Notebook Entry
I am sure that people are finding this website through various and rather unconventional means. Perhaps the most surprising fact that the logfiles turn up is that people are often searching for completely non-literary items and finding this blog instead. For those of your who have no idea what this blog is supposed to be, I can only say that if you read on, you’ll find it to be a collection of short stories that I am writing while I figure out how to finish my novel.
At any rate, I thought I would share a snippet from my notebook… the following piece is part of a possible short story that might appear in these pages eventually.
Pierce O’Sullivan sounded more like a command than a name, or so his younger brother Liam had joked. He was frail and thin, his hair was long for a boy and his eyes were greener than his mother’s. Yet, in spite of his sickly appearance, his manner was distinctly jovial and without airs. He did not were black and read Baudelaire when he was alone, as Sally (the girl he secretly admire) had guessed he might. He said his please and thank yous—which turned more heads in his Bronx neighborhood than if he’d pulled out a knife and started cursing—and was the most generous boy in school.
He might have been conducting an invisible orchestra or tracing the flight path of a butterfly, the way he looked, but no one could know. He stood and twirled a bit never deviating more than a step or two from his first position. In the distance he made out that the two figures standing next to the picnic bench near the pavilion were Sally and one other random friend.
She wore a blue jumper, and it seemed a strange dark blue to Pierce. He could not make out why the same song came back into his mind every time he saw her; nor could he understand how the vista of her in her jumper seemed fused with the sounds of a pop song, or why he could not block this song from his mind. Indeed, he could not block her out either.
