Jim Cherry's Blog, page 7
January 4, 2018
Belated Seasons Greetings!
Sorry to be so generic in the titling of this blog entry but the holidays took their toll more than usual this year.
Last year, 2017 ended on a bad literary note but it seems that has passed and I've bounced back from the set-back, AND I've started 2018 off with a bang! I've sent out some submissions and even have a good feeling about them, here's hoping that feeling returns as acceptances! (I am a dreamer, aren't I?) Here's the things I've sent submissions into.
Rock and Roll Dreams A short story I wrote a while ago, but at the end of Dec discovered Coral Press which specializes in rock and roll themed books. They want to release an anthology of stories, poems and art, all rock and roll themed, this spring, so I spruced up the story a bit and submitted it. I also pitched them in republishing
in the hope they can get it to a wider audience. P.S. The Last Stage has a deeply discounted price on Amazon of $3.57 so if you'd like to check it out at a discounted price, its there!
Arrival for Duty A short story I wrote in Nov, and I believe you can find a rough draft in this blog. I had an epiphany on how to make the ending have more punch. It has a Twilight Zone feel to the piece so I submitted it to Asimov's Magazine.
The Last Stage Submitted it to the Illinois Library Association contest for self-published fiction authors. There's prize money, book readings and marketing events as the prize.
I have three copies of The Doors Examined
available (left over from an appearance) and if you would like a signed copy I get it to you for $20 in the U.S. signed, sealed and delivered! If you'd like a signed copy please message me for the details!
I've also been working on my novel The Third Day and it's up to 30,000 words and I have a really good feeling about it, just another 50,000 or so words to go!
And hopefully will have more coming soon! Well, that's about it! That is a lot. If you know of anyone who is interested in any of this please pass it along to them!
I was thinking about doing a blog on the things I liked and things I disliked about the new Star Wars movie. Seems like enough time has passed.
I hope things are going well for you in the New Year!
Jim
Last year, 2017 ended on a bad literary note but it seems that has passed and I've bounced back from the set-back, AND I've started 2018 off with a bang! I've sent out some submissions and even have a good feeling about them, here's hoping that feeling returns as acceptances! (I am a dreamer, aren't I?) Here's the things I've sent submissions into.
Rock and Roll Dreams A short story I wrote a while ago, but at the end of Dec discovered Coral Press which specializes in rock and roll themed books. They want to release an anthology of stories, poems and art, all rock and roll themed, this spring, so I spruced up the story a bit and submitted it. I also pitched them in republishing
in the hope they can get it to a wider audience. P.S. The Last Stage has a deeply discounted price on Amazon of $3.57 so if you'd like to check it out at a discounted price, its there!Arrival for Duty A short story I wrote in Nov, and I believe you can find a rough draft in this blog. I had an epiphany on how to make the ending have more punch. It has a Twilight Zone feel to the piece so I submitted it to Asimov's Magazine.
The Last Stage Submitted it to the Illinois Library Association contest for self-published fiction authors. There's prize money, book readings and marketing events as the prize.
I have three copies of The Doors Examined
available (left over from an appearance) and if you would like a signed copy I get it to you for $20 in the U.S. signed, sealed and delivered! If you'd like a signed copy please message me for the details!I've also been working on my novel The Third Day and it's up to 30,000 words and I have a really good feeling about it, just another 50,000 or so words to go!
And hopefully will have more coming soon! Well, that's about it! That is a lot. If you know of anyone who is interested in any of this please pass it along to them!
I was thinking about doing a blog on the things I liked and things I disliked about the new Star Wars movie. Seems like enough time has passed.
I hope things are going well for you in the New Year!
Jim
December 8, 2017
John Lennon: The First Rock & Roll Assassination
It was 37 years ago tonight that John Lennon was killed, the first rock and roll assassination. This is what I remember of the night, written almost in the instant it happened.
It was quiet outside, I looked up into the darkness, snowflakes seemed to come out of nowhere. I looked around, no one was walking, there were no cars on the street, the night was as silent as a snow globe. Light flared off the street lights glowing as if gas light, I knew where everyone was. In the surrounding houses and apartments I could see the blue light flicker of their TV screens. I knew what they were all watching, John Lennon had been shot, I had been watching too, but I had to go to work. I turned on the car, it started, but I didn’t hear the engine it seemed as if the night absorbed the sound, it was silent. I turned on the radio “Imagine” was on, I pulled out of the driveway and started down the street, the snowflakes still falling silently out of the darkness. I turned the corner, the trees lining the street arched cathedrally above, “Imagine” ended and the DJ announced “John Lennon was dead, killed by an assassins bullet.” The street seemed to pull the car along, a funeral procession, the blue hearth lights flickering in each house as I passed, the only sound was “Imagine.”
