Orange Moon

This story is actually older than many of my followers, and anyone who has read Dear Jack: Diary of an Addict has already read this story, but I loved it so much I wanted to share it with the entire world. I wrote it when I was in my late teens, early twenties. It has been one of my favorites, and one that truly solidified my desire to be a writer. I hope everyone enjoys this one as much as I do, every time I read it again.

Ladies and Gentlemen, my short story, “Orange Moon”

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With Personal Freedom Comes Personal Responsibility (The Albert Story)

(Sally: I think this is actually ok for you to read. You already know about the worst things I talk about in here. I hope you enjoy this one.)

This may, or may not, be tattooed somewhere on my body.
This may, or may not, be tattooed somewhere on my body.

A few nights ago I was talking with my good friend, Carter, on the phone while we were playing backgammon against each other online. This was a throwback to when he and I were roommates in Virgina during our late teens, and then again in our mid-twenties, when we would sit outside on our balcony, smoking cigarettes, drinking beers, and playing backgammon until the sun came up. Then we would walk over to the McDonalds a block away and get breakfast (this was before a McDonalds breakfast would cause me to spend the better portion of my day reading in the bathroom). While we were playing the virtual game the other night, he started reminiscing about the days when we were living lives that were more or less void of any sort of responsibility. Instead they were filled with nights of playing backgammon while sitting at Mike’s Diner with a group of modern day self-prescribed beatniks, drinking coffee and waxing on philosophically about the simple fact that “2 is always less than or equal to 4.”

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I Guess Belief Isn’t All That Bad

(Sally, I have no idea what this story is going to be about yet. Proceed with caution if you choose, but be prepared to read something that disappoints you about your son. Edit: don’t read this. You will abhor some of the subject matter.)

My editor (and sister) and I don’t really see eye to eye when it comes to politics. After reading my last entry on this site, she responded by asking me when I became boring. What can I say? I finally graduated college (lots of people take 7 years to graduate college) and found a passion. Who knew it would be Libertarian politics and dating people who are 11 years younger than me? (actually, anyone who knows me probably saw the latter coming) The fact of the matter is I am boring now, and I hate that about who I have become. I spend most of my time alone. I do go out and hang out in public at night, but even as I’m out among the crowds, I am spending the bulk of that time in my head wondering what exactly happened in my life that lead me here. Am I upset about my lot in life? No. I would never say that. Anyone who has read my stories knows I enjoy drinking from the chalice of life allowing it to drip from my lips as I chug the sweet juice attempting to get every ounce of pleasure from it. Somewhere along the way though, that pleasure switched from blowing lines of cocaine and ketamine to organizing politically charged social gatherings, while dreading someone dropping off a free pan of lasagna on my front porch.

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The Story of Ted

Yes, this is the ruler of all plant life.

(Sally: This story is okay for you to read. To everyone who read my last story, of which Sally had better not be one, This one is absolutely nothing like it, so don’t be afraid of reading on.)

Many of my friends, fans and followers know I have been working on a children’s novel for the past four or five years now.  I believe I am currently 63,000 words into it and am about half way done. I may have slightly too much faith in my key demographic there. The idea of a sunflower being the reigning ruler over all plant life in a magical dimension where plants can talk, bears can fly and a scarecrow wants to destroy the entire universe was just too fun of an idea to not start on though. I go back to that manuscript every time I finish a story and reread it trying to figure out how to get to the conclusion I have in mind for book one (yes, I am planning a trilogy, like all great stories). Whenever I look over the draft I remember when I first came up with the idea for the story. Unlike most of the stories I write (including the one I am currently typing) where I come up with the idea while sitting in front of my computer with Word open and I start typing, hoping it turns into something I deem worthy of being viewed by eyes other than my own, I came up with this idea by living it, when I was a young kid, around 8 years old.

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