I'm writing again

I used to be a writer. I used to have ideas and could whip up a quick story that satisfied the urge, and then I'd come up with another idea. Then my worst fear struck. I became happy. I lost all my ideas. In college, I'd worried my stories came from my sadness--despite the fact I wrote stories when I was a child, and I was, by no means, an unhappy child. College made me sad. It made me sad and filled me with imagination, and after I fell in love, moved in with my fiance, and got married...I just wasn't sad anymore. And I didn't write anymore. And I didn't mind that I wasn't writing. I'm still happy, but I'm no longer happy to not be writing. I used to be a writer. I'm still a writer.

As it Gets Colder

Most of the months we were together were cold. Sometimes freezing. And we drove many places to break up the monotony without numbing our toes on a walk. I liked sitting in the cab with the defroster blowing hot air into the car and onto the windshield as you, in a muted brown, chunky coat, brushed and scraped the snow off and waved at me to make me smile. You looked so responsible and manly, like when you wore a suit and told me about backhanding that kid in middle school—fifties manly—the kind of man who works hard and demands respect from others. You’d get back in the car, making “brr” noises, the kind where you blow out air and shake your cheeks to get some feeling back; it involves a lot of “huffing”, then you’d rub your hands together for a minute or two or give them to me to rub since I was already warming up.

Asleep at all Hours

"Jake, come on, man, wake up."

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"Well, yeah, it's his dream to become a professional boxer, but. . .every time he's threatened he goes to sleep. I don't want to put down his dreams, you know. . .but he has to know it isn't gonna work out, right?" -Paul Dempsy

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Jake has a girlfriend who fully supports his dream. Karen, the aspiring boxer's girlfriend, age fifteen, enjoys canning apples as her hobby.

"Why wouldn't he be able to do it? If a cripple can win a marathon, why can't he win a boxing match? I mean, I guess it would be hard if he couldn't stay awake, but he might get a K.O. on his first punch, right?! Then he'd win!" -Karen Scott

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On a cloudy afternoon Jake Krantz and his friend Paul Dempsy were assaulted on their way home from the local library. The assault took place around 2:30 P.M. on a Saturday in November. The perpetrators were looking to confiscate the young boys' wallets. Mr. Dempsy gave the perpetrators his wallet at the first sign of trouble, but the attackers, presumably after a good time more than money physically assaulted the two boys despite already attaining their prize. The first strike directed at Mr. Krantz's abdominal region resulted in the boy's capitulation to sleep. The teenage assailants, upon seeing the boy fall to the ground, fled the scene in panic. Mr. Dempsy cleaned the blood from his battered face and moved to check on his friend, making sure not to touch, sixteen year old, Jake to be sure the boy would not shut down further. Paul attempted to awaken his friend with the words, "Jake, come on, man, wake up."