Neil Leckman's Blog - Posts Tagged "neil-leckman"

I know that everybody is doing something like this in today's market, however it seems frivolous to do that unless you have some outlet that helps you gain visibility, because if you're not visible you can print all of the books in the world and still remain unknown. So with that in mind I wrote many short horror stories for print anthologies and articles for the newsletter where I work. I may not be as visible as some of the more prolific writers that are out there, but I am not invisible either. So today I approved a proof of some of my art work in an 8.5 X 11 format, just to test the waters. I did this through CreateSpace which is very easy to use and you can choose to market just through them and Amazon for free.

https://www.createspace.com/3812311

The second book I'm releasing is a collection of poems. I don't attest to understanding the complex nature of poems. I just know that I write them and people seem to like what I write. I guess sometimes things can be that simple, but rarely are. https://www.createspace.com/3863058

New character I came up with Thursday, here is the rough draft of part of that story:

A group of rowdy cowhands was in the saloon shouting and firing their guns in the air, the marshal stood just outside the doors of the saloon checking his pistols to make sure they were loaded.
“Morning Marshall, sounds like a party is in full swing inside, tad early in the day for this kind of behavior, wouldn’t you agree?”
Looking up he saw the smiling face of Jebediah Kane his eyes almost hidden over his hat that he had tilted forward at a cocky angle. On his hip he wore two pistols with ivory handles in their holsters that were worn in the manner that gunslingers preferred. It allowed for a faster draw, even if it was only a matter of a few seconds, that was what kept some men alive when it came down to man against man. Nobody knew where Jebediah came from or where he stayed when he wasn’t in town, he was a complete mystery to everyone but the marshal.
“You don’t mind if I go in first do you, I’m parched?”
The marshal just gestured towards the swinging doors and stepped aside. As Jebediah walked through the doors he sat down in a chair in front of the saloon and watched through the gaily colored window. Inside everyone turned towards the doors and watched him enter. The marshal smiled and put his pistols back in their holsters.
Jebediah slowly walked to the bar, passing a couple of cowhands that glared at him. He counted twelve in plain sight, maybe one or two more where he couldn’t see them. Placing both hands on the bar he said, “Stan give me a shot of Redeye. Looks like you got yourself a party going on”
“Mister we’re having a private party here and you ain’t part of it!!” a gruff looking man with a livid scar on his left cheek walked towards Jebediah, trail dust still heavy on him from the cattle drive.
“Sounded like you fellas were having shooting contest of some kind, mind if I give it a try?” Jeb smiled as he asked, “I love contests. Good way to test your skills”
Behind him a man who sat at a table with a bottle of whiskey in front of him said, “Like my friend said, this is a private party”
“OK, I get it. Stan I’d like that shot of Redeye now” he said to Stan who had stepped as far away from him as he could behind the bar.
“Like my friend said, you ain’t welcome here,” the man with the scar reached down towards his gun and the man at the table reached for his at the same time. Before either man could grab them four shots rang out. The man with the scar’s gunbelt fell to the floor the clasp shot off. The man at the table’s bottle of whiskey shattered and he fell sideways as two legs of his chair were shot out. Some of the other men started to reach for their guns as well when in a calm low voice Jebediah said, “I’d think twice about slapping skin to them smoke wagons, because it will be the last thing you ever do”
Jebediah was still standing at the bar, smoking pistols laying front of him as he reached for a shot of Redeye, “I’d appreciate it in fact if you would kindly take your party someplace else. In fact I’ll buy two bottles of whiskey for you to replace the one I broke. The other option is that I take offense to the two of you trying to slap leather against me without cause,” his voice dropped a note, “and I don’t like that at all” Turning slowly he smiled at them as he said, “Stan could you get two bottles of whatever my friend was drinking and put it on my tab?”
Stan hurried into the back room to get the whiskey.
Tension in the room was strung as tight as a piano wire as the men waited for someone else to make the first move. “I did my fair share of cattle drives in the past. Trail dust becomes a part of you, loneliness and the dangers during the drive keep you and edge until you finish the drive. I can understand wanting to celebrate making it through OK. Seems a pity to let a little fun ruin your day doesn’t it?”
A couple of the men nodded in agreement.
“I’ll even treat all of you to baths at the bath house down the street and pay to get the trail dust cleaned out of your clothes. Like I said I’ve been there myself and I know what it’s like. Do we have a deal, or do we have a shooting contest? I think I just showed you my accuracy and speed. All that’s left is my willingness to kill a man” as he said that he tilted his hat back so they could clearly see his face. Some of the men gasped and took their hands away from their guns and shook their heads in agreement.
“You fellas enjoy yourselves and just be respectful while you do, OK?”
“Yes sir we will” several of them said as he walked by them and walked out the swinging doors again.
The Marshal was still sitting in the chair laughing, “I just love watching you work Jeb”
“Hell, it ain’t work at all”

In the beginning there was darkness that was without form, and then there was light, and it was good, to a degree. It didn’t take away the darkness it just drove it into ever deeper pockets of non form. Places that were described as having an absence of light, rather than places that cultivated the dark. Man came onto the scene and brought with him bountiful life, life that needed the light to survive and the darkness remained. A thing that was a non thing everywhere that was without light. It grew in its non form filling in all the empty places between the worlds, and as the light began to run out it became more powerful, or rather less powerful, depending on your view. When the cycle completes the ultimate power of darkness will once again reign over all reality, and light will become but a distant dream. So it has been, so will it be again.

