Robert R. Mitchell's Blog
February 28, 2016
June 5, 2014
Forks
This incredibly easy trick reveals 7 ways to lose weight fast and triple your gas mileage that your pharmacist and the government don’t want you to know. Now that I’ve got your attention, let me tell you about the time we went on a road trip to Forks to visit Twilight sites and were sitting in a half-finished pub by the race track down the street from Bella’s red truck when a strangely jittery drunk white guy in Harley Davidson leather apparel and dew rag mentioned he was a former Navy Seal and unsuccessfully tried to get the five people in the bar to sing along to a song and was heartily disappointed when they didn’t. He fingered the thin paper receipt with his quarter mile time from the race track and bemoaned the need to find someplace happening. We ate fried stuff and the beer was good. I reread Fahrenheit 451 on that trip and my favorite part is when the guy is out at night and sees the blue glow from each home’s television. I’m hoping the "former Navy Seal" who “hauled ass” on the quarter mile didn’t run into an ancient cedar or an innocent driver in his search for life as depicted by beer commercials and instead retired to a ramshackle motel to drink himself to sleep in the blue glow.
Copyright 2014 by Robert R. Mitchell
Give my novel a shot: http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
Copyright 2014 by Robert R. Mitchell
Give my novel a shot: http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
May 31, 2014
Have a clue
Turn off all electronic devices. Seriously. I won’t tell you again. Your electronic devices are now being temporarily confiscated. Close your eyes. Seriously. Close your eyes or you’ll be hooded. Think extraordinary rendition. You are all now being temporarily hooded. Now concentrate on the following. There is no internet. There are no home computers. There are no cell phones. When you see something in life you want to know more about, you look it up in the Encyclopedia Britannica in the living room, you ask someone or you write it down and try to find something in the library at school during free period. If you are inquisitive, you constantly read books, magazines and newspapers. You drive places and talk to people. People like you landed on the moon. People like you destroyed Jim Crow. People like you wrote the greatest books ever written. OK, your hoods are being removed and your electronic devices are being returned fully charged. Have a clue.
Copyright 2014 by Robert R. Mitchell
Read my novel: http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
Copyright 2014 by Robert R. Mitchell
Read my novel: http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
Review of No Punchline by Jeff Suwak
No Punchline: Or, The Night Chale Thayer Blew his Head off at the Punch Drunk Comedy Club by Jeff SuwakMy rating: 5 of 5 stars
Jeff Suwak’s short story No Punchline: Or, The Night Chale Thayer Blew his Head off at the Punch Drunk Comedy Club will cure what ails us. A hell of a lot ails us today but it’s hard for many of us to realize it because we’re mesmerized and infatuated with technology and our new technology-based consciousness. No Punchline is defiantly low-tech. It’s gravelly, obscene, nicotine-stained noir. It’s succinct, precise and taut. It reminds us that life is life and social media is merely a medium. It’s nineteen-sixties Rod Serling. It’s Walter Cronkite. It’s the pissed off voice crying in the wilderness of urban filth. It’s grunge. It’s a buck. Read the story.
View all my reviews
American Legion AAA Baseball – Part 1
All the grand words have been said
About the Great Ones now long dead
And still we head out to the park
To glimpse the shifting lazy arc
Of knuckleballs thrown in the dust
Behind the bat’s almighty gust
Beneath June’s warm, inviting night
Lit by towering halide light
In the city’s corner green
Off the beaten path, unseen
Except by parents, coaches, friends
Waiting for the slump to mend
Wondering how long streaks will last
Debating just how fast is fast
Watching the Boys of Summer view
The closer’s warm up pitches skew
The prognosticator’s final score
But in the end, just wanting more.
Copyright 2014 by Robert R. Mitchell
Read my novel: http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
About the Great Ones now long dead
And still we head out to the park
To glimpse the shifting lazy arc
Of knuckleballs thrown in the dust
Behind the bat’s almighty gust
Beneath June’s warm, inviting night
Lit by towering halide light
In the city’s corner green
Off the beaten path, unseen
Except by parents, coaches, friends
Waiting for the slump to mend
Wondering how long streaks will last
Debating just how fast is fast
Watching the Boys of Summer view
The closer’s warm up pitches skew
The prognosticator’s final score
But in the end, just wanting more.
