I Like to be Told Stories.

Many of you… wait… I’m not sure I’m allowed to use the term “many” when referring to our current readership, but “both of you” really sounds too depressing…

Anyway, many of you may wonder what the hell we have actually been doing here over at Smackfu since none of us could get off our asses for nigh on a year now and actually post some content.

Well, most of the content I had to add was bitching about things, and Drew kinda made a rule that we should be posting about things that make us happy.

While I did try to convince him that bitching really did make me happy, he was not swayed. In fact I was told, rather unceremoniously, that if I wanted to “Whine like the little wuss that you are” to go do it on myspace with the rest of the idiots, but keep it off Smackfu.

Well, since that would require extra effort on my part it will be painfully obvious that this did not happen. (But I did bitch to my wife about it considerably. This made me happy for a bit. Until it made her unhappy, then it was not a good place to be… but I digress.)

So, in the interest of not bitching, I decided to actually try to find something other than bitching that made me happy… this has apparently taken me ten months.

My apologies.

As the title would indicate, I like to be told stories. I don’t particularly care about the type of story it is, so long as it is good.

Eric Burns-White over at Websnark often tells such stories.

I am one of those websnark fans who originally found it through a post that Scot Kurtz made over at his comic site PVP.

Eric is one of the best storytellers I have ever had the pleasure of reading.

I voraciously devoured every word he ever posted at websnark. (I highly recommend you go over there and check it out.) Websnark, however, has a primary purpose of being a commentary site.So you can imagine how excited I was when he started up Banter Latte. A site dedicated to his fiction.

Now, Banter Latte has not been active for slightly longer than we have here, but still, if you didn’t know about it, go read everything over there.

I’m envious as to how well Eric sets a scene. He really makes you feel as if you are standing right next to his characters.

I miss his writing terribly. I hope his lack of activity signals a very busy and happy life off web, but I really do miss his work.

Again, go over and check it out.

Another writer I have enjoyed reading is Craig Mitchell over at Famous Boot (formerly myboot.com).
Craig’s style is significantly different from Eric’s, and it is worth reading all of his stuff as well.

I should really add specific examples of their work. Eric has so much to choose from.

I could show his tributes to Lewis Carroll or his first shot at nanowrimo where he wrote a story, that I would love to read the whole of, “Triggerman”.

The one I choose to discuss is one of his “Modern Mythology” stories.
Mythology of the Modern World: Why is the sky over Los Angeles that particular color of yellowish grey?
He captures a feeling in his mythology stories that seems a bit out of time. Again, there is a warmth and depth to his writing that makes me feel as if I am witnessing the events actually taking place, rather than reading text on a page. This particular love story tears at my heart as I root for the heroine to finally achieve her victory. I dare not say more lest I ruin the story for you. Please go read it.

Craig’s work really hit me with one specific scene.

This is from his novella in progress: ”She Hates My Futon”
Chapter 20, Roman Candles.

“I pull two wire sparklers out of the box and use the punk to light a piece of red fireworks wrapper, and I light the sparklers with it when it flames.
“Here, take one,” I say, carefully handing her one of the gold spark-drenched sticks backwards.
“These are magical,” she says, swiping her sparkler in circles through the air. “Utterly and totally magical.”
For awhile we’re silent, caught up in drawing strokes of gold through the nighttime air. We spin circles, squares, triangles and occasional lightning-bolt zigzags. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a sparkler in my hand, and it’s amazing the things you forget – the smell of the gunpowder, and how hot the wire gets in your hand as it burns downward toward the end. Then after awhile it sputters, and throws a few more sparks and you wave it furiously trying to keep it going. And it’s done.
“Mine’s gone!” I say in a kidding whiney voice. Her sparkler, however, is one of those ones that just keeps going and going. I sit down on the bench to watch her.
She’s great. She really is. Watching her stroll across the bluff in her blue gown with the sparkler high over her head
I play with the end of my tie, turning it inside out, and then back again. She’s beautiful. She’s literate. I love Kerouac. But she knows his prose by heart. I’m 29. She’s 29. I’ve never given marriage any serious consideration. She’s divorced, has an alcoholic ex-husband and a 4-year-old little girl. I write silly marketing slogans for a movie rental company. She rehabilitates people from horrible accidents and helps them climb back into their lives again.

This is the scene where I as the reader fall in love with Dawn. I really wish I could write that well.

So, there you have it. Something other than bitching that makes me happy.

Hope this finds you all well.

-R