 18. He and his sidekick, Mildly Intoxicated Danny, were on a shopping expedition at the Piggly Wiggly. Sent out by aunt Helga to get the ingredients for aebleskivers, a dough like, Danish donut desert, his absolute favorite. When Dag approached the counter with a basket full of the coveted Nordic ingredients, he morphed in to Little Cesar, a small time hood played by Edward G. Robinson, also one of his favorites. He un-holstered his fingers, and for shit’s and giggles said to Peggy the cashier, “Stick-em-up see, put the money on the counter and nobody gets hurt see, and make it snappy.” Peggy’s immediate shrill reaction was not lost on Dag. She was a big gal with big lungs and screamed the scream of all bloody screams. Dag sensed that things were going south in a hurry and turned a whiter shade of pale. Her reaction was not lost on the stock boy either. This was no, “I just saw a cockroach”, scream.
Dag, flummoxed from what he had set in motion, had yet to holster his yet to be fired forefingers. Still pointing and feeling a little sick, he moved his lips before he finally managed to get out a, “how much do I owe you for the groceries”, between Peggy’s shrieks. What Peggy heard was, any one of a thousand lines from one of her favorite slasher movies. What she saw through her +/-40 or so coke bottle glasses was either a Glock 9mm, A Walther ppk 380, a cudgel or any number of maiming, bludgeoning, garroting, stabbing sticking or killing instruments. She had a vivid imagination and more in common with Dag than she realized. She was exhilarated.
Gordy wanted to pitch on the high school baseball team more than anything, but was so wild he often threw clean over the backstop. He dreamed of the day he would get put into the game but hitherto had only ridden the pines. When he perceived a robbery in progress, he seized the moment, went into his windup and served up some serious canned heat, launching an angry 13.7 Oz. can of King Oskar’s flying Fish Balls swimming in water for a strike right between Dag’s Danish eye sockets right on the bridge of his nose. Fuck that hurt. He dropped him like a 150 lb. bag of famous potatoes, putting him on the disabled list. Felled by the King of Norway. Mildly Intoxicated Danny had locked himself in the toilet and was making love to his stolen bottle of Annie Green Springs and missed all the fun. Aebleskivers would not be on the menu for a while.
Help me write a kick ass book. More to come in the following weeks.
Thanks for checking me out.