1st Place Winner at White County Creative Writers Conference

That's Life Award

DEAR DIARY:

Love from One Perspective

“Rachel, come on. I’m not cleaning this attic by myself. Gran left a lot of stuff up here. Bring the trash bags.”

     “Good grief, Bev. You’d just throw away everything. We need to go through this stuff.”

     “Why?” Bev rolled her eyes. “It’s just old junk that Gran stuck up here fifty years ago.”

     Rachel sighed. “You have no sense of history. Look at this old trunk. I wonder what’s in here.” The lid creaked as she opened it.

     “Wow!” Bev exclaimed sarcastically. “A trunk full of crap. Shocking.” As the sass dripped from her lips, Bev dropped to her knees and reached for a small book with a faded leather cover. Flipping through the pages she commented, “I think this is Gran’s diary.”

     Rachel smiled at her sister’s sudden interest. “What does it say? And before you get cranky again, think about Gran. She loved sharing family history.”

     “You should know. All that old stuff is your thing.” Bev passed the book to her sister.

     “Like I said, you have no sense of history.” Rachel opened the diary and flipped through the pages. “Look here.” She began reading.

“January 21st.  Dear Diary. Today I met the most interesting young man at the church social. We talked for hours. He is so smart. He is planning to attend college next fall. He even introduced himself to Daddy and asked if he could come calling. His name is James.”

Bev perked up. “Hey that’s Poppa.” She no longer tried to hide her interest. “What else does it say?”

Rachel scanned through several pages. ”Accounts of their dates.”

February 10^th. Dear Diary. James and I went to the rodeo with Cora and Luke. It was fun. When it got chilly, James gave me his jacket. He’s a real gentleman.”

 “That must be Great Aunt Cora.” Rachel flipped more pages. “They held hands at a church service. He came to a family dinner. She went shopping with his sister…blah, blah.”

“Blah, blah? I thought family history was important. Aren’t you always telling me that?” Bev scolded. “Now read on. And wipe that smirk off your face. You got me. I’m interested.”

Rachel grinned widely.

“March 16^th. James and I went for ice cream this afternoon. We sat in the porch swing until after dark. When he got up to leave, he kissed me. Right on the lips. It was nice but I wasn’t ready. I can do better next time. I am looking forward to kissing James again.”  

She laughed out loud. “Go Poppa! Stealing that first kiss. Don’t you just love it?”

Bev shook her head. “That’s sweet and all but it took him two months to kiss her!”

Rachel rolled her eyes and continued reading.

March 18^yh. After church today, James had lunch with us. He and Daddy went down to the barn and talked for a long while. Cora teased me that he might be asking Daddy if he could marry me. Turns out that ain’t it at all. James wants to join the Army. He will be gone at least two years. How can he do this to me? I was so mad I told him to just go. Then I cried half the night.

March 19th. I’m so mad at James. Does he think I’ll just wait for him to come home? What about college? Does he think I’ll just pine away for him while he goes off and gets himself killed? Well I won’t. There are plenty of fish in the sea.

March 20^th. What will I do if James doesn’t make it home? My heart is breaking. I think I may even love him. What shall I do?

March 23^rd. I saw James in town today. He said he leaves for basic training at Fort Benning, Georgia next month. After training, he’ll get one chance to visit home before he ships out over seas. I tried to wish him well but found myself scolding him for joining up. He said I didn’t understand. We had a big argument. I never want to see him again. He can do as he pleases.

April 9^th. Today James left for Basic Training. I wasn’t going to go but found myself down by the bus station as the boys were loading up for Georgia. I saw James. He looked so handsome. I waved. He ran off the bus, took me in his arms and kissed me. This time I was ready. I kissed him back. We kissed until the bus driver honked for James to board. All the fellows on the bus applauded. I will love him forever.

Rachel wiped away a tear. “That’ so sweet.”

Bev snorted. “If you ask me, Gran was a flake. She couldn’t make up her mind.” She placed the diary into the trunk.

2nd Place Winner at White County Writer's Conference

The Rest is History Award (A little rewrite on a historical event)

LONG LIVED THE KING

The Interview

     “May I get you anything else before we get started?” The pretty blonde producer hovered around her guest as he waited for the interview to begin.

     “I’m fine. Thanks darlin’,” he drawled.

     “I see they have your microphone all set up. Would you like some more water? Anything? Anything at all, just ask.” 

     He shot her a crooked grin. She blushed and scurried off.

     The interviewer adjusted his tie and took a seat across from his illustrious guest. They shook hands. He took one last look at his notes as the director counted him down. Looking directly into the camera he smiled widely. “And we are back.  In today’s movers and shakers segment we are honored to have someone who’s impacted music, film, and even world politics over the last forty years. This guest is here to tell us about his new book that chronicles his career and delves into the darkness that almost ended his life.  Join me in welcoming the King!”

     The elderly guest looked slightly embarrassed when the studio erupted in cheers and applause. “Thank you. Thank you very much,” he said. The result was a roar of adulation.

