Writer's Digest Story Contest #83 -- Writing Prompt w/ max of 700 words

Short story writing prompt:

"A man is surprised to find himself feeling both pleased and liberated by the news that he will soon die."

700 Words Maximum:

Rick felt a gut-churning fear he’d fought all his life, ever since he got called to the principal’s office, or when his girlfriend told him she was pregnant. Riding a tumultuous, entrepreneurial roller-coaster put him in frequent high-pressure meetings in the clouds of downtown, called to dark-paneled conference rooms, where fate, future, and fortune hung in the balance. But coming to this specialist panicked him, and the fact that the doctor was so young (and female) twisted the knife in his stomach.

She’d spent half her life studying cancer, but the look on her face reminded him of bankers staring him down at a lender conference. Methodically reviewing testing procedures conducted at the world’s finest cancer facility in Houston, the sincerity with which she explained Stage 4 kidney cancer touched him deeply. It must be hard for any doctor, even one daily waging war against cancer to tell a man there isn’t much hope for a “successful outcome,” she said, as stiff as her starched lab coat.

“Are you talking years or months, Doctor,” urging more than asking.

“I’m afraid my best guess is months, Rick, I’m sorry to say.”

After swallowing the personal premise of pending death, he gulped again and sheepishly, in a childish way asked, “So, this treatment regimen is unbelievably hard, without any real hope of recovery? Am I just going to make an exit looking like a zombie?”

She responded earnestly, with piercing eyes, “We can prolong your life a significant amount of time if the tactics work well.” “But it will be extremely painful toward the end, depending how long your body can take what we drag it through.”

Raw, and emotionally spent, he left the Texas Medical Center disoriented. By the time he sat by his pool at home with his Labrador licking the sweat off of his calf and his hand wet from the chilled highball he held tightly, Rick considered mortality and the feelings of fear and hopelessness crowding his mind.

In business, he consumed numbers ravenously, and it seemed that a guy with only 1.5% left on his battery—maybe 8,000 hours of existence remaining, would be tossing around a dozen emotions; grabbing each one, tasting whether bitter or sweet? He’d lived a long time and lost many of life’s pillars: his wife through divorce, parents, a brother, jobs, houses, even a Cadillac repossessed in the eighties.

However, a strange calm came from the two emotions dominating his thinking: he was both pleased and liberated by the thought of leaving this world. His situation wasn’t preferable but these two tracks didn’t intersect or conflict as he pondered imminent death.

Whether enlightened or unshackled, contentment surprised Rick, heated by the sizzling sun and the hot concrete surrounding the pool. As odd and unusual as he felt, the reaction positioned him unexpectedly to be open to death and consider his life against what he thought he believed of the other side.

He studied the Bible growing up, and took his kids to an Episcopal Church in River Oaks because it was close to his home, but it was probably the hatred for Baylor athletics that skewed his religion to the left. He satisfied his liberal arts love for adventure by reading Revelation like sci-fi literature.

Rick dimly pictured the Lord, white-headed with flowing hair and robes, seated at the head table of a gargantuan banquet, where Rick’s anticipated mourning, crying, and pain passed away. He longed to see the amazing city called the New Jerusalem. Released from gravity, he gazed heavenward and contemplated the brilliance of his future home, as well as he could. Liberation and contentment came from a believer’s travel plans.

Three gates side-by-side, welcomed each named entrant to a wall of the square city, roughly the size of all of North America; each gate made out of a single pearl 2,200 kilometers high. Gold paved streets, translucent and clean, wove throughout a destination where nightfall never came. God illuminated every hour of eternal, joyous days; and in the middle of the biggest boulevard in the city flowed a crystal clear river. Rick planned on walking peacefully near its banks. ##

©Mark H. Pillsbury

Contest entered July 10, 2017

Blogging... Five years in... The Sailboat...

