William and Dodger on the Mountain

“William and Dodger on the Mountain”

As William made preparations to write Dodgers story, Dodger had the chance to look around the room. The light coming in through a small break in the curtains had the effect of looking through a lens with a soft light filter; nothing had sharp focus. Dodger relaxed a little. He had been friends with William for as long as he could remember, but this was different.

William: Okay, all set.
Dodger: Hmm?
William: I’m ready. You can start any time.

Dodger took a deep breath and started to collect his thoughts. Let’s see now, he thought, where to begin?

Dodger: You’re asking me to tell a story that you know as much about as I do.
William: Yes, but I want you to tell it from your perspective.

Dodger harrumphed and continued gathering his thoughts. After a few more moments, he broke his silence.

Dodger: Okay … you and me were just kids then …
William: Tell me my name. You’re introducing us as characters in a story; talk to me like you’re telling the story to a stranger.
Dodger: Yeah, yeah, okay! … William and me were just kids back then.
William: Good. Keep going.
Dodger: Danger wasn’t in our vocabulary. We didn’t see any problems with climbing the Peace Sign. William started first …
William: Tell me more about the Peace Sign. What was it?
Dodger: Huh? Oh. All right.

Dodger tried to clear the nerves out of his throat with another harumph.

Dodger: The Peace Sign was painted on a sheer cliff face on the side of small mountain. The face was ‘bout, oh, 5 stories high; about 50 feet. We believed it had been painted by some looney Hippy’s in the 60’s, but nobody seemed to remember who did it for real. William and many of his friends, myself included, thought of climbing it as a right-of-passage, or something.

Dodger paused as he thought about what to say next.

William: Just keep talking, we’ll fix it in editing.
Dodger: Okay … William started first. For some reason, I held back. As he progressed, hand and foot holds became harder to find. We were only 13, and evidently the folks that painted it were older and had longer arms. He hesitated at one point about a third of the way up. I could see the sweat running down his face. He looked more and more worried as he realized the handholds became even more scarce on the way up. “William” I shouted, “what’s wrong?” “Nothing”, he returned. “If it’s too difficult, just come back down.” “I don’t think I can find the cracks going backwards. I have to keep going up. At least I can see those cracks.”

Dodger again paused to think what to say next. He was now in deep thought, trying to remember the correct series of the event. William took advantage of the moment to swig from his water bottle.

Dodger: William continued climbing, taking longer, and longer to choose handholds. Now about half-way, he seemed to pause for longer than normal. “You okay William?” He continued looking left and right, and yelled back “The crack is too far away. I’m going to have to jump up to it.” “ Are you crazy, Will? It’s a sheer cliff. You can’t jump on a sheer cliff! Just come back down.” Now I had sweat dripping down my face, and I knew why I had hesitated: I was afraid!

Dodger took a breath as if he was still on that mountainside.

William: You okay, Dodge?
Dodger: Yeah … yeah, just give me a moment to catch my breath.
He continued —
I held my breath as I saw William prepare for the jump. Then the jump!

Dodger held his breath in the room with William, just as he had that day.

Dodger: Williams’ fingertips grasped at the handhold. At first, it seemed he was going to lose it and end up in space! But, he found a foothold just in time and was able to make a stronger grasp with his hand. I just sighed. By this time I was reasonably sure I wasn’t going to follow. William struggled with a few more jumps, but as he neared the top, the handholds seemed to be easier to reach. Just before reaching the top he shouted: “I’m going to make it, Dodge. I’m going to make it!” The smile on his face seemed to make the sweat disappear. There was a difficult pass up the side of the sheer, so I made my way to the top. It was pretty slippery, with a lot of loose ground, but it was still safer than the cliff. As William beamed at the top of the sheer, I realized that for the rest of our lives, William will have the bragging rights that I didn’t earn.

2015 Writing Goals


  • Develop a daily writing habit
  • Take at least 1 writing course
  • Complete 14 Prompts workbook
  • Participate in Jill Jepsons online course
  • Write at least 1 publishable eBook MS
  • Define a concept, or a publisher before writing anything
  • Build up my web presence on my blog
  • Learn more about FB/Twitter/G+/WP — buy books if possible
  • Learn how to save time publishing to social media

Triple Play, Precious

Triple Play, Precious
By Chris Faulkner
Thursday, Dec 4, 2014

It was a dark and stormy night night. Suddenly a shot rang out! Precious jumped onto the table. Golden eyes wide, her ears looked like radar antennas as she quickly looked around. She turned left, then right. After a moment she settled in for a nap by some sodas next to the laptop .

Suddenly, another shot rang out! That is to say, you would have thought it was a gunshot by the way she jumped. Her large, fluffy tail quickly launched the contents of the soda into the air. In the same second, she turned and her ample bottom wiped out a cup of tea and a bottle of water! Still in the same second, she spun around again as the liquid medley described a 360 degree arc in space.

Precious! yelled Sharon as the triple play landed square in her lap. The kitty disappeared over the other end of the table, as Dad laughed and shouted Triple play, precious!

100 Word Flash Fiction: Opus 1

MOCK the night if you will, but the moon will have its due. From human wail to baying howel, the ancient curse will work it’s terrible magic. Feet to paws and nails to claws, the cursed blood will boil. Swirling darkness reveals as if day to yellow-night eyes. Thirst for blood and hunger for flesh persuade its path. With strength of ten the beast of legend will prowel the forest with lunar bloodlust. No longer burdened by human will, the hellhound will claim the night with growling rage as the scent of human victims invade every pore from snout to TAIL

Blogging 101: 1st Post

Today I’m angry. Angry because I can’t make myself write. Angry because my writing sucks. Angry because I don’t have an inner voice, or a compelling reason to write. Angry as a symptom of depression.

No reason to be angry; and every reason to be angry.

I have no writing space. No software is going to magically make me a writer. I don’t even know why I want to write. I just always have. It was the 1st job I told my mother I wanted to do when I grew up (around 6/7 years old, at the time).

I spend most days sleeping. Sleeping because of boredom. Bored because nothing interests me anymore. I just don’t know how to break out of the funk.

We’re poor now. Partly because I have been unable to hold down a job. There are no phone calls for interviews anymore. Too many holes in my work history, and I’m getting old. Not much time left (and even less money) to develop a new career. 20 years ago, this wouldn’t have been a problem; I had lots of time then.

So now what? There doesn’t seem to be a solution. My road ahead looks mostly dark.