     “Well let’s get to it shall we?” the interviewer continued. “Everyone in the world knows your music. You catapulted rock and roll into the stratosphere in the 50’s and 60’s. In the 80’s your new music inspired a new generation. Your influence can be heard in hip hop, rap, country, of course rock and roll and pretty much every other genre of music since. Your humanitarian efforts spawned a movement that has impacted the globe. The hunger relief organization, PB&B, funds nutritious school lunches for millions of American children and sends food to 34 countries. And if that’s not enough, and it really should be…your support of the arts in schools has insured that music, dance, film, and drama will continue to be offered in every American high school in the country.”

     “The arts are important and I…I can’t imagine why anyone in this world should have to go hungry. There’s plenty of food. We just have to get it to folks.” The King absently ran his hand through his silver hair. “That’s why I started PB&B (peanut butter and banana, for my favorite snack) so nobody goes hungry.”

     The interviewer stole a glance at his notes. “The whole world feels like they know you from your music and movies but this book (I couldn’t put it down once I started reading it.) covers what you call the dark decade, the 70’s. What can you tell us about those times?”

     “Well, sir. It…it’s like this. I had some successes in the 70’s but for the most part my career was in decline. I was touring the country a lot but my music was getting stale. I surrounded myself with folks who never told me no. My marriage ended in 73. I was in a sorry state. By 1977 my health was real bad. I had an enlarged heart, high blood pressure, chronic migraines, and severe back pain. I stayed hopped up on prescription meds. I was so overweight, I could barely make it through a show.”

     “On August 16, 1977 I had a massive heart attack. It should ‘a killed me. I was technically dead for a couple of minutes. When I woke up in the hospital, I knew somethin’ had to change.”

     “That is when you decided to check into rehab?”

     “Not immediately. I was always so opposed to recreational drug use, it was hard for me to understand that I was an addict. It took a brave and very straightforward young doctor, actually he was an intern at the time, to tell me I was addicted to drugs. I was so used to being the one that everyone depended on, it was really hard for me to ask for help. It was hard to admit that I needed help. In the week I spent at the hospital recovering, I began to understand.”

     “On August 28^th, I checked in to Hazelden in St. Paul.”

     “That’s the Hazelden Clinic, which later became the Betty Ford Clinic,” the interviewer interjected.

     “Yes. That’s right. I learned real quick that I needed to change pretty much everything about my life. I had to learn to eat right and exercise. Most importantly, I had to learn to manage my health concerns without overmedicating. It was not an easy road. It took two years. I lost 65 pounds, which helped my overall health a lot. I took up yoga, which is a lot like martial arts but calmer. I needed calm in my life. I began to surround myself with positive people who cared enough to tell me the truth.”

     “What truths did that entail?”

     “The truth about everything. My wardrobe was dated. The jumpsuits had to go. My music was stale. I needed new writers. I even started writing some original songs for myself. Facing my issues with substance abuse, I learned a lot.” The King shifted in his seat to look directly at the camera. “There is an epidemic in this country. Prescription drug abuse is out of control. That’s why all the profits from this book, LONG LIVED THE KING; HOW DYING SAVED MY LIFE, are going to the Hazelden Foundation. This organization funds rehab centers across the country.”

    The interviewer nodded and gestured to the large screen behind them. Images of smiling people and a manicured campus scrolled by. “A worthy cause indeed. Let me remind our viewers. The medical facilities and free clinics funded by the Hazelden Foundation have changed the face of healthcare in the United States.” More images of small town clinics and more smiling patients. “In 1985 the first clinic in Memphis opened to service the people who couldn’t afford quality healthcare. Since then, over 1200 medical facilities in towns all over the country have joined to insure that no one goes without medical care.”

     “That’s right.”

     “Now before we must go, I have to ask you one more question. Did you really have a hand in designing the flying car?”

     The King laughed. “No. Elon started that rumor. That kid.” He shook his head. “He was meeting with his engineering team to work on their hover car concepts. Someone turned on my music. Elon said they were inspired. The rest is history. Now just about everyone has one of his solar powered or electric hover cars.”

     “I’m getting the nod from our director so I guess we’ll have to wrap this up. I just want to say thank you for all that you’ve done.”

     “Yes sir. Thank you, sir. But I…I haven’t really done all that much. I’m just a singer.”

     “Oh, no sir. You are so much more than just a singer. You are an innovator, philanthropist, and an inspiration to us all. At 82 you are still making a difference in the world. I’d hate to think what a sorry state this world would be in if you hadn’t survived back in 1977. The King, ladies and gentlemen. His new book LONG LIVED THE KING; HOW DYING SAVED MY LIFE is in bookstores now.”

     The old man stood and bowed to thunderous applause. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

Winner; White County Creative Writer's Conference

I attended the conference for the first time this year. It was a lot of fun. I entered three pieces in the contests and was fortunate to take home a 1st, 2nd, and 3rd place winner. Congratulations to all the attendees and winners.

This is my 3rd place Winner, The Gary R. Hoffman Award. It's a bit of an inside joke around here. There is a writer based in Florida who regularly enters and wins many of the contests from our groups here in Arkansas. We haven't met him. No one knows him. He's become something of a legend. With his permission, this contest was to construct a fictional biography of him. He did the judging.

