Dr. Bakersfield on BarnesandNoble.com

Greetings

I recently traveled back to the great city of Knoxville, where the weather is oddly spring-like (IT WAS 74 DEGREES TODAY). With all the weather and free time, I have begun a quest to get back into shape. So far, so good. But I must confess some activities like running have never been so hard.

I'll blame it on the hills.

Anyway, my story The Secret Life of Dr. Bakersfield has finally made it onto BarnesandNoble.com along with my other short story The Haunted Corn Maze. Hopefully this works out well and people are interested in the coming of age tale. Anyway, to celebrate I have included a segment of the novel I am still working on: Last Dance for Me.

By the way, the link to the book is http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-secret-life-of-dr-bakersfield-eric-carlson/1108817961?ean=2940033018758&itm=1&usri=the+secret+life+of+dr.+bakersfield

So without further ado.

The tunnel leads deeper and deeper into the ground. So deep it doesn't make sense that anyone would build a garage so far underground. Also unerring is the incessant darkness, fought only by a weak light bulb every 20 feet. Fisher thinks about going back, but doesn't want to risk being hit by an oncoming cab in the narrow tunnel. Why didn't he just ask the office lady if Dennis was in at the moment? Why did he always have to be so sneaky? Fisher shakes his head and continues into the near-darkness.

Behind him, Fisher hears a low rumble and feels a vibration in his feet; hopefully just a big truck crossing the street above. This consoling thought it is proven false when the rumbling comes closer, echoed louder in the narghile driveway. Fisher begins to walk a little bit faster as he looks back with wide eyes. Just then, his worst fears come true as he spots a slight flicker from headlights on the wall. He breaks into an all-out sprint as the car begins to illuminate the stone corner directly behind him.

"Where is the end of this thing!?" Fisher yells out loud through desperate gasps of air. It had been a long time since he'd ran.

Meanwhile, everything around him illuminates as the car roars around the corner. It doesn't slow down a bit as it barrels through the curve, moving closer and closer to the running Fisher. His face lights up in two different ways as he looks back at the oncoming enemy. The driver of the cab must have seen him by now, but it doesn't seem to be slowing down in the least. In fact, if the cab was doing anything it was speeding up.

Fisher tries to move his feet faster, stumbling slightly as his left foot catches a big crack in the concrete. Somehow he manages to regain his footing and move back into full stride. The full stride comes with consequences, though. Fisher clutches at his side, feeling a bad stitch developing from the exhausting effort. He would usually quit at this time in a normal situation, but at the current moment that would mean turning into a pancake. Fisher wonders if he would taste good with maple syrup as he runs on.

Closer. Louder. Faster. The cab is almost on Fisher's heels. He feels like he can almost feel the heat from the headlights, and he knows that the vehicle isn't going to stop for anyone; especially him. Exposed by the light from the car, Fisher sees a ladder just above and to the side in the oncoming tunnel that seems to lead up to another level. Fisher knows this is his only shot at escape. Instead of preparing for impact he takes two powerful strides and leaps towards the ladder. His hands grasp the lowest rung, the momentum swinging his lower body forward and up, hopefully out of the way of the speeding cab. Luckily, the cab sign on top misses him by inches as it whizzes by. Panting, Fisher speedily works his way up the ladder and out of the tunnel.

***

It's almost halfway done.

Song of the day is Raining Buttons by Dovekins.

Have a lovely day.

Remembering What You Said

"It's you," he said. "It's you I've been waiting for all these years . Is that why I've been so miserable? So this moment could feel that much better? If that's the truth, then I wholeheartedly agree."

Sweet just ain't as sweet > Bitter

Today will feature another excerpt from the novel/novella, Last Dance. This distinct section will be one of the most inspired parts of the book, where the main character lashes out in a tirade of seemingly endless good intentions. But what is he looking for/escaping?

Before Fisher steps out of the cab, an idea strikes him. He acts.

“Hey, you want to come eat with me inside? I’ll need some advice on the best items, you know.”