It was quiet outside, I looked up into the darkness, snowflakes seemed to come out of nowhere. I looked around, no one was walking, there were no cars on the street, the night was as silent as a snow globe. Light flared off the street lights glowing as if gas light, I knew where everyone was. In the surrounding houses and apartments I could see the blue light flicker of their TV screens. I knew what they were all watching, John Lennon had been shot, I had been watching too, but I had to go to work. I turned on the car, it started, but I didn’t hear the engine it seemed as if the night absorbed the sound, it was silent. I turned on the radio “Imagine” was on, I pulled out of the driveway and started down the street, the snowflakes still falling silently out of the darkness. I turned the corner, the trees lining the street arched cathedrally above, “Imagine” ended and the DJ announced “John Lennon was dead, killed by an assassins bullet.” The street seemed to pull the car along, a funeral procession, the blue hearth lights flickering in each house as I passed, the only sound was “Imagine.”
December 5, 2017
A Quick Quote from a Work in Progress
Here's a quick quote from my novel "The Third Day" which I'm currently working on. A bit of a teaser or maybe like a record company releasing a single of an album.
"We have a history of ideals and taking the wrong way to get them." Jim Cherry, The Third Day
"We have a history of ideals and taking the wrong way to get them." Jim Cherry, The Third Day
November 28, 2017
Hurry! Kindle Discounts Still Running!
Hurry! Cyber Monday Discounted prices still available for Kindle versions of The Doors Examined http://tiny.cc/j495oy $4.99 and The Last Stage http://tiny.cc/p595oy $3.99 get yours while they last!
November 22, 2017
Arrival For Duty
The wheels of Air Force One bounced and screeched on the runway awaking the President. He slid up the visor of the window and watched as the plane ran down the runway. He could see the jungle running along the perimeter of the airport. He was landing in a country he never thought he would have to visit, Vietnam. His was the generation that was called to fight that war, but when it came close for him to serve, his father paid a doctor for a medical note saying he couldn’t serve. Serving was for suckers, the stupid, and the poor. None of which he was. America had a long history of the rich paying the poor to serve in their place. Now he was in Vietnam but on much different terms, his terms. He would be feted, shake hands with dignitaries, catered to, visit a few sites of historic importance and act impressed. It didn’t matter, he didn’t have any ghosts here.
The door to the plane opened and he felt the humid air flood into the plane, he put on his suit jacket as he walked toward the open hatch of the plane. He would be hot in a dark suit and tie like he always wore, but appearances are what mattered. If you appear successful, you are. His imported model wife met him at the door. He was rich before he became President, everything was imported. He hadn’t wasted his life as a community organizer, or even strategically position himself as his predecessors had, he’d imposed himself into the process, every process. It was a classic submission technique, punch someone in the nose and most people will reflexively cry. In his case, if they cry you can use them if they don’t cry enlist them if they refuse punish them. He’d punched a lot of people in the nose, figuratively, but if that level of violence was needed there was always someone for such work. They stepped out onto the platform, he looked around his face frozen in a smug pose that made him look important, iconic even. The Marine guard awaited them at the bottom of the stairs. The military, just another kind of servant. His father had unfairly sent him away to a military school for a minor infraction when he was young because he thought he needed discipline. At the school he was singled out, yelled at, made to march to their tune, demerits for insignificant infractions, no misstep unforgiven, even unknowing transgressions resulted in a dressing down by the officers, complete character breakdowns in thirty second tirades, he learned to hate them. Some how he had thrived in that environment. He learned to like wearing the crisp uniforms, the fancy braids and medals. Now, officers, generals, “his generals” snapped to and saluted when he entered a room and feared the storms of his wrath. Beyond the guard the Vietnamese delegation of diplomats and military officials waited to receive him. They all were smaller than he was, little brown men in western suits and military garb, their faces carved by the hand of time. The officials of Vietnam, all children of the war. He grabbed his wife’s hand, not a tender intertwining but control. He bared his teeth, he knew from practice that at a distance it would appear a smile but up close a grimace. “Shall we?” He said, a command, not a gallant request or question, but a brusque order. They started down the stairway.
