Fiction

I like to write.

I'm no writer... I know that, but it's fun. I enjoy it.

Anyway, one of the reasons that I'm no writer is that I have no discipline. I wait for inspiration, letting the muse do all the work. As all writers know, inspiration is a fickle bastard, letting us have tiny snippets of ideas then kicking back like a car salesman who just made his quota, expecting us to do all the heavy lifting with plot and exposition and all that boring stuff.

Cruel.

Still, these snippets, these quanta of fiction (fictons, if you will) are fun, and reasonable distractions on an otherwise useless day.

To the point.

Since I don't seem to be all that good at blogging (I find myself woefully unopinionated) I figured I would use this venue to publish my fictons, maybe turn them into something, maybe give somebody else an idea.

So here's my first ficton.

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Like Weights Around Your Heart

Y’all ain’t heard this story ‘cause, well, hell, there ain’t nobody left to tell it but me, an’ I ain’t told it yet. I figger a feller oughta tell his stories though, otherwise they’ll hang like a weight around your heart, maybe drag you all the way down to hell. Maybe if y’all hear it, well, maybe you can share a little of that weight.

I was runnin’ with the James boys back then. When I say I was runnin’ with ‘em, I mean that if they mighta needed a feller or two ta do a job, they might throw a little work my way. This was towards the end, I dunno, about a year before Jesse got shot by that pissant Bob Ford.

Both Jesse an’ Frank was mighty ticklish them days. Ya didn’t dare ta look at ‘em sideways, else you’d be more likely as not ta get Frank’s pigsticker stuck between your ribs. Still, they was good boys ta work for if ya minded your P’s an’ Q’s. Leastways with me, they was always fair with the split an’ generous with the chow.

***

Well, there's the first one. I'll try to split these up, not post them all at once.

Let 'em simmer a little.