The cabbie, who for just a bit will remain nameless, is shocked. No one ever asks him to do stuff after cab rides, not even in his wildest dreams. But it just so happens that this is the end of his shift and part of the reason he mentioned the bakery was that it was close to the cab station and his home. Though tired from a day of driving, he isn’t the kind of man to turn down an interesting opportunity like this. He parks the cab and gets out.

“The BEST… is what I’m sworn to deliver.”

Fisher chuckles and smiles. The cabbie chuckles and smiles. They head inside.

Fisher hangs back while the cabbie orders them each a vegetable roll stuffed with an assortment of, well, vegetables. During this, he notices a tattoo on the back of the cabbie’s left arm. It is the ocean, featuring a sinking ship with Japanese and American flags intertwined in a design on the hull. The colors are beautiful and vibrant. They seem to invoke the image of a sunrise: the end of the night and the new beginnings that follow. Soon enough, the cabbie finishes the order and leads Fisher to a table while carrying the food. They sit down at a booth.

Dennis. Good ol’ Dennis. That is the cabbie’s name, and now that Fisher gets a clear look at his face, he can tell that he is in fact half-asian, half-european. He’s not too old either, probably mid-thirties, wearing a v-neck complete with a pocket and a notebook sticking out of it. Not exactly someone you’d expect to be a cabbie. The two unlikely dining partners don’t talk for a while, busying themselves with bites from the vegetable roll and drinks from glasses of Cheerwine. Occasionally they make eye contact but quickly glance elsewhere. Finally, the silence is broken by Fisher.

“Your tattoo. What does it mean?”

“Oh… yeah. But don’t you want to know my name first? It’s Dennis.”

“Uh. Yeah, guess that’s important. I’m Fisher.” They shake hands.

Enchante. The tattoo represents my two grandfathers who fought in World War II against each other - One on the American side, and the other on the Japanese. They both died in the same battle, sinking into the ocean with their comrades and never knowing their families would be one day united in love. This tattoo is a testament to human’s ability to forgive, forgetting the sins of the past and uniting as a race. That is beautiful to me.

The novel is almost at 7,000 pages and still rambling along. I have some short stories ideas I would like to start working on soon, too. Rest assured, there will be some writing.

Adieu, mon ami.

An Excerpt: Last Dance

Lately, I have been trying to work on a novel/novella in my spare time. I started it around May but didn't get much of a chance to write over the summer. Lately, though, I have gotten some good opportunities to put some thought and ideas into the story line. Right now I am at about 5,000 words, with a goal of getting to at least 30,000.

The novel follows the life of 25 year old Marine Biology student Fisher living with his artist girlfriend in a New York City apartment. Life is good, that is, until vivid, unnerving dreams and random blackouts swirl his life into chaos. And that would be alright if he didn't have a mysterious local songwriter following him around, appearing in unusual spots and giving him ominous warnings. Will Fisher put the puzzle pieces together and figure it all out?

Here is an excerpt from the novel:

The night rolls on, the night rolls off. Fisher lies in bed and stares at the stars, sparkling down from above. What stars? You may ask. Because, of course, the fact that he is lying in bed INSIDE a building. And you would be right in that assumption, because the stars are not real stars, but glow-in-the-dark plastic ones that handily stick to any ceiling, furniture, or wall. Most people would probably consider these stars to be tacky and childish, but Fisher and Caroline like them. So stop judging,

Fisher seems troubled by the events at the concert. It felt so real to him, so sense-filling and tangible that fakeness seems a foreign concept. Despite this, he quickly drifts off to sleep under the sparkling star ways above. But this is only the beginning of Fisher’s adventure that night; for dreams may come that take his breath away.

The dream begins. But of course, Fisher’s mind doesn’t realize this, and believes it is still living real life. The day is soft and beautiful, and he finds himself somewhere in the European countryside, but he’s not sure what country or place to be exact. He is too distracted by the wind whipping his face as he rides in a pristine Ford Model T through a bright green field dotted with daisies and purples. It is a hot day, and the breeze feels absolutely wonderful. Framed by the vanilla sky, the car streaks like a mad bull across the landscape, while his friend John screams with delight as he pilots the car around bushes and other annoying obstacles.

“Slow down!” Fisher yells, keeping his fedora down with his right hand.