Copyright 2014 by Robert R. Mitchell
Read my novel: http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
May 25, 2014
Painter Part 2
“You think I’m crazy.” He looked the young man in the eyes. “That’s OK. Really, it is to be expected. You and I were born in different worlds. I am an alien. In this world we ignore the thermometer on the wall and check the temperature with our phones. We walk past the bookstore to the coffee shop with Wi-Fi to buy a book. We use our thumbs to talk to anyone in the world except the ones we’re with. This building and I have more in common...” The old man left the sentence unfinished and placed the final brush in the wooden box and slid the thin wooden lid shut. “Tell me, have you ever sat in the woods from dark to dark?”
“I’m sorry, what do you mean?
“Have you ever gone into the woods long before the sun rose and stayed put until long after it set?” The young man shook his head. “When you lean against a sturdy trunk or sit upon a stump or scoot yourself back into the prickly petticoats of a striking young pine and just watch and listen from dark to dark, you see that otherwise imperceptible variations in light make features of the landscape appear and disappear, change colors, move, sit still, transform. A stump becomes a bear’s rump. A short stretch of a distant creek solidifies into a narrow granite shelf. A heavy, broad-shouldered, five-point buck turns and vanishes into thin air. Our eyes are magnificent instruments but light is their master. When I moved to the city, I forgot that lesson. More than a year ago I photographed this building on a warm sunny evening. A few days later, I sketched it from the photograph and eventually began to paint. Several weeks passed and the painting was about half done when I passed this old building again on a grey, rainy morning. I almost didn’t recognize it. I stood there in the rain for two hours, comparing what stood before me with the painting in my mind. Rocks, bricks, doorknobs, window frames, steps, downspouts, soffit, everything. Everything was different. It was as if the building I’d painted had been demolished and another built in its place. How could I paint a building that never looked the same from one moment to the next, one day to the next, one month to the next? I couldn’t solve that problem in my brain so I decided to watch and see if a solution presented itself. From that day forward, I began a study, a research project with my eyes and mind, to understand this building. If I was going to paint it, I had to paint it so that anyone on any day from any perspective would swear on their mother’s grave that it was the one.”
“That seems...impossible.”
“We’ll see, won’t we.” A young woman joined the young man and slid her arm around his waist. “Ah, so this is why you wait and talk with a crazy old man.” The three smiled and the two prepared to leave. “Tell me, have either of you heard of Willy’s Supper Club?”
The young man nodded: “Everyone’s heard of Willy’s but I’ve never met anyone who has actually been.
“I’m going there now. Would you two like to join me?”
“Very kind of you sir, but that’s a bit out of our league.”
“Mine too. I traded one of my paintings for a month of free suppers.”
“With Willy?”
“Willy himself.”
The young man looked at his girlfriend and then back at the old man: “We’ve heard that Willy’s gets a little...odd.”
“I’m an old man. How odd can it be?” The three walked to the bus stop.
Copyright 2014 by Robert R. Mitchell
Like? Give my novel a shot: http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
“I’m sorry, what do you mean?
“Have you ever gone into the woods long before the sun rose and stayed put until long after it set?” The young man shook his head. “When you lean against a sturdy trunk or sit upon a stump or scoot yourself back into the prickly petticoats of a striking young pine and just watch and listen from dark to dark, you see that otherwise imperceptible variations in light make features of the landscape appear and disappear, change colors, move, sit still, transform. A stump becomes a bear’s rump. A short stretch of a distant creek solidifies into a narrow granite shelf. A heavy, broad-shouldered, five-point buck turns and vanishes into thin air. Our eyes are magnificent instruments but light is their master. When I moved to the city, I forgot that lesson. More than a year ago I photographed this building on a warm sunny evening. A few days later, I sketched it from the photograph and eventually began to paint. Several weeks passed and the painting was about half done when I passed this old building again on a grey, rainy morning. I almost didn’t recognize it. I stood there in the rain for two hours, comparing what stood before me with the painting in my mind. Rocks, bricks, doorknobs, window frames, steps, downspouts, soffit, everything. Everything was different. It was as if the building I’d painted had been demolished and another built in its place. How could I paint a building that never looked the same from one moment to the next, one day to the next, one month to the next? I couldn’t solve that problem in my brain so I decided to watch and see if a solution presented itself. From that day forward, I began a study, a research project with my eyes and mind, to understand this building. If I was going to paint it, I had to paint it so that anyone on any day from any perspective would swear on their mother’s grave that it was the one.”
“That seems...impossible.”
“We’ll see, won’t we.” A young woman joined the young man and slid her arm around his waist. “Ah, so this is why you wait and talk with a crazy old man.” The three smiled and the two prepared to leave. “Tell me, have either of you heard of Willy’s Supper Club?”
The young man nodded: “Everyone’s heard of Willy’s but I’ve never met anyone who has actually been.