(Dear Reader:)

Keeping a digital diary is very modern, but five years ago, in 2011 I started blogging just to try it out. Not thinking anyone would read my posts, it provided a channel for me to practice writing and find a voice for deeper expression. Also, as the supervisor of school communications, it was an experiment in social media: the Head of School thought Twitter was the coolest thing going, but wouldn't know a "weblog" if it rolled in front of his shiny grey Camry. The New Rostra was my own, and my impression is that many artists don’t create for their audiences until much later in their journey. Blogging allows the writer an intersection of their thoughts and lives; sometimes in juxtaposition, like my partner does here with her art and a diagnosis of breast cancer:

www.theartofcancerblog.wordpress.com

Origins
As I finish 5 and ½ years of blogging and this 142nd post, looking back, I see the same kinds of topics initially placed on the Blogspot® “Profile”: fiction, politics, religion, sports, culture, books, movies, wine, and basic “lifetime” story-telling which has attracted almost 46,000 site visits. Even in today’s fast paced social media society, some of my longest posts are the most clicked; nevertheless I am still surprised when a stranger takes the time to read and comment on what I’ve written. It's fun hitting the “Publish” key after spending time and effort writing a post; however, it is also rewarding to think that a reader out there relates to what you’ve written (agree, disagree, like, dislike, but just read it). This is not a Writer's Manifesto or a Declaration of Blogging Independence, but I'm sure that nowhere else can you sear ideas onto a page like a weblog. Twitter's 140 character limit is a ceiling, a natural filter, so it is on the New Rostra where I explore in depth those thoughts most captivating. 

Building the Machine
Through blogging I’m encouraged to write more, even attempting chapters which might someday be cobbled into a book. There’s a lot of fiction stirring around in my brain if I can ever find time to put it down in short chunks. As I’ve read two (well-known) best-selling authors' latest novels this month, it occurred to me that books are written one chapter at a time, like building a brick wall, brick-by-brick. There’s no magic to it—work is required, and continuity, flow, and character development must be consistent throughout; but a story is made like our lives unfold, one-day-at-a-time. These simple truths do not break any ground to anyone who writes, but blogging reinforces this reality.

Talking w/ Charlie Rose on 11/23/2016, Jon Stewart said about the challenge of developing his long-running Daily Show, which I'm comparing to the art of blogging:

“Would we be able to develop a process, within the inherent juxtaposition of a creative pursuit; which is to say, can we build a machine that is redundant enough, and rigid enough that it can sustain inspiration, improvisation, and creativity?” (end quote)

Dark Doubt
Like a dark enveloping cloud of dense fog, doubt seeps into a writer’s brain, and we tell ourselves there is just no use! No one will read this crap. Who has the time to go to your blog? Aren’t you glad you don’t feed your family doing this? Why would anyone believe anything you put down in writing, who do you think you are?… And so on. Since I’m not trying to leverage my website into advertising income, I don't fight the anxiety of caring (or needing to care) if anyone really visits. If writing posts is my "business", then I’ve lost the love of the work, giving up amateur-status (from Latin amator ‘lover,’ from amare ‘to love.’). Blogging is in some ways about Love. Without being critical of professionals, amateur-status for me, is like the force that makes the sailboat move across the ocean. From tracking site statistics, it is apparent that the more one writes, the more people visit, and the more passionate the topic, the more clicks the post receives. The love of the work, the frequency and passion with which it is done are important, and data has proven this at the New Rostra.

Obstacles
Allow me to admit that sometimes I don't know whether I'm lost or found; I lose the power to write, adrift without creativity (but this is not a investigation into the paradox of "writer's block"). So many topics and issues are on my mind, often I can't sort them out - the cup overflows. With the freedom to sail anywhere across the vast ocean, the writer must not veer off course; but instead, making tacks and turns throughout the plot, one must chart a course and find their destination. Along the way the cutter loses power, “in-irons” as the "doldrums" are called out on the sea. These doldrums, where doubt steals the usefulness of the sails, can only last awhile; soon the writer is back on her way, inspired and moving along with the winds, as if catching one’s breath. As in life, writing is a process, a task, a habit, which must be supported and practiced on a regular basis or it gets atrophied, slow, or even stilled. Doldrums can mean the loss of momentum: even though this blog is a priority, sometimes I can't summon the passion or motivation to write. It's OK to wait, and let curiosity build.

