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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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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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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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...