Wednesday, October 31, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Trick or treat?
Author Mike OConnor: Trick or treat?: It was Halloween and finally time to put on the scary costumes and scare everything that lived and breathed. This year’s mask would make s...
Trick or treat?
It was Halloween and finally time to put on the scary
costumes and scare everything that lived and breathed. This year’s mask would
make satin himself cringe with horror at its grotesque and vile appearance. He
waited until darkness finally arrived just after dinner was done. Mom was at
the kitchen sink looking out the window as she did every night washing dishes
and softly singing to herself the songs she loved as a young girl. Silently he
crept along the outside of the house coming to the kitchen window where he
heard his mom singing and the clanking of dishes being washed. He pulled the
mask over his face, counted to three and sprung up yelling at the top of his
lungs. His mom took one look, one horrified look and fell backward passing out
right there on the kitchen floor. He was frozen, couldn’t talk, or move,
nothing. It was like slow motion as he saw his dad run into the kitchen taking
his moms hand and speaking to her in words he couldn’t make out. Finally, he
got the courage up to run into the house. He looked on in disbelief as his dad
wept and his mom's lifeless body lay in a heap of bubbles from the sink where
it looked like she washed her last dish. He couldn't help himself as he openly
cried and cried knowing he had killed his mom, his mom! Just as he was about to
call 911 on himself his mom sprung up like a jack in the box, her face was
hideous with two black holes for eyes and lips are sewn together like a puppet.
She groaned and pointed to him as his dad yelled out a scream as he had never
heard. The kid joined in, and the screams filled the house that is until one
turned to laughter. Not being able to take any more of this his mom took off
the mask and smiled at her son who was curled in a ball and probably soiled
himself more than once. "Well I guess its safe to assume this years best
Halloween prank goes to "MOM" They spoke of that night for many years
to come but never again did a scary mask appear at the kitchen window where mom
washed her dishes and sang songs from her youth, never….
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Sunday, October 28, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Writers block
Author Mike OConnor: Writers block: Writing has become lost to me, and I don't have an answer as to why? It's not for lack of trying, as I have burned through g...
Writers block
Writing has
become lost to me, and I don't have an answer as to why? It's not for lack of
trying, as I have burned through gallons of midnight oil but with little or no
success. There are times when I ask myself why more people don't read my work,
and why do I try to keep putting it out there to lay dormant and unread? I
often thought if I didn't have writing I would be a lost soul never really too
concerned that I would someday hang up my spurs and go quietly into the light.
Writing to me is
like a bowl of mom's chicken soup, it can cure anything that is ailing me,
soothe my nerves and make everything seem better. I never thought the day would
come when the words wouldn't, but it appears that day has arrived, and I am as
lost as I have ever been. Will the words come back? Will my memories and my
thoughts once again entwine creating stories that give my readers the emotions
they haven't felt in a long time? I can only hope they do, that something
awakens the writer in me and my words once again flow like sand through an
hourglass.
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Thursday, October 25, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: True partners
Author Mike OConnor: True partners: His eyes watered these days, guess getting old things begin to leak from a lot of places. He wiped them with a tissue and pulled up ...
True partners
His eyes watered
these days, guess getting old things begin to leak from a lot of places. He
wiped them with a tissue and pulled up a chair to his writing desk, a piece he
had bought in a thrift store many years ago. The old typewriter was like an old
friend that had been around for as long as he could remember. He tried once to
use something his granddaughter called a “Tablet," but it wasn't for him.
He liked hearing the keys click and the single bell that sounded when the paper
ran its course and had to be manually pulled back to start another line. He
didn't have an office per say, but rather a corner of the dining room hidden
from view by one of those Asian room dividers with colorful floral designs. His
wife had brought that home years ago and its been that way ever since. He was
comfortable in his little space behind the divider. There was a window looking
out at their back property that went on for about five acres. He saw many
different animals over the years, but none touched him like the deer. They
would quietly approach the house as he watched in silence and awe. So beautiful
and harmless, he never understood why they were hunted when all one had to do
was take a ride to the supermarket.
