After putting aside a writing project I always have a difficult
time getting back to it. I put a western novel, tentative titled, Commitment
- A Blade Holmes Novel, several months ago. Since putting it away I
finished a local history book and a children’s novella. I have also went back
to work on another, nearly completed western, and wrote a half dozen short
stories.
What follows is the first few paragraphs of a short story from my, to be
published this year, book of short western stories.
Enjoy!
Heading West - A comical and whimsical look at travel on the
Oregon Trail
Arlo Slug stuffed the front of his
shirt back into his trousers, picked up his lunch bucket and whistled a tune as
he walked out the front door of the Cleveland Ohio Iron Works. He’d been
thinking about it for a long time and today was the day, the day to tell
Isabelle his plan for the rest of their lives.
“Oregon, Oregon,” Arlo shouted as he
opened the front door of their, much in need of repair, house on E street.
“Let’s go to Oregon, away from
the city and the factory,” Arlo said.
Isabelle, somewhat surprised
at Arlo's enthusiasm over something that they had never once talked about,
smiled and said “and just what will we do when we get to Oregon, and how will
we get there?”
“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” Arlo
answered, “I’ve got it all worked out. It’ll be easy, hardly no work at all. We
just set up there on the wagon seat soaking up the sun shine, and in no time
we’ll be in Oregon, hardly no work at all.”
Seven weeks later it was spring and
Arlo and Isabelle, well Arlo anyway, were ready to carry out Arlo's great plan.
They tossed the last of their belongings atop a considerable pile of last
minute, “we can’t get along without this,” climbed up on the weathered and cracked
wooden seat of their old wagon and headed west.
Lazy and Bones, their two
ancient mules reluctantly pulled the overloaded, squeaking and creaking wagon
to a roll. “Yes sir-ee,” Arlo shouted, “we’re headin' west, Oregon here come
the Slugs”.
Cleveland was not going to get him
down, not any more, no sir, and no more shoveling coal in the Iron mill for
Arlo Slug. Arlo’s mind raced and filled with happy thoughts of his soon to be
new life.
The wagon was a patchwork of tacks,
nails, wire, rope and twine, a relic that Arlo loved and Isabelle hated. Much
to the embarrassment of Isabelle, Arlo had painted, ‘headin' to Oregon’ in
bright green on the wagons back board. Arlo daydreamed of the west as he held
the reins and let the arthritic mules set their own pace.
A loud, CRACK, snapped Arlo’s mind
back into the present. “Two blocks from home, two blocks,” Arlo muttered to
himself as he climbed from the wagon seat to the ground and surveyed the
damage.
The rear wheel on the right
side of the wagon had snapped one of its wooden spokes, and now looked rather
more oval than round. After a nearly two-hour delay and two new wheels, one
lashed to the back of the wagon, just in case, and Arlo and Isabelle were off,
again.
Isabelle had fought with Arlo about
this trip for weeks, finally given up a month ago, accepting the fact that they
were going to Oregon. Now she reached through the knitting on her lap, patted
Arlo on the knee and smiled as they rolled westward on a bright April morning.
“Maybe this won’t be too bad,” she thought. But she was wrong!