When I die I want to be cremated and put into an urn that has parts like Mr. Potatohead, that way kids can play with me. If that doesn't pan out I thought maybe having my ashes put into an Etch-A-Sketch might be cool, or glazed into some fancy plates.

Spend holidays with your family after you pass away, have your ashes glazed into a set of fine china. Holiday dinners will always be a time for families, alive and dead.

I sat and watched the sun slowly set reflected in her eyes.
Hues of umber and gold that as they shifted in the skies
The lone bird as it circled high above the trees
The cool caress of a late afternoon breeze
Like a distorted image in a Christmas ornament
I watched the last portions of another day spent
Smiling I reached down and closed her eyes
Then finished burying her, to keep away the flies.

Ink Drop Interview. Later this year I'll be doing one for the newletter at work.

Originally published in HAC TICS newsletter about a friend of mine. Something I wrote to inspire:

Walking to my cubicle every day, I pass by the silent cubicles of other people, headphones firmly in place, oblivious to everything except the job at hand. It’s not often that you have a chance to get to know someone unless by shear happenchance you meet in the lunch¬room, on break or, after moving several times from cubicle to cubicle, this person sits next to you. In the time I’ve been here, I have heard many stories about the service coworkers do for Veterans and our com¬munity. This is the story about one of those individu¬als who walk among us, silently working at the task at hand, never complaining or asking for anything, because their focus is on serving others on all levels.
The name of this tireless servant is Randy Hughes, just another voucher examiner in section “F”; however, after his day is done here, he works at what he says, “God has called me to do.” It initially started as an effort to help homeless Veterans in Denver, but Randy said the need to serve others was so great he couldn’t say no. Like me, Randy is a Veteran of the Vietnam War, except he suffered a grievous injury that has cost him most of the vision and all sensation on the left side of his face. Some days he endures crippling pain. He also suffers, as many Veterans do, from PTSD, which can often be debilitating in its effects. To take his mind off of his constant pain, he focuses on serving others. He will tell you that this is not about what he goes through on a day-to-day basis, but about the mission he feels he has been called to do. That’s what is important and gives him sustenance to endure and complete his mis¬sion. He prefers that this story be about the plight of the homeless, but I don’t believe it has the same impact without mentioning Randy himself. During voucher examiner training, Dana Williams nicknamed him “Mr. Wonderful,” because of all that he does for others.
When he felt the first inkling of being called to this mission, he did not hesitate or ques¬tion it. He used his own money to start a nonprofit organization called H.O.M.E. (Homeless Outreach Ministry Effort) Inc. He then went out personally to help clothe and feed those who needed it most. Many homeless people turn to alcohol and substance abuse to cope with their situations. “I personally feel there is a great need to help them with this,” says Randy. He believes he is the tool that God implemented to do this work. He has a servant’s heart.
Every Sunday you will find him at Lincoln Park, between 12th and 13th avenues near Broadway, meeting and talking with the people he helps. He talks with them while handing out meals along with some badly needed clothes and maybe a small backpack or sleeping bag. This might be the total of their worldly possessions. Roughly 28 percent of them are Veterans, from every war you can imagine, but they all share the common bond of service to their country. Be it through enlist-ment or draft, when the time came, they answered the call to defend their country, never asking for or expect¬ing anything in return. “I would just like for all of us to be able to look them in the eye and say something positive,” Randy says. Despite what circumstances life might throw at you as a Veteran, the one thing you will always have despite the fact you have no material pos¬sessions is that innate sense of belonging to something bigger than yourself. When you serve, you become part of a family that is informal in nature, yet with bonds as strong, or stronger, than a real family. In combat situa¬tions, these bonds become even stronger because your life ultimately depends upon your fellow serviceman or woman. No matter how many years pass, after all is said and done, this bond is never broken. People that you never knew before that moment will put their life at risk for yours without hesitation. Even after discharge, those bonds remain, and not just for the ones you knew while enlisted, but for all of those who proudly wore the uniform and served or are serving this day. Randy feels a kinship with those he helps and serves, and to them, he is a soft-spoken angel as he does whatever he can to make their lives a little bit easier. He fights once again for freedom, the freedom to have even the basic of human needs, such as food and clothing. “Have you ever wondered why we let our Veterans live like this?” he muses.
As I write this, I wonder how many other silent stewards walk past me in these halls, unsung heroes who step up when called…common men and women like you and me. Many served America when we needed them most, some suffering great loss and sacrifice so we, as a country, remain free. Yet they don’t stop there, because free¬dom isn’t just about being free. It is about being free from hunger, free from suffering the elements and about the freedom to believe in better days to come and to hope. Here in this building where we all work daily for the beneficiaries of those who have paid the ultimate price for that freedom walk those who don’t stop serving at the end of the day. They con¬tinue this journey in humbleness and silence. Their goal is to continue to fight for freedom - freedom from want, freedom from hunger, freedom to dream.
I personally am thankful for people like Randy and the many others I have met here. They go above and beyond, not because it’s expected, rather because it isn’t. They extend the hand of friendship and more. They extend hope, because without hope, what value does free¬dom have? These angels walk among us, sometimes unnoticed and unheard. But their presence brilliantly shines, and their voices sing out to those they serve.