He wrote a piece
once about a deer with questioning eyes, a sad tale but one that needed
telling. The response was harsh, and he imagined it was hunters who disliked
that piece. Today was the opening of deer season, but the small herd that
walked his acres were safe from the hunter’s guns and bows. He had spent the
better part of a week walking his property line posting warning signs, and so far,
his little heard have roamed around free of worry. He loved writing about the
beauty outside his window, never tiring of all it had to offer. He wrote about
the winds blowing through the trees, the changing of the seasons, blankets of
autumn leaves and winters snow. Squirrels and rabbits forging for food and
birds of many kinds some coming to rest on the window sill as if this man behind
the glass had something to tell them. His was a wonderful life and the ancient
typewriter his call of the wild. When he passed, his granddaughter packed his
things and gave most to his favorite charity, but the old typewriter she kept
as a reminder that her granddad not only turned words into stories, but he did
so with a machine that he became a part of over time and together they were
true partners, true storytellers right up to the final chapter.
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Saturday, October 13, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Scared
Author Mike OConnor: Scared: One day you’re buying bottled water and batteries joking with the cahier about people acting like the great ending is drawing near. Y...
Scared
One day you’re
buying bottled water and batteries joking with the cahier about people acting
like the great ending is drawing near. You go ahead and top off the gas in the
car and even talk your other half to put up some plywood, so you feel safer. The
two of you watch the evening news and wonder if your decision to ride it out
was the right one to make? It came in the middle of the night when most good
souls are fast asleep dreaming of fancy dresses and fishing equipment. It
happened so fast neither of you were prepared for what came knocking.
The roof creaked
and groaned as it became separated from the rest of the house leaving the night
sky visible and filled with flying debris of every kind imaginable. You thought
you heard screaming but maybe it was just your own? The moment became a scene
out of the tornado movie with terror in every second that passed. Then the
water came, a mountain of water pounding through what was left of your house
and carrying it blocks away coming to rest in the parking lot of a seven eleven.
Through the grace of god both of you survived by clinging on to your kitchen
counter top that acted like a surfboard and landing you safely on the lawn of someone’s
home.
Few things in
life will scare you to death, but the events of this storm truly challenged
that statement. What I write here is fiction but for those that did ride out
the monster known as “Michael” I’m sure some of what I wrote hold true to their
stories. My prayers and the prayers of millions are with all those who lost
everything and feel alone. Please know that people around the world have seen
and feel your terrible losses. We pray and hope, pray and give and know that
even though all seems lost right now, it is not. You will rebuild and go
forward to a full life, a good life, and a life that you are blessed to be a
part of. You survived the monster known as “Michael”
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Sunday, October 7, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Tins of time
Author Mike OConnor: Tins of time: Slowly his eyes opened to a new day. He had no reason to get out of bed at such an early hour. Taking a few minutes to adjust back f...
Tins of time
Slowly his eyes opened to a new day. He
had no reason to get out of bed at such an early hour. Taking a few minutes to
adjust back from the world of dreams, he stared up at the movie screen that was
his ceiling. He could look at it and watch it come alive with memories giving
him smiles and tears he had forgotten for so long. He could watch thrillers,
love stories, action, and every other piece of his life spliced together and
showing exclusively on the ceiling above his bed. Today's clip stared him in
the lead role of father. The projections coming from his memories and shining
brightly on his screen were so real and so vivid, he couldn't help but shout
out their names as they looked straight at him and smiled mouthing the words
"We love you daddy" Much like the days of projection movies, his days
are numbered and each film he sees, he stores back in the tins of time, the
movies that made up his lifewww.facebook.com/mikeoconnor-author
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Friday, October 5, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: The seasons
Author Mike OConnor: The seasons: It won’t be long now, and the blazing heat of summer will bow to the colors of autumn. The scents of the forests will change to a...
The seasons
The sounds and
smells and visions of the holidays can only be captured in the minds of
children and those who never wanted to grow up. A glorious time of the year when people seem
more courteous to each other when church pews are full and to
much food is made and shared among family and friends. Thousands of Christmas
trees give their lives to adorn the homes of countless families and traditions
are carried on with hopes they always will. Children try and sleep, dads cuss
at toys that need assembling, and mom puts the finishing touches on the hanging
stockings not forgetting to lay out a plate of cookies and a few carrots.
The morning
brings screams of joy and happiness as we sit and smile at the momentary
pleasures we were able to provide.
The new year is brought in with the falling
ball and kisses of hope that the new year will bring with it good health and prosperity
to all we love and care for. That signals the end of the holidays and the
beginning of the long road ahead where next Christmas is already being thought
of, and secret funds are stashed in a coffee can to grow throughout the year. Spring finally comes after the frozen
ground opens and a re-birth begins. The sights and sounds of rain pounding on
the roof quenching the thirst of tiny buds and saplings soon to bloom in a
multitude of colors only an artist could truly capture. Rivers flow once more,
and the bounties it produces feeds the masses as it has been done for centuries. The re-birth of the land is a
re-birth of the human spirit.
