FREE SAMPLE I

"THE WRITER"

     First, are the brain juices?  The many moments, experiences, relationship behaviors that speed around your brain while you just dead stare at that empty sheet of paper.  As the juices spin around your head, it starts escaping to the rest of your body, all the way down to your feet.  It might be similar to a crippled human being who is transformed into the powerful energy of a werewolf, though I've never grown teeth.  And then with a great power coming from the feet, like a swimmer push kicking off the end of the pool, the radiation thrusts up your arms, through your fingers, down the pen, and transforms into words.  Houdini ain't got nothin' on it.

     And there's something about the paper.  It actually breathes as you paint ink sentences on it,  it's crisp and full of life.  Reminds me of my favorite season, Fall.  I wonder if  Fall is my favorite season because I'm a writer, or if I'm a writer because Fall is my favorite season.

     Anyway, I love to smell my paper before it becomes a part of me.  I like folding and crumbling it to see what different noises it makes.  One of the greatest parts of the process, for me anyway, is to look at that empty sheet of paper.  It just "calls".  Then in some time it's filled... it's filled with words of all kinds, feelings of all kinds.  But where did these phrases come from?  Are they from me?  It's like I wasn't even there.  It's like being possessed.  But not by Satan.  By something much stronger.  But by the world of creativity.

     Although every aspect of writing is great and a challenge, and I really do love every aspect of it, I'd have to say my favorite part of it is the reaction, or feeling of my readers.  Good or bad reactions, it does not matter.  A reaction of any sort means that I touched someone's soul in some way.  A cry... a laugh - pissed off, sick, whatever.  What can be more powerful than that?

FREE SAMPLE II

"POTATO CHIPS"

     When I was twenty, one of my cousins was killed in a car accident, but he wasn't just one of my cousins, he was my favorite cousin, Johnny.  He was more like my brother than a cousin.  After that, I was out of it for a few months. 

     The morning I heard he was killed, I just headed straight to New York.  No change of clothes, no nothing.  I had a few bucks for a bus ticket, nothing more.  Didn't even have any food.  I really didn't care at the time though.  I was just totally depressed and out of my mind. 

    About three months later and about forty-five pounds lighter, I'm sitting on a bench in the park drinking whiskey out of the bottle.  Guess who shows up there?  My best friend, Cally.  I don't know how the hell he found me, but he tracked me down like he always does.  He's a good friend.  I don't even know how he recognized me.  Like I said, I was forty-five pounds lighter.  Had a scruffy, not to mention a dirty face.  I had the same clothes on as the day I left, just a lot dirtier and faded out.  I looked like some bum who's been living on the streets for years.

     He took me shopping on the New York City streets, and bought me some dinner before we drove back to South Jersey.  He asked me how the hell I lived for three months with no food or money.  Now there are liquor and convenient stores all around New York City, all within close distance of the park.  I've been known to have slick fingers when the time comes.  Even been known to wear a ski mask at desperate times.  So when my boy asked me how I lived for three months with no food or money, I just laughed.  I guess he didn't notice the ninety bags of potato chip bags that were flying around the park.

     I'll tell you right now, I'll never eat another potato chip as long as I live.