Story Time. How to Access My Story Drafts

The message is in reading

The greatest stories, they say, are laid away under headstones in graveyards, so. Tell your story today, before others are left to be making up stories about you. In the yard. Here’s the first draft of a story I’m working on. Like I've always done in the past, I'd insert a bit of the project I’m currently working on into the previously published work. I would then discard the draft after I’m done, however, I’ve come to realize that some folks really like to read these and to keep abreast of how things are progressing. So, I’ve decided to share these and other such bits and pieces of my work with you here from time to time. Be sure to follow my blog, go, take a look, and see if you like me.   

How to access my story drafts.

Note, wordplay is the order of the day here. Each story is told with poetic flair, and snippets of Jamaican Patois inserted here and there throughout, as may be found fitting. Yeah man, yes, a Jamaica yaad mi cum fram. Oh! Sorry, I meant to say, I’m from Jamaica –okay?

Twisted Tales from the big fail.

"He used to be my right-hand person," Chaimus said, we did the heavy lifting together, you know what I mean, the hard stuff. I lifted him up high enough to become number one. Just by us doing what we were doing, spinning away at the wheel on the right hand. Working things out with the highly sophisticated mind, and stout. Ours were the ultra abled brands you know. He was the mightiest in the land, for a time. Too short a time though it might have been. but now...

He paused, and swallow hard." Whilst shifting his sack-eyed-looking gaze around to the Essence-ward. The dog, you know. He was trying to explain it all away to the dog, I'd say, you know. Telling her why things went the way they went to sway the ski board that day. Why he had pushed so very hard at the last-minute sword, in order to send his old friends away, bored. Not much was said about the "how" part of the pushing sort though. Like, how he managed to get it done, no.

"Oh well," he said, whilst rubbing away rigorously at the dog's stretched-out head where it was center-stage between its lying down front pawed legs. "We'll find a way, I'm sure." He finishes up the small talk and closes the door upon doggy’s shot at reverting back to the sleep faking snore. He'd squeezed out this spoken joke as a whispered grunting push upward on both, well, on the left hand, mostly. The right-handed stick on the other side of the kick was pulling him further upward to stand upright with it. 

Then gradually, straightening up to his permanent hunchbacked standing position prop, like, as it would be said when saying it properly. The dog lifted her head and looked up at him with dread, then put it back down again. That final push did much more damage than Chaimus had planned for Sam Midge you know. Well, the push to secure for the man his victories, not the one up from the grounded seat to upright knees. They destroyed everything in doing so, including the food storage bins. The dog didn't respond much to him at all. Just rolled the lid off one half-opened eyeball and cast a grudging glance at him, hard. 

Doggy would much rather get some sweet shut-eyeing sleep, again. Lying down comfy on the barb in the yard. Amen. Since there hardly seemed to be anything else going on around these parts of late -oh my Lord. Nothing other than for a seemingly, purposeless walk king, and then stop, Hingh, just as fast things sometimes do, or slow. They were going nowhere and so... stopping every now and then, you know. To follow a path away from the open gate in the known direction home end. That's all we ever get to see and do around here of late, mi fren. 

So said the dog to herself. But that's about it for them, and you. No? Essence the dog has got her fill of that sort of discord dead pop elbow and is now running on little more than an empty polish to a shining pot, of sorts. Downright deflated and flat. Hanging around here on these empty and recently parched-out, barren spots. She would do well with a bone, or two, a real doggy bone for him and you. Like those she was accustomed to having back home on which to nibble and chew, one with a dash of marrow somewhere in there, as some kind of a score somewhere within the bore for them to eat up and to share. Or just for her alone at this point who cares? Just put it where the beloved juicy marrow used to be stored in sorrow. Whether borrowed or scored, yes, there. 

Not as dry and tasteless a bone though, as the one she had been nibbling away on of late shows. Whilst the last vestiges of her strength slowly seep off the plate, and out of her den. That's why the dog didn’t want to respond to his talking front end, anymore, nor to carry it on any further in through the wide-open door. The dry bone was on a walking plan for her pleated shoulder ring, yeah man, that one. That's what kept her talking on... well, one of them was doing the talking. As for the other, like, her? As it occurred. She yawned at that thing and shut down on him. But that's what got us talking at the first time, Hingh, remember? She wasn't planning on carrying on any further, not another step toward the forwarding ship harbor, the landing span you know, no, but...

They had earned a welcoming drink of dirty disgusting something sin ting from the sink at this latest running watery stream of not so clear as crystal brawta. Coming to them in the form of thirst-quenching water, and then waiting out their remaining fistful of faith without... 

wait, that's not what we were talking about this time. No? No. Not yet, So, let's get back on the firing line, to sweat. She was anticipating another, among such others, like dates. You know, like, what perils would come after this date but,  so far, so good. None of such pending disasters as could. They had lingered a bit too long -Gord, thereafter, and ever since. As seen through doggy’s opinionated eyes questioning, -what for, for formatting? 

What are we waiting here for, what? For a wad of steak to fall from the sky upstate and onto our dirty plate, perhaps? Sorry, I meant to say, place, upon our dirty plate place here on this grounded spot. Chaimus knew he must move along on foot, no point in sitting around on this barren patch of the landed nook and moan. That's not good for anyone. Nor should they linger any longer, Gore, sit, sit, sit down. Thank you, now. "Since there's still breathing breath in the nostril, what the heck." 

He was to be there thinking this to him and to his self will, yet. As he kept on talking, asking such disheveled last things. Coming to us as questions off him. "I'm still alive." He said, based on the evidence this side of confronting my eyes, near the head. Perhaps the killers have lost the will, yes, that one, the will to kill William Bill. Boy, come on. Look, he said, after the long pause he'd waited. We'd better get moving along, come along.

Come along.

One thing is for sure, though. He picked up his talking song again, slowly so. Whichever way the guessing should go. This right here is not the type of guy fellow square. No, not one of those kinds who's about to go helping the killers out any more than you scoutie fellow stouts. Doubt? Look, If I'm going to die, and fly away in the diamond to the sky. He has got to shake me down with everything he's got on the first try, or with whatever else he may be able to spy within him, and I? As for me. I'm going to die living, you see, in such situations stations and giving, a given key. Or fighting as hard as hell to one-up his sword to sell, even to quell the hell out of his tiny cell as the last thing before he hears the final bell. Bang. 

That's it for today, my friends. Please, bookmark this page and join us again next time to continue reading these wacky tales. 

Meanwhile, they were there teaching you how to take leave of your senses, your consciences, and the... so... Well, it was to become very easy for them when they were ready to wax you to a sparkling shine. But, huh huh, never mind.

 

Now, sit and talk to me or amongst yourselves about what the other, or underlying story might have been.

                                                              ⁓⸪⁓

Note: Wordplay is the order of the day here, so. Here I am, talk king nonsense that may, or may not begin to make cents, or even a few dollars, but then again, if you haul her at me from behind de white collar wash 2 a shine fence, with a doll or, even two to go and tell the L out of your boo... tell them two link me up and go tell someone else a boat #dis poem. Which is a nonsense poem, that could bee quite something for another day. Hey, one more thing b 4 I've got 2 say good buy and go on to my, oh, mine. Don't leave me a loan here two cry, b sure you book market and come back a gain, quickly. Bring a friend to share hits after hits with them, ten queue. Let's get mediocre and done. With you.