Summer arrives
with its own brand of colors and sounds, firefly's in grassy meadows, welcome
shade from a weeping willow tree and a warmth that covers our bodies that turn
a shade of brown. Lazy Sundays by the lake and homemade potato salad and
ice-cold lemonade are the perfect compliment to the hotdogs and burgers cooking
on the grill. Summer passes much too quickly, but for those of us who welcome
every season, we only think ahead to the wonders of autumn heading our way in a
few short weeks. And so, the circle goes as we replace bikinis with sweatshirts
and then arctic wear all the while thinking about the lake and the smell of the
fall fair with visions of sugar plums dancing in our heads.
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Thursday, October 4, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: Cadence
Author Mike OConnor: Cadence: Tiny droplets of water rolled down the window as he sat drinking his morning coffee. He glanced over at the coat hooks to make sure ...
Cadence
Tiny droplets of
water rolled down the window as he sat drinking his morning coffee. He glanced
over at the coat hooks to make sure his winter jacket was there, as surely his
old bones would get chilled on his way into town. Looking at the calendar, he
assured himself this was Wednesday the twenty-third day of December then
returned to his coffee swallowing every
drop. It was a slow process for him getting ready to go outside, but he was in
no hurry, those days had long passed him by.
His rubber boots scrunched on the fresh snow
reminding him of military cadence when he was in basic training a hundred years
ago. Funny how he still remembered the drill sergeant shouting out the words to
the rhythm of their boots. He was wrapped from head to toe in woolen warmth
only his eyes exposed to the frigid cold that was December in the high country.
He reached the
small town and went inside the florist where the owner greeted him and set his
order on the counter waiting for him to remove his gloves and retrieve his
change purse from deep inside his pocket. He smiled and thanked her telling her
he would see her in a month. The walk-through town was pleasant as Christmas
decorations could be seen in every store window taking him back in time when he
and his Mrs. Would take slow walks stopping in front of every window to admire
the beauty that was Christmas.
He proceeded up a
small hill just on the outskirts of town and entered the cemetery where his
beloved wife of sixty-two years was laid to rest four years ago today. Brushing
the snow away from her headstone, he set the flowers on it and took a seat on
the bench just a few feet away from her. He told her about the decorations and
how he knew she would have loved them as she once did. He told her he still
made a lousy cup of coffee and was having a hard time remembering days and even
months. He wiped away tears before they froze to his face remembering
everything he was because of her and how much he missed her.
He figured he had
been there a good hour, so he said his goodbyes and placed a kiss on his hand
and placed it on her headstone. It was a slow walk back to the house they
shared for so many years, his rubber boots keeping cadence but at a much slower
pace.
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Wednesday, October 3, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: The writer
Author Mike OConnor: The writer: He struggled every day to put words on paper that reeked of whiteness. The rest of the world only saw the finished product all wrap...
The writer
He struggled
every day to put words on paper that reeked of whiteness. The rest of the world
only saw the finished product all wrapped up in a colorful cover and smelling
like drying ink. They didn't see the endless hours of digging back in time
trying to awaken the memories that only appeared in fragments and an occasional
smell. The
readers flew through the pages absorbing just what their minds let them do, not
always seeing the whole thought.
The days of no writing to him were unbearable as he strutted around his study
believing he had lost the gift, pouring himself into a bottle and passing out
hoping to dream the next chapter. Days became weeks and then months as progress
continued tearing at his heart and the search for words that once flowed so smoothly. He did finish the book after
twenty-seven months of joy and tears losing a part of his mind that spoke then
died. A Book is only as good as the reader who takes the time to taste each
sentence and either savors it or spits it out forgetting it forever. He placed
the book on a shelf with others he had written alongside a picture of himself
as a young lad of twelve. He was holding a book in the photo with a caption
that read "Local boy publishes first book "He knew at the flash of the
camera his days of being normal had vanished into the vault of memorieswww.facebook.com/mikeoconnor-author
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#raw emotions
Monday, October 1, 2018
Author Mike OConnor: First time
Author Mike OConnor: First time: He had never been anywhere outside of the town he grew up in. Now at eighty-seven years old, he boarded his first plane ride. Nev...
First time
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