The air rippled with heat as they walked down the stairway, suddenly the air felt thicker, it pressed in around him, it was as if he‘d passed from a temperate zone into a tropical zone. His eyes became unfocused for a moment, he slipped a little and let go of his wife’s hand. He grabbed the railing for support and stopped on the stairway while regaining his composure. When his vision cleared his wife was gone, had she gone back to the plane? Did she not feel his moment of weakness? Had she continued on down the stairway? He looked down the stairs, she wasn’t there. The receiving party had seemed to change, the faces of those there to receive had changed and the uniforms were different, they were all American, young men from every branch of the services. When he reached the bottom of stairway he was greeted by a naval officer in dress whites and what seemed prematurely white hair for such a young man. He thought he recognized the officer. The officer saluted,
“Finally, you’re here sir,” the officer said, “we’ve been awaiting your arrival.”
“Good, good,” the President said, “do I know you? Were you assigned to the White House?”
“No, you don’t know me, I wasn’t a hero, I was captured.” Those words rang in the President’s ears. He looked around, the airport looked more primitive, as if it had been run down or neglected. He still didn’t see the Vietnamese delegates. He turned to the officer, looked into his eyes trying to remember where he knew the man from, he knew he didn’t know the young man, but his features were familiar.
“Don’t look to the past to remember me,” the officer said, “try the future, my future, your reality.”
The President’s eyes widened a bit, registering both recognition and shock, he recognized him now, not as a young man but as an older man, a senator. The officer smiled. The President looked down the line of men he recognized them all. They were all the younger selves of men he knew, of men who served in the war.
“Where am I?”
“Where you belong sir, Hanoi, a Hanoi that has long been awaiting you. It’s a Hanoi outside of time where you may have come to a lifetime ago.”
“I’m the President! Take me to the receiving delegation! Where are my secret service agents?”
“We are the receiving committee, the others are back in their own reality living it out.”
“How’re they living it out without me?!”
“They see a facsimile, but you, your true self is here.”
“My true self?”
“This is your essence, the core of what makes you, you.”
“What’s this all about? I’m an important person you can’t just hold me here.”
“We aren’t holding you, you’re free to go when you want.”
“Then let me go. You’re a naval officer, I’m your commander-in-chief.”
“In the world of man, not of here, something more is required.”
“What?” He demanded impatiently.
“We’ve been here a long time standing guard for those who died, for those who lived, but we can’t stand at guard forever. We’ve been told you’re our relief.”
“Stand at guard!” He snorted incredulously, “the war is long over, it wasn‘t my war.”
“It’s not over, it’s not over in our memories, in our dreams, in our bodies, it’s not over in the dreams of generations after. War belongs to all of us, even for the protesters. But what did you do? Nothing.”
“I was for the war.”
“What did you do besides voice support for it? What actions did you take to fight it? To end it? None.” The officer stared into him and the officer seemed to age a moment, to the man he knew, the man he would become, “you gave it lip-service while you sat back and let others fight it for you. While you grew rich.”
“I understand your sacrifice, I was shipped off to military school because my father ….”
“Don’t lie. You may tell yourself that, but we know the truth, a military school for rich kids, crisp uniforms, medals that were as ceremonial and symbolic as the uniform. You loved the pageantry and pomp of parade, carrying swords that were every bit as blunted as you, no rounds in rifles you drilled with. The dirtiest you ever got was working up a sweat. You always knew what was coming, there was no danger except getting VD from a girl on a weekend furlough. Should I take you to where they held me prisoner and beat me?”
“I want to go back now, you served the country, I’ve served the country, we’ve all served as we’ve seen fit.”
“What you fail to understand there is a greater service to life, serving your fellow man. You can do that by serving your country but you’ve failed and avoided serving your fellow man on all counts.”
“I’ve built industries and housing…”
“All for attaining personal wealth and self-glorification.”
“You dare to judge me!” The president bellowed, red-faced and puffed out. He noticed the jungle started to move, but there was no breeze, there weren’t any sound that animals would make, no cackle, caw, or growl that would randomly fill the air, not even the buzz of insects that he imagined should continuously permeate the atmosphere. The trees and vegetation were moving of their own accord, the movement was unnatural.
“We’re not here to judge, just to see you take your place in service.“ The officer morphed into his older self, the white hair thinned, the face puffed out of proportion because of his injuries toll over the years. He hunched slightly the years having pressed down on him. Now dressed in a dark suit much like his own it was the officer, older, he was as the President knew him, a senator. The jungle seemed to be closer, the motion more disconcerting.
“What’s out there?”
“All the men who….”
“Who died?”
“More than the dead, the living, all that served, that continue to serve, their younger selves locked here, only when their replacements arrive will they be released.”
“I will replace only one?”
“No, all these men will be released if you surrender.”
“So, my life, my contribution is greater than theirs.”
“No, do not let your sense of self-importance fool you, it’s only because you’ve valued and placed your life above theirs. In fact, in disregard for their lives. They have served while you ridiculed them and lived your life in spite of them.”