“I’m going there now. Would you two like to join me?”
“Very kind of you sir, but that’s a bit out of our league.”
“Mine too. I traded one of my paintings for a month of free suppers.”
“With Willy?”
“Willy himself.”
The young man looked at his girlfriend and then back at the old man: “We’ve heard that Willy’s gets a little...odd.”
“I’m an old man. How odd can it be?” The three walked to the bus stop.
Copyright 2014 by Robert R. Mitchell
Like? Give my novel a shot: http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
May 20, 2014
Painter
As he watched the afternoon shadows creep across the historic building’s river rock and brick facade the old man reminded him of Van Gogh’s iconic Spring 1887 self-portrait except his red was grey, his beard was a goatee and his crown was closely cropped. The hint of gauntness and the apparently dormant fierceness of his exterior contradicted the mournful, earnest green eyes that calmly watched the building as if it were a living thing in a state of perpetual activity. He held a small brush with an almost invisible hint of paint at a relaxed ready in his right hand for so long that the paint must have surely dried, flaked and been carried away in the light summer breeze long before another invisible hint of paint was carefully, albeit blindly, reapplied by the man whose needful eyes never looked down. The young man, sitting on an unusually clean bench in a square ordinarily overwhelmed by alcoholics, junkies, the mentally ill, the down-on-their-luck, urban nomads and hopelessly lost individuals served by the dedicated volunteers housed in the 19th century Romanesque landmark’s cramped third floor office, returned to Twitter, Instagram, email and Facebook. After 20 minutes the young man looked up and the old man was carefully placing his brushes in a small wooden box with an almost invisible smile beneath his goatee. “Look,” he said, nodding toward the small canvas. The young man stood and peered over the old man’s shoulder at a fading, but impeccable pencil sketch of the building with 5 small features embellished with paint. “That stone was today!” he said triumphantly, pointing with the butt of the last brush. The stone, one of the river rocks comprising the lower facade, was precisely located but apparently imperfectly reproduced. The old man sensed the young man’s doubt: “Imagine binoculars with a million lenses and every millennium they align into single image: the fissure in the stone moves like a clock’s hand but on average it lives...THERE.”
Copyright 2014 by Robert R. Mitchell
Like? Give my novel a shot:
http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
Copyright 2014 by Robert R. Mitchell
Like? Give my novel a shot:
http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
May 17, 2014
Ten-Sentence Story #8
Country Roads
There are more than 100,000 people per square mile living in Manila. In Seattle, imagine a sold-out Seahawks game or Sounders match but no one goes home and 30,000 more people build shacks outside the stadium. This, of course, never happens in Eastern Washington where Spokane, the biggest city, has less than 4,000 people per square mile. Drive outside the city limits and you get a feel for the way things once were. Drive outside the city limits for a while, and you’ll get a feel for the way things once were a long, long time ago. That’s where we were: a few miles from Canada in the land of wolves, moose, elk, independent-thinking humans and a Walmart with deer and RVs in the parking lot. The weathered sign, painted in red and nailed to an enormous cedar, read “Park here if you have a good mechanic.” The next sign, nailed to a Ponderosa Pine, read “Stop! I’m armed.” Six inches to the east, a cock-eyed, rusted barbed wire split-rail fence cut north and south. Our “guide” smiled and said “Hasn’t changed a bit.”
Copyright 2014 by Robert R. Mitchell
Like? Give my novel a shot:
http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
There are more than 100,000 people per square mile living in Manila. In Seattle, imagine a sold-out Seahawks game or Sounders match but no one goes home and 30,000 more people build shacks outside the stadium. This, of course, never happens in Eastern Washington where Spokane, the biggest city, has less than 4,000 people per square mile. Drive outside the city limits and you get a feel for the way things once were. Drive outside the city limits for a while, and you’ll get a feel for the way things once were a long, long time ago. That’s where we were: a few miles from Canada in the land of wolves, moose, elk, independent-thinking humans and a Walmart with deer and RVs in the parking lot. The weathered sign, painted in red and nailed to an enormous cedar, read “Park here if you have a good mechanic.” The next sign, nailed to a Ponderosa Pine, read “Stop! I’m armed.” Six inches to the east, a cock-eyed, rusted barbed wire split-rail fence cut north and south. Our “guide” smiled and said “Hasn’t changed a bit.”
