Below is the innermost thoughts and creations of novelist and poet B D BECHTLE. Short stories, philosophy, previews, poems, rants-- you'll find it all here. Use the list of keywords on the sidebar to find what you're looking for. Follow the author here and on Twitter @BBechtlez. Be sure to share anything you like on social media, and don't forget to read the preview for the upcoming thriller THE BARD.
"It's fine to be weird... as long as you harness it in a way normal people can enjoy."
Thursday, September 5, 2013
NOVEL PREVIEW: Soup or Hero?
Behold, the first few pages from a future novel, Soup or Hero? An unusual twist on the age old boy finds super powers and saves the day cliche. Each day he gains a random set of powers (or weaknesses) from a 'homeopathic' soup fed to him by the New Age Healer/Therapist/Guru/Etsy Enthusiast his zany Woodstock-wannabe mother makes him go to for his supposed case of depression. Weird, funny, introspective and a little awesome-- this creative story will entertain all ages. (Well, one's that can read at least.) While I won't show you any of the awesome cool parts, because that bit of the writing is still in progress--and put off until I finish the last rewrite of The Bard-- this will give you a hint of the kind of style I'm writing it in.
There once was a boy, as there always is. Ordinary in every way. Loving family. Rosy cheeks. That sort of thing. It would seem most stories start with a boy, don't they? Well, aside from those ones who start with girls.
What made this boy special enough to have a story told about him? Nothing, actually. He wasn't strange or unique in the slightest bit. Nor were his early years compelling, tragic or inspiring. He lived a normal childhood filled with ice cream, race cars and Saturday morning cartoons. He made friends with another little boys. One better than others. He'd found a best friend.
The boy went to school and had decent grades. Little above average, below at times, too. He wasn't perfect. No boy is-- though his best friend seemed to be. He was quiet enough though, and stayed mostly out of trouble. As boys often do, he grew. His parents' relationship grew as well. Unfortunately, apart. As most boys do, he got over it. Learned to live with it. One day, his father passed away, or so his mother said. According to Facebook, he got remarried. But who's to say who's word is right?
Everyone expected the boy to be depressed when his best friend died. Committed suicide by jumping in front of a bus. "It's not your fault," they told him. To which he replied, "I never said it was." As he progressed through his adolescence, the boy became more and more distant. His teachers became increasingly concerned. His friends became few... then none. His mother began to worry. Worry so much. The boy? He stayed relatively the same, though notably quieter.
By the time the boy entered his teens, the sympathy had died down. His classmates saw his isolation as an invitation to bully him, though they never went too far. His mother became increasingly worried, and her mental state waned. Not that it had been in such great shape to begin with.
And that's where our story begins. The world is not in danger, nor a damsel. Just an ordinary boy with ordinary issues. Unfortunately--or fortunately, depending on how full your glass is-- he would soon find himself with an extra ordinary in his life.
"Sun is shining in the sky. There ain't a cloud in sight!
It's stopped raining. Everybody's in a play. And don't you know...
It's a beautiful new day!"
The boy's eyelids drew open, glaring at the obnoxious painting of a sun on his ceiling.
He whipped his sheets off, ready to obliterate the accused alarm clock.
"Running down the avenue, see how the sun shines brightly in the city!
On the streets where once was pity... Mr. Blue Sky is living here today!
"Where is it...?" he groaned, rifling through his dresser drawers. "Where the heck did she hide it today?"
"Hey... yourself," the boy growled, dumping his dirty laundrey out of the hamper.
"Mr. Blue Sky, please tell us why you had to hide away for sooooo long! Where did we go wrong?"
"Oh, you've got to be kidding me!"
The boy found the alarm clock sitting in an air duct. A metal grate protected it, screwed tightly onto the wall.
"Hey, you with the pretty face.
Welcome to the human race!
A celebration. Mr. Blue Sky's up there waiting, a
nd today is the day we've waited for.
Determined, the boy searched his room for a blunt object. He found a hammer in his closet, left from his mother's most recent renovations-- which just so happened to be the closet itself. He gripped the handle and grinned, primed for retribution.
"Hey there, Mr. Blue! We're so pleased to be with you. Look around, see what you do?
Everybody smiles at you."
"Mr. Blue Sky..."
"Mr. Bluuuuue Sky..."
"DIE," the boy roared, bashing the clock to bits.
Great, I took too long today... I don't have time to shower...
The boy changed his clothes speedily and rushed to the kitchen table where his mom had already laid out... 'breakfast.' He eyed the gelatinous green substance warily, picking up his fork. He used his utensil to prod the blob, tempted to check for a pulse.
"Mom?" he called out loudly.
"MOM, WHAT IS THIS?"
The boy's next step was to check the fridge for a note. Lately, his mother had been so frequently absent (doing who knows what) that he'd begun to check for notes before even yelling her name. Her antics had gotten him particularly miffed that morning however, and he'd called out in the hopes he'd be able to let her have it.
He walked up to the fridge and sighed.
Why can't she just believe in cellphones? Seriously. It's not like they're a religion or non-vegan... or whatever. It's a phone that you carry. Nothing evil about that.
The fridge had already been covered in old notes and countless tacky magnets, making the boy's job of deciphering his bizarre mother's message all the harder. (And him all the later for school.) Eventually, he managed to piece the puzzle of sticky notes together to form a full message.
It's me, your mom! Hi! How's your morning? Full of smiles, sunshine and pondering of the possibility? Sorry I'm not here to receive your compliments about how creatively delicious my mashed green intimation eggs and tofam is! I had to go out and buy more alarm clocks since yours always seem to break. You'll have to bear with me until the exorcist I booked is free. Poltergeists are lower on her list of priorities. I think. Have fun at school, and remember not to believe everything the books say. Want some smile news? You got it! I arranged for you to meet with a healer friend of mine after school today! That way you won't be bored while I'm out working my new third job.
PS. The note is not from yourself so don't be confused. I'm just adding a creative spin to letter writing and adding encouragement. These notes are all from me."
Manny! Why can't she just call me Manny!? More alarms? Doesn't she get it? And now I've got to see anotherone of her nutty hash-pipe hitting yoga buddies who thinks they can heal the depression I don't even have... Well, at least we have a lab today.