“It was their choice to serve, I chose…”
“Choose,” the officer said, “charges have been drawn in the world of man. Now you must choose how to serve. Here standing at post or back to your reality to face the charges.”
“I’m innocent! The charges are fake!”
“Do you mean the charges of man or the greater responsibility?”
“What will happen if I go back?” The senator smiled enigmatically, “I think you know what will happen.”
“How long would I have to stand at post?”
“Until your replacement arrives.”
“When’s that?”
“There’s no relief in sight….we await your decision?”
The door to the plane opened and he felt the humid air flood into the plane, he put on his suit jacket as he walked toward the open hatch of the plane. He would be hot in a dark suit and tie like he always wore, but appearances are what mattered. If you appear successful, you are. His imported model wife met him at the door. He was rich before he became President, everything was imported. He hadn’t wasted his life as a community organizer, or even strategically position himself as his predecessors had, he’d imposed himself into the process, every process. It was a classic submission technique, punch someone in the nose and most people will reflexively cry. In his case, if they cry you can use them if they don’t cry enlist them if they refuse punish them. He’d punched a lot of people in the nose, figuratively, but if that level of violence was needed there was always someone for such work. They stepped out onto the platform, he looked around his face frozen in a smug pose that made him look important, iconic even. The Marine guard awaited them at the bottom of the stairs. The military, just another kind of servant. His father had unfairly sent him away to a military school for a minor infraction when he was young because he thought he needed discipline. At the school he was singled out, yelled at, made to march to their tune, demerits for insignificant infractions, no misstep unforgiven, even unknowing transgressions resulted in a dressing down by the officers, complete character breakdowns in thirty second tirades, he learned to hate them. Some how he had thrived in that environment. He learned to like wearing the crisp uniforms, the fancy braids and medals. Now, officers, generals, “his generals” snapped to and saluted when he entered a room and feared the storms of his wrath. Beyond the guard the Vietnamese delegation of diplomats and military officials waited to receive him. They all were smaller than he was, little brown men in western suits and military garb, their faces carved by the hand of time. The officials of Vietnam, all children of the war. He grabbed his wife’s hand, not a tender intertwining but control. He bared his teeth, he knew from practice that at a distance it would appear a smile but up close a grimace. “Shall we?” He said, a command, not a gallant request or question, but a brusque order. They started down the stairway.
The air rippled with heat as they walked down the stairway, suddenly the air felt thicker, it pressed in around him, it was as if he‘d passed from a temperate zone into a tropical zone. His eyes became unfocused for a moment, he slipped a little and let go of his wife’s hand. He grabbed the railing for support and stopped on the stairway while regaining his composure. When his vision cleared his wife was gone, had she gone back to the plane? Did she not feel his moment of weakness? Had she continued on down the stairway? He looked down the stairs, she wasn’t there. The receiving party had seemed to change, the faces of those there to receive had changed and the uniforms were different, they were all American, young men from every branch of the services. When he reached the bottom of stairway he was greeted by a naval officer in dress whites and what seemed prematurely white hair for such a young man. He thought he recognized the officer. The officer saluted,
“Finally, you’re here sir,” the officer said, “we’ve been awaiting your arrival.”
“Good, good,” the President said, “do I know you? Were you assigned to the White House?”
“No, you don’t know me, I wasn’t a hero, I was captured.” Those words rang in the President’s ears. He looked around, the airport looked more primitive, as if it had been run down or neglected. He still didn’t see the Vietnamese delegates. He turned to the officer, looked into his eyes trying to remember where he knew the man from, he knew he didn’t know the young man, but his features were familiar.
“Don’t look to the past to remember me,” the officer said, “try the future, my future, your reality.”
The President’s eyes widened a bit, registering both recognition and shock, he recognized him now, not as a young man but as an older man, a senator. The officer smiled. The President looked down the line of men he recognized them all. They were all the younger selves of men he knew, of men who served in the war.
“Where am I?”
“Where you belong sir, Hanoi, a Hanoi that has long been awaiting you. It’s a Hanoi outside of time where you may have come to a lifetime ago.”
“I’m the President! Take me to the receiving delegation! Where are my secret service agents?”
“We are the receiving committee, the others are back in their own reality living it out.”
“How’re they living it out without me?!”
“They see a facsimile, but you, your true self is here.”
“My true self?”
“This is your essence, the core of what makes you, you.”
“What’s this all about? I’m an important person you can’t just hold me here.”
“We aren’t holding you, you’re free to go when you want.”
“Then let me go. You’re a naval officer, I’m your commander-in-chief.”
“In the world of man, not of here, something more is required.”