Tomorrow's Sunset
So, as the sun sets on another year of blogging, I'm looking forward to what next year brings?! I'm counting on numerous topics to power the canvas sails. Thank you to the reader, and a salute to all bloggers who think, feel, and post. Keep up the good work... Sail on!

Keeping my tradition of posting a music video to accompany my blog post:

Ben Rector -- "Sailboat"  https://youtu.be/rRyXY4oo21A

This song illustrates the writer's plight, we often feel like a sailboat... 

benrectormusic.com

The New Rostra©Mark H. Pillsbury

Fars News Agency: Ahmadinejad Invites Chavez to NAM Summit in Tehran

Fars News Agency :: Ahmadinejad Invites Chavez to NAM Summit in Tehran:


'via Blog this'

Mahmoud Ahmadinejad the President of Iran, called his fellow dictator and evil twin Hugo Chávez in Venezuela (can you imagine?):

"hU-go, are you on the line?" "This is Mah-mood." The fuzzy connection across time zones made it hard to hear.

“Sorry about calling so late, Hugo, it is already seven o’clock in the morning here; have you had a busy day?” (It was 10pm the previous day in Caracas)

“Not really, Mahmoud,” buenos dias, said Chávez.

"How are you feeling, dude?" Ahmadinejad continued, "I hope the treatment doesn't get you down." The dictator Mahmoud Amadinejad continued, "were you able to sneak up to M. D. Anderson, or are you stuck with those Cuban quacks for Doctors you told me about?"

"Don't worry about me Mahmoud, how are you feeling about this big world we are about to take over?” Chávez smiled as he talked.*

"Well, the NAM summit in August is for the biggest Heads of State in our organization; it would be excellent if you could make it?" Ahmadinejad said, adding, "you know that decisions are made by consensus, but they require substantial agreement on issues. I think you always sway the committee with your sharp rhetoric." "If you are up to it."


Chávez inquired, "Mahmoud, you are hosting this event, is that correct?" "And going to the London Olympics as well?"


"Yes, I am the NAM president this year and the meeting is in Tehran," Ahmadinejad replied.


"Sent the invite to Nick, but I wanted to call and check on you; this is my secure  iPhone®, are you on a good line, or would you rather me text you?" Chávez replied that everything on his end was secure.

Ahmadinejad replied, “I am still frustrated about my f#cking nuclear scientists; they are way behind schedule.”

He continued, “these d$mn diplomatic meetings we're putting up with are making my team distracted as well…”


"Mr. President, you have always done fine in these types of meetings; your ability to obfuscate and confuse is superior even to Auric Goldfinger!"

image credit: Kerry Waghorn

"Thanks, hU-go, I will take that as a compliment," adding, "I remember the last time we hung-out in Costa Rica, fishing; you liked the old James Bond movies!"


"But I am serious about this NAM summit; our struggle against imperial racists and pigs is only strengthened by your presence; besides, this year NAM is also also going to be a huge party,"

"I am also inviting the heads of state of Cuba, Nicaragua, Ecuador and Bolivia; you know how those middle-American guys like to drink?!" (Chávez laughed on his end of the connection).


Ahmadinejad whispered into his phone, "come a few days early Hugo, and I will show you our developing nuke program; we have certainly made great strides in providing cheap consistent energy for our citizens, and our military!"

Chávez moaned, "Now you are making this sick old communist berry jealous..."

