Alexie Aaron's Blog - Posts Tagged "stephen-murphy"
Christmas Letter
Dear Good Readers,
I have been so busy writing and rewriting that I decided that I better employ a ghost writer or this Christmas letter would never get finished. So I decided to travel to the cold barren forest (which is my mind) and look for Stephen Murphy. Murph is an axe-wielding ghost in my “Haunted Series.” A hundred and a half years ago he made his living as a farmer-forester before being struck down in his prime by a falling tree. He assured me he was an educated man and knew his way around a composition book. I found him clearing out the dead wood. His axe sliced through the trees as easily as my editor paints red ink all over my manuscripts.
“Murph, if you have a moment, I’d like to discuss my Christmas letter.”
Murphy looked over at me and pushed his hat back on his head and smiled. He is normally a man of few words (a rarity in my family), but I had confidence that he would be able to find his tongue and be able to discuss this project with me.
“Do you have the notes I sent you?”
Murph nodded and pulled out a tattered yellow piece of paper. From my position I could see that he had made edits to my list of things I had done in the last year.
“Problem?” I asked.
He nodded, drew out a number two pencil from his overalls, invited me to take a load off, and sit down at a conveniently placed picnic table in the middle of the woods. “Just wanted to clear up a few things, mind you,” he said affecting a slight Irish accent.
“Okay, shoot.”
He raised an eyebrow and indicated he didn’t have a firearm just a damn pencil and an axe.
“Figure of speech…” I tried to explain its origins but he waved me off.
“Your nephews got married?”
“Yes.”
“Is that legal?”
Flushed with embarrassment I informed him, “Not to each other! They each married two beautiful, smart women and invited me to their weddings.”
“I heard you crashed.”
“I was invited,” I insisted.
“These girls married willingly into your family?”
“Yes.”
“Had they met you before?”
“No, well, one at her bridal shower.”
“That explains it.”
“Explains what?” I asked insulted.
He ignored me and tapped the paper. “Who’s this niece who visited from Germany? You make her up?”
“No, Sara is my eldest brother’s daughter. She flew into Chicago, and I went to see her. I met her husband for the first time and…”
“He married her before meeting you too. I’m sensing a trend.”
I ignored him and told him about the wonderful day I had meeting Zach for the first time and their wonderful, well behaved children Sophia and Ozgood.
“Must take after his side of the family,” he said penciling notes on the paper.
“Any other questions?” I asked looking at my arm, noticing I haven’t worn a watch in ten years and thinking it was time to buy one.
“If you mention all these weddings, won’t people wonder whether your kids are married?”
“They aren’t.”
“Any grandkids?”
“No, I’m too young to be a grandmother,” I insisted.
He lifted an eyebrow and asked, “You want me to count your rings,” twirling his axe.
“No,” I said feeling a bit uncomfortable. Changing the subject, I brought up the reasons one sends a Christmas letter out to their loved ones. “It’s to catch them up on what I have been doing…”
“To brag,” Murph interrupted. “It says here that I’m to humbly mention all the e-books you wrote and published this year. How in the world can I do this humbly? Anyway, I thought Alexie Aaron wrote these books.”
“I’m Alexie Aaron,” I insisted. “It’s my nom de plume…pen name.”
Murph raised his pinky finger miming a hoity-toity lady at tea.
My teeth on edge, I snatched the paper and scratched this off the list. I read over his other notes and noticed he had underlined Jim’s name. “You have a problem with Jim?”
“Oh, he’s okay; just no one ever sees him but you and the kids. I’m beginning to think he’s just another character…”
“He’s a character alright.” It was my turn to laugh. “Speaking of characters, I received your request for me to describe you differently.”
“Well, yes. You said I’m thin, reasonably good looking with graying hair and…”
“How do you see yourself?” I asked curious.
“Tall, dark, handsome, with muscles and a mustache the gals would die for.”
“That’s Tom Selleck.”
He raised his axe in a menacing way. I acquiesced, “I’ll do it, but my editor’s going to be pissed. Speaking of which, I’ve got to run, she’s waiting for this, and if I don’t get it to her before her tea is finished I’ll be out of luck. Just tell everyone that I appreciate their love and friendship and wish for them the best of years to come.”
Murph nodded and tucked the paper back into his pocket. He picked up his axe and tipped his hat to me before disappearing into the forest of my mind.
Merry Christmas and have a wonderful year to come!