“What?” He demanded impatiently.
“We’ve been here a long time standing guard for those who died, for those who lived, but we can’t stand at guard forever. We’ve been told you’re our relief.”
“Stand at guard!” He snorted incredulously, “the war is long over, it wasn‘t my war.”
“It’s not over, it’s not over in our memories, in our dreams, in our bodies, it’s not over in the dreams of generations after. War belongs to all of us, even for the protesters. But what did you do? Nothing.”
“I was for the war.”
“What did you do besides voice support for it? What actions did you take to fight it? To end it? None.” The officer stared into him and the officer seemed to age a moment, to the man he knew, the man he would become, “you gave it lip-service while you sat back and let others fight it for you. While you grew rich.”
“I understand your sacrifice, I was shipped off to military school because my father ….”
“Don’t lie. You may tell yourself that, but we know the truth, a military school for rich kids, crisp uniforms, medals that were as ceremonial and symbolic as the uniform. You loved the pageantry and pomp of parade, carrying swords that were every bit as blunted as you, no rounds in rifles you drilled with. The dirtiest you ever got was working up a sweat. You always knew what was coming, there was no danger except getting VD from a girl on a weekend furlough. Should I take you to where they held me prisoner and beat me?”
“I want to go back now, you served the country, I’ve served the country, we’ve all served as we’ve seen fit.”
“What you fail to understand there is a greater service to life, serving your fellow man. You can do that by serving your country but you’ve failed and avoided serving your fellow man on all counts.”
“I’ve built industries and housing…”
“All for attaining personal wealth and self-glorification.”
“You dare to judge me!” The president bellowed, red-faced and puffed out. He noticed the jungle started to move, but there was no breeze, there weren’t any sound that animals would make, no cackle, caw, or growl that would randomly fill the air, not even the buzz of insects that he imagined should continuously permeate the atmosphere. The trees and vegetation were moving of their own accord, the movement was unnatural.
“We’re not here to judge, just to see you take your place in service.“ The officer morphed into his older self, the white hair thinned, the face puffed out of proportion because of his injuries toll over the years. He hunched slightly the years having pressed down on him. Now dressed in a dark suit much like his own it was the officer, older, he was as the President knew him, a senator. The jungle seemed to be closer, the motion more disconcerting.
“What’s out there?”
“All the men who….”
“Who died?”
“More than the dead, the living, all that served, that continue to serve, their younger selves locked here, only when their replacements arrive will they be released.”
“I will replace only one?”
“No, all these men will be released if you surrender.”
“So, my life, my contribution is greater than theirs.”
“No, do not let your sense of self-importance fool you, it’s only because you’ve valued and placed your life above theirs. In fact, in disregard for their lives. They have served while you ridiculed them and lived your life in spite of them.”
“It was their choice to serve, I chose…”
“Choose,” the officer said, “charges have been drawn in the world of man. Now you must choose how to serve. Here standing at post or back to your reality to face the charges.”
“I’m innocent! The charges are fake!”
“Do you mean the charges of man or the greater responsibility?”
“What will happen if I go back?” The senator smiled enigmatically, “I think you know what will happen.”
“How long would I have to stand at post?”
“Until your replacement arrives.”
“When’s that?”
“There’s no relief in sight….we await your decision?”
November 4, 2017
Raw Draft: Arrival for Duty
Here's something I started thinking about last night and it started writing itself. I know a few transitions to fix up and a couple things to fix continuity, but what ya' think?
Arrival For Duty
The wheels of Air Force One bounced and screeched on the runway awaking the President, he slid up the visor of the window and watched as the plane ran down the runway, he could see the jungle running along the perimeter of the airport, He was landing in a country he never thought he would have to visit Vietnam. When the call to serve came his father paid a doctor for a medical note saying he couldn’t serve, serving was for suckers, the stupid, and the poor. None of which he was. America had a long history of the rich paying the poor to serve in their place. Now, he would shake hands with dignitaries, be catered to, visit a few sites of historic importance and act impressed. It didn’t matter, he didn’t have any ghosts here.
