I write for … who again?

I write for myself, I also take a lot of criticism. But if just one reader enjoyed the story that I created, then it was worth it.

The Wordsmithing World of Benjamin

I’m bad with names. I forget who it is I write for. Me? The masses? My close friends? Minority groups? Agents? Publishers?

I once spoke with Ed Falco, the author of The Family Corleone (a sequel to The Godfather). He said he had attempted a few of what I would call literary fiction. The kind of thing that’s intellectually stimulating but not widely appealing to a broad audience. He failed to publish one of these and said he got to the point where he “just wanted to publish a book.” So he tried his hand at commercial fiction. Not long after, he had the honor of continuing the story of the Corleone family.

This begs the question in my mind, “For whom do I write?”

Not an easy answer. At the heart I want to write what I want to write, the world with all its critics be damned. I…

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Vivian and Francine

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Vivian opened her eyes, realizing that she was on the ground, she pushed herself up into a sitting position.

“What the hell,”

She was sitting on damp leaves, surrounded by trees. The wind gusted sending a shiver through her. Vivian ran her hands along her bare arms and wondered where her sweater had gotten to.
She stood up and the world spun. Forcing her to take a few steps quickly, she regained her balance, and began to look around.

Something caught her eye, in the distance, as she stumbled towards it she recognized the objects on the ground.

Vivian picked up her phone and her sweater. She pulled her arms through her sweater and buttoned it up.

“Of course no service,”

She found what seemed to be a path and headed out of the wooded area. She emerged from the woods onto a dirt road.

“Thank God,”

She walked along the road as she kept checking her phone for a sign of life. Twilight had begun and the sun was slipping beneath the horizon.

All of a sudden her phone chimed. 15 missed calls from Francine.

“What the fuck,”

She scrolled through the contact list and pushed call.

“Where the hell are you?” Francine answered.

“I’m not quite sure, I think I am somewhere off of route 18,”

“I’ll come find you,”

“What happened?” Vivian asked.

“I am not sure, we’ll discuss it when I get you,” Francine said.

Francine pulled up alongside Vivian, she opened the door and got in. Francine leaned across and gave her a hug.

“Are you ok?” Francine asked.

“I think so, but how did I end up out here?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Last thing I remember, we were going to the carnival,” Vivian answered.

Francine started to drive home towards Overland.

“We were at the carnival, we went to watch an act on the main stage, ring any bells?” Francine explained.

“Vaguely, it was a magician?”

“A hypnotist,”

“So what happened?”

“You went on stage, he whispered something in your ear and then you just…lost it. You picked up an arrow that had been left on stage from the last act, and you… you stabbed him in the neck with it,” Francine took a deep breath and looked at Vivian.

Vivian stared out the window.

“Then what happened?”

“You ran off stage, and disappeared,” Francine said.

“How long ago?”

“Three days,”