You could go to the new group my wife started on LinkedIn and network out with other people who want to find the positive things in life. French Vanilla ice cream on a hot summer day, bowl optional.

The longer days and crisper nights were a sure sign for me that the holidays were on their way. Walking to school, kicking up fresh piles of leaves, with the smell of wood fires in the air, as people try to fight the morning chill, were always my favorite part of fall. When I got home I could see that mom had been brooding all day, trying no doubt to think up something horrid to say to my sister. In our family the fall stormy weather brought with it a storm of another kind, the full on, in your face, smack down family Christmas. This was preceded by a smaller event, the thankless giving dinner, the giving part was usually one bit of lip service, possibly followed by a food fight with the younger participants. Personally I had never been able to figure out the unwritten rules for engagement, and in fact they may have just been winging it all these years.

The only thing that I knew for sure is when someone asked, “Could you please pass me the…” whatever followed was irrelevant, because this was almost always followed by something sailing closely past my face. Mashed potatoes, corn, peas and once a nicely formed aerial glob of tomato soup, with one of those fish shaped soup crackers in the middle. I do give credit for the clearly defined first strike, which comes in response to the lobbed food, sometimes almost before the food has had time to reach its target. My cousin mike and I would warily look around the table at the squinty eyed glares of the adults, trying to gauge who it would be this year. He’d shrug as he looked at me, because all the adults looked primed and ready to fire at the sounding volley. Thankless giving was a full on family event, whereas smack down Christmas was a more intimate affair.
Prior to the smack down is the proper placement of the tree, so that participants have a full opportunity to crash into it, shattering bulbs and tinkling of tiny pieces of glass as they hit the floor ads a festive touch to things. One year my sister bought one of those Christmas trees made out of aluminum foil, with a spotlight that had a rotating colored disk in front of it. That was quickly discarded though in favor of a live tree, that was covered with flock to make it look like snow. Nothing like the scent of a chemically induced snow storm to cover that otherwise annoying smell of pine. Nothing beats the toxic high of being trapped in a small room with a chemically induced snow covered tree to enhance the smack down experience.

***

It should be noted here, for those wanting to hold their own smack down Christmas, the day has to start out mellow and niceties shared between the soon warring parties. This adds a nice bit of irony to things.

***

The day should begin with a nice hearty family breakfast, to ensure that stamina is maintained throughout the event. Gifts are exchanged, with lots of hugging, and appreciation shown. This is a crucial part now. Very soon regret should be expressed that more could not be given, due to budget restrictions, planter alignment, or whatever excuse immediately comes to mind. Regrets over a slovenly lifestyle that led to such cheap displays of affection, and some nice digs about errors made during an ill spent youth. Immediately this is followed up by some heartfelt shoving, with a couple of quick rabbit punches.

It is at this point that you can decide to wind things down a notch, or go full tilt into the main event. The best tactic seems to be a nice sucker punch to the back of the head of the other participant, as they turn, pretending lack of interest in further grief. Rules are out the door, except all sharp objects, or firearms be placed in a room separate from the festivities. Hair pulling, neck biting, floor thumbing using your opponents head are all allowed. There are no special awards for first blood, other than bragging rights. Rolling, slapping, kicking and of course punching are all encouraged. Spectators should try to find a large couch or overstuffed chair to sit in, this allows participants to bounce off the furniture and make you feel more like part of the event. After a good hard workout, cracking of ribs and noses time out is granted. This allows both parties to glare at each other as they gasp for air.

When the fight has been beat out of them both parties must be willing to get mushy and tearful, tearful apologies about unfair ploys expressed and hugs given. This is usually done just in time to pull that golden brown turkey out of the oven and placed mid table. Everybody expresses awe at such a wonderful feast and after a hasty prayer begin filling their plates. Laughter and crooked smiles are freely given through swollen lips and tears flow from partially swollen eyes as another festive holiday goes down in the record books. Thankfully for all this is followed by a somewhat silent night!!