The Good Life in Obscurity

     Now in my 80^th year I find a need to pen my memoir. Contemporary memoirs seem to be written by increasingly younger figures. I always thought it rather presumptuous to write about your life before you’ve lived. Life is for the living of it. Old age is the time for reflection and hopefully only little regret. I have lived a good life. Oddly enough, living it in obscurity has been my greatest achievement.

     I was born Donald Raymond Flowers in July of 1937. The family farm wasn’t much. We survived on fish and game from the area as much as what the farm provided. Life was tough but Big Sky country is beautiful. As a lad I didn’t appreciate it as I do now. All I wanted was to flee as far as I could get from the Milk River and the rural life that threatened to suffocate me. The military was my salvation.

     I joined the Army in 1954. The Service taught me discipline, confidence and self-reliance among other skills.  I also learned that the military life was not for me. I fulfilled my two year commitment and was discharged in 1957. Looking back with the eyes of history and experience I see that I dodged two wars, enlisting at the end of the Korean conflict and getting discharged just as the Vietnam War was getting started.

     I took my last paycheck from Uncle Sam and bought a nice suit. In the military, I found that most people were kind and respectful of the uniform. It became evident that a fine suit garnered respect, as well. While searching for work, I discovered (quite by chance) that people will assume a lot if you let them. I showed up in my new suit, resume in hand, to interview for a job. I signed in at the desk like everyone else and settled down with a magazine to wait my turn. It pleased me to note that I was the best dressed in the office. There were a good many young men waiting when I arrived so I figured it would be a while.

     The receptionist at the desk scanned the sign in sheet and motioned me over. “I’m sorry to make you wait Dr. Flowers. You may go on in. Mr. Davenport’s office is on the left.”  Never one to look a gift horse in the mouth as it were, I strolled right on down to Mr. Davenport’s office.

     Understand, I had no intention of deceiving good Mr. Davenport. I thought we’d have a chuckle at the fact the receptionist thought D. R. Flowers was the physician he’d been expecting. But it was so easy. He shook my hand and launched into a harried diatribe about his ulcer. I noted the bags under his eyes and the empty coffee mugs on his desk while he spoke. When he finally took a breath I did my best to sound like I knew what I was talking about.

     “Mr. Davenport, I know I’m not your regular doctor but I’m sure he’s told you that too much coffee is not good for your ulcer.” He tried to speak but I was having so much fun I cut him off with a serious look. “You aren’t getting enough sleep. More coffee is not the answer.” I shot him a knowing glare. “And you’d do well to ease back on the bourbon.” The last gibe was a guess but he looked the type.

     He sat down hard. “I know. I know. Old Doc Simpson said the same thing. I was just hoping that you might have something that would get me through the day.” For the first time since I had strolled into his office, Mr. Davenport looked me over. “You sure are young for a doctor.”

     I was certain that I was caught. I eased myself toward the door. “You know, I get that all the time. I take after my mother. She always looked young.  There’s nothing more for me to do here so I’ll be going. Remember, you have to actually follow the doctor’s orders. Have yourself a glass of buttermilk and you’ll feel better for a while. Cut back on the coffee and bourbon and drink some water.” I kept talking as I slid out the door.

     Making my way to the exit, I tried not to run. Just as I reached for the door, Mr. Davenport burst from his office.  “Wait right there, doc!” he shouted. 

     My feet wanted to run, but I turned and smiled instead. I thought I might just talk my way out of it. “Now Mr. Davenport…” I began.

     “Oh, I know what you’re going to say.” He cornered me at the door. “You didn’t do anything but tell me to do what old Doc Simpson said, but you came down here. It’s worth it to me for the second opinion. Thanks.” He pumped my hand in a hearty handshake and deposited a crisp twenty in my palm. I walked out of there with a new career having just completed my first grift.

     I charmed and sweet talked my way through the next few decades. I enjoyed being someone else. Crisscrossing the country several times with a different identity every few months, I got bold seeking the big score. I was nearly caught impersonating a bank examiner in Idaho. I did make some cash selling knock off art in California.  In 1971 I hatched a reckless plan that involved an airliner and a parachute. It nearly got me killed. It did put an end to my career in the Pacific Northwest. I headed south. I grew a beard and sought mundane employment.

     In Missouri, I sold cars. I was well suited for the job. However, I found it unsatisfying. I moved on to Florida. I always enjoyed the beach. With the Eighties came the computer age and it was time for me to pick an identity. It was becoming more and more difficult to falsify documents. No more Dr. Flowers, no more Dan Cooper, no more Fred Johnson; I became Gary R. Hoffman. I found I could make a decent living selling insurance. I also found a way to continue to be someone else.

     I became a writer. At first, it was just an outlet for my adventurous side. I wrote a short story for a local contest and I won. Even as my beard got gray and my waistband expanded, I found a way to continue my adventures. Nowadays I write what makes me happy.  Instead of traveling the country, I enter contests worldwide. I send my alter egos everywhere. I could have been famous. One of my identities was infamous. But my greatest grift has been enjoying the good life in obscurity.