"I know the "Roosevelt Corollary" to the Monroe Doctrine makes it hard for you to develop a nuke program like we have; you just stay focused on your oil business and getting well, brother. I am going to keep America busy for now; you take care of yourself," said Ahmadinejad.

"Mahmoud, you sound like such a statesman!" "I'm impressed," he said sarcastically.

Ahmadinejad defended himself proudly, "my Ph.D. is for transportation engineering and planning, but I can read the American history books too," "America is for Americans!" "That's their cr*p throw-down line, isn't it?"

"Evil forces have been mobilized from all directions to apply pressure on countries like ours Hugo, so I want to get our nuke program strongly established before I leave office next year."

"Bless you, bless you Mr. President; I hope you accomplish all that you set out to," Chávez added, "and if you make it back from Moscow in June, I hope to see you at the NAM summit in August..."

"It's late brother, I am going to let you get to bed."

"Thanks for taking my call, you old war-horse."

"You will be in my prayers today in our capital, the holy city..."

Chávez cautioned his old friend, "watch out for those Navy jets Mahmoud; when one of those carriers parks in the Persian Gulf, it's like having a policeman at the end of your street!"

"I hear them sometimes at night, my friend; all we have to quarrel with them is a couple of old Tomcats," adding, "but I am trying to get one good bomber ready, if you know what I mean?!"

"Indeed, mah-moud, good night from Caracas!" 

Chávez hung up. Evil sizzled through the night.

©Mark H. Pillsbury
(political fiction ripped from the headlines)

*Editors note: Hugo Chavez died on March 5, 2013

In Canada, Royal Couple Comfort Cancer Patient with Only Weeks to Live - Urban Christian News

In Canada, Royal Couple Comfort Cancer Patient with Only Weeks to Live - Urban Christian News:

'via Blog this'

While the royal couple, William and Kate visited Canada in July 2011, they took the time to speak to an Ottawa man with terminal cancer, 47 year old Terry Joyce.

[From Canadian news reports:  It was a touching moment that reduced Mr. Joyce, who lives in the Bruyere Hospice, to tears. He said: “This has given me a tremendous lift. It goes to show that we have a wonderful monarchy and we really need people like this. I was told a week ago I would be meeting them and I have been looking forward to it ever since. It has been one of the best days of my life.”]

As we watched the report of this tonight on NBC, we were able to share with our children what happened to Princess Diana; but more importantly we told them that she was compassionate with people with AIDS and victims of land mine explosions, recovering in hospitals. We told them that even though she was dead, she would have been proud of her son's behavior in Canada, last July.

William took the time during an amazingly busy schedule in Canada to speak over 5 minutes personally with Terry Joyce, who later said it was "the best day of his life." Observing the video of how William asked Kate to come over to speak, and the gentle way they comforted Mr. Joyce as he sat in a wheelchair was the most remarkable part of the trip in my opinion. As much as Brits criticize their royals, it was a heartwarming show of love for a common (dying) Canadian. It was the perfect example of public relations, humility, and love of people. William and Kate seem like they were born for their duties.

We explained that everyone wants to be around royal couples, but the genuine love that comes when one human recognizes the terminal condition of someone else, and treats them with dignity and respect; transcends celebrity or fame. Whether royal or common, we explained, people love to associate with others who take notice of their plight, communicate honestly, and show a true regard for our shared lives as fellow humans.

I think Princess Diana took her sons with her to all the corners of the earth, often in dirty, uncomfortable situations, to inculcate them with a regard for all human beings whatever their circumstances. Compassionate leadership comes from an internal force of character, not a position in a royal family. Love for one's fellow man, or even "subjects," as in Canada, comes from identification of one's struggles, whether cancer, or losing a dear mother at a young age. This trip was a great start for the new royal couple, and they now have a fan in Texas. I can't wait to meet them someday!

Postscript: Terry Joyce passed away from Cancer in Ottawa, 52 days after being warmly greeted by the royal couple.

©Mark H. Pillsbury