The door to the plane opened and he felt the humid air flood into the plane, he would be hot in the dark suit and tie he always wore, his wife met him at the door, they stepped out onto the platform and at the bottom of the stairs awaited the Vietnamese delegation of diplomats and military officials waiting to receive him, he grabbed his wife’s hand and they started down the stairway. At the bottom of the stairs was a Marine guard, beyond them the dignitaries, diplomats, and officials of Vietnam. The military, another servant his father had sent him to a military school when he was young because he thought he needed discipline, he was singled out, yelled at, made to march in step to their tune, demerits for insignificant infractions, and all because his father unfairly through him in the school for a minor transgression. Now, those generals, his generals snapped to and saluted when he entered a room and now they danced to his tune. The air rippled with heat, his eyes became unfocused for a moment, he stopped on the stairway regaining his composure, then he saw clearly again, the air felt thicker pressing in around him, it was as if he‘d passed into a tropical zone. His wife was gone, had she gone back to the plane? Did she not feel his moment of weakness and she had continued on down the stairway? He looked down the stairs she wasn’t there, and the receiving party had seemed to change as well, the faces had changed and the uniforms were different, they were all American, and all young men from every branch of the services. At the bottom of stairway awaited a naval officer in dress whites, and what seemed prematurely white hair for a young man, he thought he recognized the officer. The officer saluted,
“Finally, you’re here,” the officer said, “we’ve been waiting for your arrival.”
“Good, good,” the President said, “do I know you? Are you an attache?”
“No, you don’t know me, I wasn’t a hero, I was captured.” Those words rang in the President’s ears, he looked around, the airport looked more primitive, like it had been run down, he still didn’t see the Vietnamese delegates. He turned to the officer, looked into his eyes trying to remember where he knew the man from, he knew he didn’t know the young man, but his features were familiar.
“Don’t look to the past to remember me,” the officer said, “try the future, my future, your reality.”
The President’s eyes widened a bit, registering both recognition and shock, “McCain is that you?” The officer smiled, “Where am I?”
“Where you belong, Hanoi, but a Hanoi that has long been awaiting you, it’s a Hanoi outside of time where you may have come to a lifetime ago.”
“I’m the President! Take me to the receiving delegation! Where are my secret service agents?”
“We’re the receiving committee, the others are back in their own reality living it out.”
“What’s this all about? I’m an important person you can’t just hold me here, what do you want from me?”
“Nothing really, just that it’s your turn to stand guard, we’ve been here a long time standing guard, for those that died, those who lived, but we can’t stand at guard forever, we’ve been told you’re our relief.”
“Stand at guard!” he snorted incredulously, “the war is long over, it wasn‘t my war.”
“No, it’s not over, it’s not over in our memories, in our dreams, in our bodies, it’s not over in the dreams of generations after. It was all of ours war, even for the protesters, but what did you do? Nothing.”
“I was for the war,”
“What did you do besides voice a support for it, what actions did you take to fight it? To end it? None. You sat back and let others fight it for you while you tried to grow rich.”
“I understand your sacrifice, I was shipped off to military school because my father thought I needed discipline.”
“Don’t lie, you may tell yourself that, but we know the truth, a military school for rich kids, crisp uniforms, medals for having your bed made, loved the pageantry and pomp of parade, carrying swords that were every bit as blunted as you, no rounds in rifles you drilled with, you never had to crawl through mud, the dirtiest you ever got was working up a sweat, you always knew what was coming, there was no danger except getting VD from a girl on a weekend furlough. Should I take you to where they held and beat me?”
“What you don’t understand is life is a service industry, so far you’ve avoided serving your fellow man.”
“I’ve built industries and housing…”
“All for attaining wealth and your glorification.” The officer morphed into his older self, the white hair thinned, the face puffed out of proportion because of the injuries toll over the years, slightly hunched over with the years, now dressed in a dark suit much like his own it was the officer, older, a Senator.
“Charges have been drawn back in your reality. Now you must choose how to serve. Here standing at post or back to your reality to face the charges.”
“How long would I have to stand at post?”
“Until your replacement arrives.”
“When’s that?”
“There’s no relief in sight.”
Arrival For Duty
The wheels of Air Force One bounced and screeched on the runway awaking the President, he slid up the visor of the window and watched as the plane ran down the runway, he could see the jungle running along the perimeter of the airport, He was landing in a country he never thought he would have to visit Vietnam. When the call to serve came his father paid a doctor for a medical note saying he couldn’t serve, serving was for suckers, the stupid, and the poor. None of which he was. America had a long history of the rich paying the poor to serve in their place. Now, he would shake hands with dignitaries, be catered to, visit a few sites of historic importance and act impressed. It didn’t matter, he didn’t have any ghosts here.
