Flash fiction: Blind Date

Faith ate the last bite of her watercress while Tom wiped hamburger grease and ketchup from the corner of his mouth. This was her umpteenth blind date since her divorce went through last year, and she’d finally found a good man. Tom went to the gym six days a week and called his parents every Sunday. He’d talked with her about books and movies and admired Meryl Streep in Iron Lady. He’d said “It’s about darned time we had a woman president.” He’d actually said darned. The man didn’t even swear! He had a square, manly jaw and blue eyes that made Faith think of Adonis. And did she really see a ray of sunlight glint off those perfect teeth?

The waitress placed the check between them, and Faith reached into her purse for her Visa card. Dutch was fine, of course. She expected that. Warmth suffused her face. Oh, to be alone with this man.

Faith looked at her watch. “Well, I have to get back to work,” she said with a twinge of regret. “I really enjoyed your company.”

Tom smiled. God, could he smile. “Me too, Faith. It’s good to get out of the salt mines once in a while.”

She wondered if she should take the initiative or wait for this terrific guy to speak up. A bit nervously, she said, “You know, I would really like to see you again. Do you think—?”

“I would, Faith. You’re very nice, and you’re a great listener.” Tom pushed his chair back, ready to leave without glancing at the check. “But no. I don’t date fat women.”

Later in the afternoon, Faith explained these events to the detective in Central Booking, but she couldn’t explain the steak knife in Tom’s chest.

~~~end~~~

Death and the Maiden

This is a brief excerpt from my novel in progress, Death and the Maiden:

We held each other quietly for a few minutes. With my fingertips I felt the soft skin of her neck, then gravity—or a force even stronger—lowered my hand to the top button of her blouse. Against my face, her breath felt like an elixir that might forever entwine us inside Alladin’s Lamp.

Before I realized how mawkish that sounded, my cell phone rang. Beethoven’s four V for Victory notes meant it was Willis Chubb. The ringing stopped and started again, Willis’s signal that it was urgent. Hope’s left breast felt like a hot plate. We looked at each other, Hope’s eyes showing a mixture of lust and resignation. She nodded toward my phone.

I reluctantly answered it. “Hey, Willis.”

“Am I interrupting something?”

“Yes. What’s so important?”

“How’s Hope? I heard.”

“Just fine. You’re on days. How’d you know?”

“Eyes and ears, twenty-four-seven, you know me. It took the city’s finest a half hour to find the perp at Saints ER. The douchebag’s name is Chuck Roswell. He showed up with one of your friend’s fancy fingernails stuck in his eyeball, he’ll probably trade it in for a glass one.”

Review: Mastering the Art of Quitting

This review was first published by the Internet Review of Books on July 11, 2014.

MASTERING THE ART OF QUITTING:

Why It Matters in Life, Love, and Work

By Peg Streep and Alan Bernstein
262 pp. Da Capo

Reviewed by Bob Sanchez

Your job isn’t what you expected. It’s not only harder, it’s unsatisfying. You’ve invested untold hours trying to become a competitive swimmer, insurance salesman, or ballet dancer.  It’s my fault, you may be thinking. If only I try harder…. Persistence pays…. I think I can, I think I can. Over and over you repeat the mantra, Winners never quit, and quitters never win.

And you may be right. Or not. Never giving up worked for Churchill, but his country’s very existence was on the line. It worked for salesman and professional optimist Zig Ziglar, and of course for countless others, depending on their goals. So when is it okay to quit and not soldier on?

In Mastering the Art of Quitting, authors Streep and Bernstein assert that there are times to see a goal through, and there are times to change direction. To quit. “American mythology doesn’t have room for quitters,” they state, but “Quitting not only frees us from the hopeless pursuit of the unattainable but permits us to commit to new and more satisfying goals.”

Don’t stick with something that’s no longer right for you, they say, just because you don’t want the “quitter” label. The authors cite the example of a competitive swimmer who injures her shoulder and decides to work through the pain—no pain, no gain, and all that. As she persists, her shoulder gets so bad she can hardly lift her arm, let alone swim. By the time she finally quits trying, she has a lifelong injury.

A problem is “our inability to assess ourselves and our talents realistically.” Most of us tend to rate ourselves as above average, and sadly, we are not our own best judges.

Another danger is the “Sunk Cost Fallacy.” We all tend to reason that we have invested so much into this job, hobby, marriage, or college education that we have to continue in the same direction. Perhaps the most tragic example:

…the logic that pervaded the thinking of America’s leadership about sending troops to Vietnam even as it acknowledged that winning, in the conventional sense, was impossible.

But

…how could the possibility of more people dying justify the deaths of others who came before?

And then there is another problem: What if reaching your goal will no longer make you happy? “Our belief in staying the course doesn’t take into account that who we are and what we want may change over time,” the authors write.

Psychologically, quitting can be difficult. Luckily, the book offers strategies and “skill sets” for quitting or disengaging. It certainly doesn’t mean stomping off your job, and it doesn’t mean a guarantee of future success. One of the tools the authors suggest is a “goal map” outlining what you want in life, work, relationships, and learning.

Mastering the Art of Quitting is well documented, well thought out, and easily readable. Almost everyone can benefit from its commonsense advice.

What's your favorite e-classic?

What's your favorite e-classic? That is, a literary classic you've read on your e-reader? So far, mine is Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad. I read it on my iPhone only while pedaling a stationary bicycle at the gym, and my cardio chores went by quickly that way. Decades ago I'd read it in paperback, and the author's racist observations had been largely lost on me at the time. The writing quality is splendid, but the attitude toward Africans doesn't come close to modern standards. But it accurately reflects the times--late 19th and early 20th century, when Europeans felt that Africa was a land God gave them to despoil. But it's a compelling story with writing that's all the more impressive given that Conrad learned English as an adult.

If you're like me, you have a long list of oldies plucked off, say, Gutenberg, maybe more than you'll ever read. So if you could read only one classic, what would it be?

What's on your Kindle?

Ebooks are such a great invention. Even though I love physical books and regularly acquire new ones, books for my Kindle and iPad are just as important to me. The classics in particular are works I'd likely never have on my shelves, but in e-form they are just collections of a few trillion or so electrons. Over half a century ago, Jane Eyre, David Copperfield and The Merchant of Venice were foisted on my immature brain, and I hated them all. Never even finished reading them, actually. In the last couple of years I've read them and others through to the end--oh, wait, I still gagged on David Copperfield halfway through, but that's the great thing: the ebook keeps my place forever, so in a weak moment, perhaps with onset of dementia, I can resume following Master Copperfield's adventures.

Jane Eyre turns out to be a good story, but why assign an anti-semitic play to a poor ninth grader? As it happens, not much penetrated my brain back then, so no harm was done. Other works began to seep into my brain before high school was over, but it's only now that they are making significant impressions. Take The Iliad, for example. So far it's mostly fighting, with spears ripping through skulls--and darkness fell upon him. The brutal fighting gets a little old, but Homer's similes are humdingers:

He rushed across the plain like a winter torrent that has burst its barrier in full flood; no dykes, no walls of fruitful vineyards can embank it when it is swollen with rain from heaven, but in a moment it comes tearing onward, and lays many a field waste that many a strong man hand has reclaimed--even so were the dense phalanxes of the Trojans driven in route by the son of Tydeus, and many though they were, they dared not abide his onslaught.

My ebook collection is heavy on the classics, poetry, and self-published novels. If I'm blessed with a long life, maybe I'll get to read all of them.

So, to paraphrase the Capital One TV commercial, What's on your Kindle?