Alexie Aaron and Stephen Murphy
I have been so busy writing and rewriting that I decided that I better employ a ghost writer or this Christmas letter would never get finished. So I decided to travel to the cold barren forest (which is my mind) and look for Stephen Murphy. Murph is an axe-wielding ghost in my “Haunted Series.” A hundred and a half years ago he made his living as a farmer-forester before being struck down in his prime by a falling tree. He assured me he was an educated man and knew his way around a composition book. I found him clearing out the dead wood. His axe sliced through the trees as easily as my editor paints red ink all over my manuscripts.
“Murph, if you have a moment, I’d like to discuss my Christmas letter.”
Murphy looked over at me and pushed his hat back on his head and smiled. He is normally a man of few words (a rarity in my family), but I had confidence that he would be able to find his tongue and be able to discuss this project with me.
“Do you have the notes I sent you?”
Murph nodded and pulled out a tattered yellow piece of paper. From my position I could see that he had made edits to my list of things I had done in the last year.
“Problem?” I asked.
He nodded, drew out a number two pencil from his overalls, invited me to take a load off, and sit down at a conveniently placed picnic table in the middle of the woods. “Just wanted to clear up a few things, mind you,” he said affecting a slight Irish accent.
“Okay, shoot.”
He raised an eyebrow and indicated he didn’t have a firearm just a damn pencil and an axe.
“Figure of speech…” I tried to explain its origins but he waved me off.
“Your nephews got married?”
“Yes.”
“Is that legal?”
Flushed with embarrassment I informed him, “Not to each other! They each married two beautiful, smart women and invited me to their weddings.”
“I heard you crashed.”
“I was invited,” I insisted.
“These girls married willingly into your family?”
“Yes.”
“Had they met you before?”
“No, well, one at her bridal shower.”
“That explains it.”
“Explains what?” I asked insulted.
He ignored me and tapped the paper. “Who’s this niece who visited from Germany? You make her up?”
“No, Sara is my eldest brother’s daughter. She flew into Chicago, and I went to see her. I met her husband for the first time and…”
“He married her before meeting you too. I’m sensing a trend.”
I ignored him and told him about the wonderful day I had meeting Zach for the first time and their wonderful, well behaved children Sophia and Ozgood.
“Must take after his side of the family,” he said penciling notes on the paper.
“Any other questions?” I asked looking at my arm, noticing I haven’t worn a watch in ten years and thinking it was time to buy one.
“If you mention all these weddings, won’t people wonder whether your kids are married?”
“They aren’t.”
“Any grandkids?”
“No, I’m too young to be a grandmother,” I insisted.
He lifted an eyebrow and asked, “You want me to count your rings,” twirling his axe.
“No,” I said feeling a bit uncomfortable. Changing the subject, I brought up the reasons one sends a Christmas letter out to their loved ones. “It’s to catch them up on what I have been doing…”
“To brag,” Murph interrupted. “It says here that I’m to humbly mention all the e-books you wrote and published this year. How in the world can I do this humbly? Anyway, I thought Alexie Aaron wrote these books.”
“I’m Alexie Aaron,” I insisted. “It’s my nom de plume…pen name.”
Murph raised his pinky finger miming a hoity-toity lady at tea.
My teeth on edge, I snatched the paper and scratched this off the list. I read over his other notes and noticed he had underlined Jim’s name. “You have a problem with Jim?”
“Oh, he’s okay; just no one ever sees him but you and the kids. I’m beginning to think he’s just another character…”
“He’s a character alright.” It was my turn to laugh. “Speaking of characters, I received your request for me to describe you differently.”
“Well, yes. You said I’m thin, reasonably good looking with graying hair and…”
“How do you see yourself?” I asked curious.
“Tall, dark, handsome, with muscles and a mustache the gals would die for.”
“That’s Tom Selleck.”
He raised his axe in a menacing way. I acquiesced, “I’ll do it, but my editor’s going to be pissed. Speaking of which, I’ve got to run, she’s waiting for this, and if I don’t get it to her before her tea is finished I’ll be out of luck. Just tell everyone that I appreciate their love and friendship and wish for them the best of years to come.”
Murph nodded and tucked the paper back into his pocket. He picked up his axe and tipped his hat to me before disappearing into the forest of my mind.
Merry Christmas and have a wonderful year to come!
Alexie Aaron and Stephen Murphy