The door to the plane opened and he felt the humid air flood into the plane, he would be hot in the dark suit and tie he always wore, his wife met him at the door, they stepped out onto the platform and at the bottom of the stairs awaited the Vietnamese delegation of diplomats and military officials waiting to receive him, he grabbed his wife’s hand and they started down the stairway. At the bottom of the stairs was a Marine guard, beyond them the dignitaries, diplomats, and officials of Vietnam. The military, another servant his father had sent him to a military school when he was young because he thought he needed discipline, he was singled out, yelled at, made to march in step to their tune, demerits for insignificant infractions, and all because his father unfairly through him in the school for a minor transgression. Now, those generals, his generals snapped to and saluted when he entered a room and now they danced to his tune. The air rippled with heat, his eyes became unfocused for a moment, he stopped on the stairway regaining his composure, then he saw clearly again, the air felt thicker pressing in around him, it was as if he‘d passed into a tropical zone. His wife was gone, had she gone back to the plane? Did she not feel his moment of weakness and she had continued on down the stairway? He looked down the stairs she wasn’t there, and the receiving party had seemed to change as well, the faces had changed and the uniforms were different, they were all American, and all young men from every branch of the services. At the bottom of stairway awaited a naval officer in dress whites, and what seemed prematurely white hair for a young man, he thought he recognized the officer. The officer saluted,
“Finally, you’re here,” the officer said, “we’ve been waiting for your arrival.”
“Good, good,” the President said, “do I know you? Are you an attache?”
“No, you don’t know me, I wasn’t a hero, I was captured.” Those words rang in the President’s ears, he looked around, the airport looked more primitive, like it had been run down, he still didn’t see the Vietnamese delegates. He turned to the officer, looked into his eyes trying to remember where he knew the man from, he knew he didn’t know the young man, but his features were familiar.
“Don’t look to the past to remember me,” the officer said, “try the future, my future, your reality.”
The President’s eyes widened a bit, registering both recognition and shock, “McCain is that you?” The officer smiled, “Where am I?”
“Where you belong, Hanoi, but a Hanoi that has long been awaiting you, it’s a Hanoi outside of time where you may have come to a lifetime ago.”
“I’m the President! Take me to the receiving delegation! Where are my secret service agents?”
“We’re the receiving committee, the others are back in their own reality living it out.”
“What’s this all about? I’m an important person you can’t just hold me here, what do you want from me?”
“Nothing really, just that it’s your turn to stand guard, we’ve been here a long time standing guard, for those that died, those who lived, but we can’t stand at guard forever, we’ve been told you’re our relief.”
“Stand at guard!” he snorted incredulously, “the war is long over, it wasn‘t my war.”
“No, it’s not over, it’s not over in our memories, in our dreams, in our bodies, it’s not over in the dreams of generations after. It was all of ours war, even for the protesters, but what did you do? Nothing.”
“I was for the war,”
“What did you do besides voice a support for it, what actions did you take to fight it? To end it? None. You sat back and let others fight it for you while you tried to grow rich.”
“I understand your sacrifice, I was shipped off to military school because my father thought I needed discipline.”
“Don’t lie, you may tell yourself that, but we know the truth, a military school for rich kids, crisp uniforms, medals for having your bed made, loved the pageantry and pomp of parade, carrying swords that were every bit as blunted as you, no rounds in rifles you drilled with, you never had to crawl through mud, the dirtiest you ever got was working up a sweat, you always knew what was coming, there was no danger except getting VD from a girl on a weekend furlough. Should I take you to where they held and beat me?”
“What you don’t understand is life is a service industry, so far you’ve avoided serving your fellow man.”
“I’ve built industries and housing…”
“All for attaining wealth and your glorification.” The officer morphed into his older self, the white hair thinned, the face puffed out of proportion because of the injuries toll over the years, slightly hunched over with the years, now dressed in a dark suit much like his own it was the officer, older, a Senator.
“Charges have been drawn back in your reality. Now you must choose how to serve. Here standing at post or back to your reality to face the charges.”
“How long would I have to stand at post?”
“Until your replacement arrives.”
“When’s that?”
“There’s no relief in sight.”
October 19, 2017
New News! Strictly History/The Third Day
Ok, here's the story, I was working on a book called "Strictly From Hunger" which was supposed to be a memoir, and we had a publisher for it. It turns out the person I was writing it with embellished a WHOLE lot of the major facts of his story. The publisher (and me) not wanting to be busted and end up looking foolish rejected the book. Done, finished I'm out!
Now, it's onward to a project that I put to the side in favor of the above project. I've been working on "The Third Day" for about two weeks and have made some strides on it. I have a 100 page rough draft and have been making and transferring old notes to one place and thinking about the characters, formatting etc. Today I wrote what I think is an exceptional fragment, tell me what you think.
...We didn't experience death, we were fortunate enough to grow up in a generation that didn't know death as other generations had. We grew up whole, we didn't know disease as other generations had, we were born in times that knew progress and prosperity, we were raised in the warm firelight glow of television....