Copyright 2014 by Robert R. Mitchell
Like? Give my novel a shot:
http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
May 15, 2014
Ten Sentence Story #7
If It Weren't For Sunsets, We'd Kill Each Other
It is truly amazing and fortunate, he thought as he wiped the sweat up and over his closely cropped head, how walking up and down hills staring intently into the evening’s western sky for only 30 or 40 minutes can rekindle forgiveness for the intrinsic insufferability of the human race and significantly reduce the amount of alcohol consumed before bed. You must work at it though. Crane your neck, peer between towering Douglas Firs, position yourself dangerously close to oncoming traffic, risk one hell of a twisted ankle and cram your face right on up into the sunset and the array of clouds radiating outward like echelons of angels. Stare enough to attract attention and make other people turn and look. By doing so, you indicate the importance of this simple exercise in species sustainability. Strive to do whatever it is you do best in this life with the same grace and beauty you see before you. Each morning, the East convinces us to give existence another shot. When the sun rises, we feel compelled to do the same. The West backs us away from the edge, removes our hand from the car horn, retracts our middle finger, lowers our blood pressure and ever so gently tugs at the corners of our mouths. The West is our consolation, our wellspring of empathy, our hope for transcendence, our peace.
Copyright 2014 by Robert R. Mitchell
Like? Give my novel a shot:
http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
It is truly amazing and fortunate, he thought as he wiped the sweat up and over his closely cropped head, how walking up and down hills staring intently into the evening’s western sky for only 30 or 40 minutes can rekindle forgiveness for the intrinsic insufferability of the human race and significantly reduce the amount of alcohol consumed before bed. You must work at it though. Crane your neck, peer between towering Douglas Firs, position yourself dangerously close to oncoming traffic, risk one hell of a twisted ankle and cram your face right on up into the sunset and the array of clouds radiating outward like echelons of angels. Stare enough to attract attention and make other people turn and look. By doing so, you indicate the importance of this simple exercise in species sustainability. Strive to do whatever it is you do best in this life with the same grace and beauty you see before you. Each morning, the East convinces us to give existence another shot. When the sun rises, we feel compelled to do the same. The West backs us away from the edge, removes our hand from the car horn, retracts our middle finger, lowers our blood pressure and ever so gently tugs at the corners of our mouths. The West is our consolation, our wellspring of empathy, our hope for transcendence, our peace.
Copyright 2014 by Robert R. Mitchell
Like? Give my novel a shot:
http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
May 10, 2014
Ten Sentence Story #6
That Tuesday I Saved The Universe With My Junk
That morning, without warning, the toilet seat refused to stay vertical. Down the street at the four-way stop, all four drivers executed a four-way tie flawlessly, without hesitation. For three hours, no one at work messaged or called me, causing me to make test calls and send unnecessary messages just to confirm both were still working. I remembered all my passwords all day. The power went out for 23 minutes in broad daylight without even the hint of a breeze. The girl scouts ignored me when I walked into the grocery store. My favorite hot sauce of 20 years was disappeared from the store shelves. As darkness fell, I swear the waning moon waxed. Entirely unsettled, I went to bed that night 99% sure the apocalypse was imminent. At 2:30 a.m. the toilet seat descended like a demonic draw-bridge-guillotine and as I lay writhing on the floor in horror and pain I heard the familiar sounds of screeching tires and angry horns down at the four-way stop and realized suddenly that the universe, as it occasionally does, had merely required a humble, yet not insignificant, sacrifice to set that wobbling ol’ existential gyroscope spinning once again with a mighty pull of its cosmic string.
Copyright 2014 by Robert R. Mitchell
This was free. My novel is cheap: http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
That morning, without warning, the toilet seat refused to stay vertical. Down the street at the four-way stop, all four drivers executed a four-way tie flawlessly, without hesitation. For three hours, no one at work messaged or called me, causing me to make test calls and send unnecessary messages just to confirm both were still working. I remembered all my passwords all day. The power went out for 23 minutes in broad daylight without even the hint of a breeze. The girl scouts ignored me when I walked into the grocery store. My favorite hot sauce of 20 years was disappeared from the store shelves. As darkness fell, I swear the waning moon waxed. Entirely unsettled, I went to bed that night 99% sure the apocalypse was imminent. At 2:30 a.m. the toilet seat descended like a demonic draw-bridge-guillotine and as I lay writhing on the floor in horror and pain I heard the familiar sounds of screeching tires and angry horns down at the four-way stop and realized suddenly that the universe, as it occasionally does, had merely required a humble, yet not insignificant, sacrifice to set that wobbling ol’ existential gyroscope spinning once again with a mighty pull of its cosmic string.
Copyright 2014 by Robert R. Mitchell
This was free. My novel is cheap: http://www.amazon.com/Only-Shot-At-Go...