“I refuse! I know how bad you want to see her! Aha!” John responds with a unabashed fury.

As if cued by John’s words, a beautiful landscape appeared to them as they crested the last hill. But the landscape wasn’t the only beautiful thing. There she was, sitting in front of a large white tent, reading with a feather in her hair. Meadows, flowers, mountains, nothing compared to her. Fisher’s eyes lit up as he stood tall in the barreling vehicle, losing his hat and his inhibitions all at once. At first just one side of his mouth raised up, but the other side soon followed, forming a large smile on his face. And that wasn’t it, either. His eyes lit up, hands tense with anticipation as his heart threatened to beat out of his chest. The sun seemed to shine brighter in the distance as he raised his arms in joy and love, fighting the wind as the car whipped across the field. Strangely, the light didn’t come to a stop. It kept getting brighter and brighter. Brighter and brighter. Fisher didn’t get one more second to think as the light enveloped him and his consciousness.

Anyway, that's the excerpt. If you have any criticisms/ideas/praise for the novel, please let me know. It would be much appreciated.

David Benoit - Sailing Through the City

The New Post

Sonic you Snowboarding Champ

Hi

Ha

Song of the Day: Alvin Band - Vanilla Dome

Been a while. A long while. I have just returned to Knoxville from a place called Aspen, CO where I spent the last 3 and a half months. Heard of it? Quite a trip. Snow. Boards. Hot Tubs. Mountains. These were all included, and somewhat enjoyed. But that's another story. The one I have to tell today is a novella I have been working on starting approximately 11 hours ago. Though it may have never have the joy of being finished or subsequently reviewed, here at least is an excerpt from what I have so far:

You are floating. I am floating. He is floating. Floating in some undefined cosmic space, some result of an expanding universe or black holes and event horizons or whatever the top thinkers of our age enjoy talking about nowadays. No light. All he knows is infinite darkness, and no theory can describe to you what that’s like. No hope. No point. No fluffy animals. Just floating.

Fisher wakes up. No longer floating in the traditional sense, now floating in covers and blankets and unusual stuffed animals possessing a strange resemblance to Ewoks. He hugs one cause he feels lonely, but the Ewok doesn’t hug back. He hopes one day it will. That would be nice. Ewok hug.

Deep in the cavernous blanket cavern he hears a vibration. Have the Ewoks come alive? No. it’s a cell phone, the ring tone a fanciful MIDI interpretation of some Burt Bacharach song from 2,000 years ago or something like that. With no rush in mind, he dives under the covers in a desperate attempt to locate the phone, fumbling his hand around in little nooks and crannies only cell phones have the ability to find. Quicker than usual, his fingers grasp the metal receptor. He quickly hit’s the talk button and raises it to his ear. Trained Dog.

“Hello”

“Fisher, hey…”

Images and ideas flash through his brain. Caroline. Green eyes. Stars. Penguins… Girlfriend.

“Hey Caroline.”

There she is. She’s pretty, isn’t she? Dark hair, curly. No, wavy. You could get lost in it. Fisher hopes there are no poor Ewoks lost in her hair. What else? Pretty smile, full set of teeth. Caroline.

“Are you at home Fisher? I left some paint I needed there, bring it to me?” She might as well have batted her eyelashes over the phone. Nice eyelashes too, if you’re into that.

“Uh..” For a second, he has the strangest sense that he’s out of place, a foreign man in a foreign land. Gypsy. Traveling Salesman. Buy this stranger!… Composure. “Of course, but only if the Ewoks aren’t using it.”

“Ewoks?”

“Uh, never mind.”

“I’m assuming that’s a yes.”

“Yes.”

“See you soon then.”

“See you in 31.8 minutes, you know, the approximate time it takes to deliver explosive paint.”

“Its not explosive.”

“I’m not taking any chances.”

“In that case, be careful, and hurry.”

Click. What a strange conversation. Fisher wonders if they have always had strange conversations. Oh well. Then he thinks about the paint. Caroline, artist, creator extraordinaire. Canvases fill the bedroom, explode out the closet, fall on the cat, etc… Some people think the Mona Lisa is a fine work of art. Fisher thinks Caroline is a fine work of art.

And End.