Now, it's onward to a project that I put to the side in favor of the above project. I've been working on "The Third Day" for about two weeks and have made some strides on it. I have a 100 page rough draft and have been making and transferring old notes to one place and thinking about the characters, formatting etc. Today I wrote what I think is an exceptional fragment, tell me what you think.
...We didn't experience death, we were fortunate enough to grow up in a generation that didn't know death as other generations had. We grew up whole, we didn't know disease as other generations had, we were born in times that knew progress and prosperity, we were raised in the warm firelight glow of television....
October 4, 2017
Disembodied - Dreaming in Stories PT 2
Back in February I published three, I guess you would call them flash fiction stories because they were only a hundred words or so and they got a good response so let's see if it works again.
Please remember this a pretty unvarnished and right from my subconscious with very little literary pretense.
Disembodied
I was attending a Christian college when I was driving I came to a stop sign a car pulled up behind me, I felt its malevolent pressure and I knew no one was behind the wheel I wanted to get out and see but I was too terrified.
I was working at a restaurant, Kim, a hostess, her hair was gold was one of the prettiest women I know, started getting sick, her body convulsing as if she were about to throw up. I sat her down in the vestibule waiting area on a couch next to an old man he looked concerned but I had no other place to move him to. I asked if someone could call 911 but suddenly I remembered the car and I couldn’t move, I turned back to Kim and saw she was covered by a sheet I tried pulling it off to find her head but I couldn’t it was like a cocoon I laid next to it and started making out with her.
I went back to sleep with the TV on so I didn’t have to share my sleep with these spirits.
If you like ghost stories and/or horror check out my short story "The Captured Dead" available on Kindle (http://tiny.cc/gd20ny), KOBO (https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-...) or their supported devices. If you know someone interested in this sort of writing please pass it on!
Keep rocking!
Jim
Please remember this a pretty unvarnished and right from my subconscious with very little literary pretense.
Disembodied
I was attending a Christian college when I was driving I came to a stop sign a car pulled up behind me, I felt its malevolent pressure and I knew no one was behind the wheel I wanted to get out and see but I was too terrified.
I was working at a restaurant, Kim, a hostess, her hair was gold was one of the prettiest women I know, started getting sick, her body convulsing as if she were about to throw up. I sat her down in the vestibule waiting area on a couch next to an old man he looked concerned but I had no other place to move him to. I asked if someone could call 911 but suddenly I remembered the car and I couldn’t move, I turned back to Kim and saw she was covered by a sheet I tried pulling it off to find her head but I couldn’t it was like a cocoon I laid next to it and started making out with her.
I went back to sleep with the TV on so I didn’t have to share my sleep with these spirits.
If you like ghost stories and/or horror check out my short story "The Captured Dead" available on Kindle (http://tiny.cc/gd20ny), KOBO (https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-...) or their supported devices. If you know someone interested in this sort of writing please pass it on!
Keep rocking!
Jim
October 1, 2017
The Captured Dead (Yes, it's that time of year again) PT 2
It's October 1, only 30 days left until Halloween. There really is no sense of waiting until the last minute to start your scares you can download a copy of "The Captured Dead: An American Indian Ghost Story" today either on Kindle (http://tiny.cc/gd20ny) or Kobo (https://www.kobo.com/us/en/ebook/the-...) and their supported devices!
If you need a little nudging or not sure if it's a good story here's a review from Amazon:
For a short story such as this, which can be read in one sitting, Jim Cherry manages to pack a lot of stuff in. Set in Comancheria, 1874, this novelette blends fact and fiction in a masterful way, where you’ll find: the tortures of the soldier’s human psyche, the atrocious attempted annihilation of the Native Indian, realities of the Civil War, concepts of mysticism and questions about insanity. You’ll also find a damn good little ghost story.
Did I mention it's only .99?!
Happy Halloween y'all!
Jim
If you need a little nudging or not sure if it's a good story here's a review from Amazon:
For a short story such as this, which can be read in one sitting, Jim Cherry manages to pack a lot of stuff in. Set in Comancheria, 1874, this novelette blends fact and fiction in a masterful way, where you’ll find: the tortures of the soldier’s human psyche, the atrocious attempted annihilation of the Native Indian, realities of the Civil War, concepts of mysticism and questions about insanity. You’ll also find a damn good little ghost story.
Did I mention it's only .99?!
Happy Halloween y'all!
Jim
September 19, 2017
The Captured Dead (yes, it's that time of year again)
Pumpkin pies are in stores and so is Halloween candy, and soon the ghosts of your past will be rearing their heads, the best way to exorcise those ghosts is The Captured Dead https://www.amazon.com/Captured-Dead-...
