Letter - Charting the Progress

Dear Gary,

      When I decided to enroll in this creative writing course I came into it with a number of expectations, hopes and desires about what I would get out of it. My desire then and now is to someday be a published author. I greatly admire the writing of C.S. Lewis, Hemingway, and many others and hoped that this class would inspire me to write a piece of good fiction. Although the class did achieve that purpose, it also taught me that I can appreciate reading and writing poetry.

      My most important takeaway from the class has been the experience of writing poetry. In all honesty, I have demeaned poetry most of my life and expressed a certain disdain for those who put a lot of stock in it. I had personally never written any poetry, nor read any of my own volition while professing my ignorance of it gladly. When we came to the poetry section of the class I figured that this would be my worst section, and the part of the work that I would just have to make it through. But it turned out to be the most rewarding part. Of the few poems I wrote, “My missing Brother” is my favorite, and I hope to really work on it until it is a well crafted piece. I look forward to your comments on the final version. I plan to share that poem, and my new respect for poetry in a speech at the MCC Toastmasters club. As you might recall from our first journal assignment, Toastmasters is one of the reasons I ended up taking this course in the first place.

      The most valuable lesson I took away from the course came in the last module. The rewriting and revising of my work has always been the weakest link in my development. Reading the testimonies of authors and others in the textbooks was very helpful to pushing me towards revision. It was a fact of writing that I was aware of from other sources, but I there was some part of me that didn't believe it. I especially liked reading that chapter in “What If” when the author introduces this to their class. Rewriting will remain a weakness until I can apply myself to the discipline of doing it. The class has given me a reality check of sorts that this is an imperative part of writing, and I will never achieve a published work without becoming a master at it.

      The textbooks for the course were very good, especially “What If.” Before taking this class I read several other books about writing, and what makes for good fiction. The exercises in “What If” were fantastic. Not only fun, but clearly helped to grow my writing abilities. I look forward to reading the rest of the book more closely and working through some of the exercises on my own. I am glad to own it.

      There are only a couple of things I would change about this experience. First, I would not take the late start class. I was rushed in doing many of my writing assignments and wished I had more time. I had attempted to join the full class, but missed the deadline. I wanted more time to do the work properly, and really enjoy the experience. Second, I thought that doing the Blog at the end of the class was a distraction. I spent a lot of time editing the formatting of my blog posts because when I pasted it from my Word processor it did not paste properly. The Blog I used was also somewhat poor in its own editing and formatting which made the process difficult. I didn't think that it aided in my understanding of creative writing, because I spent a lot of time messing with the blog instead of revising and writing more. I would have preferred a different delivery method that did not involve figuring out the use of a blog space.

      The class was helpful in motivating and refining the desire I have to someday be a writer. I look forward to using what I learned, and exploring the other exercises in the textbook to make myself a better writer. Also, when I finish some pieces of a work I am proud of I will have a Professor of creative writing to send it to for comment. So when you get my random email, you will have to remember who I am and if my prose is worth reading.

      Thank you for your comments and feedback on the pieces I wrote in the class. It was a good experience, although a lot of work. I look forward to applying what I have learned.

                           I wish you the best in finding the right words,

                                               RICH NESTLEN

2 Edited Poems

Gary, 

Please note that the original versions are displayed first with your comments and the final edited versions are displayed at the end.

I am especially eager to hear your comments on "The Missing Brother" I wish to use that poem again and share it.

The Missing Brother

My sister and I stand before the house, dressed for Easter sunday, waiting for my father to check the light sensor on his ancient camera and focus the lens on our sunday best.  <strong, fantastic opening<

When my father looked through that lens he saw that something was missing. At the time it was taken, I didn't know what he didn't see.

When I grew older I learned of my missing brother. The one who was plucked from my parents before I could remember, though I was there on that day, in the car. The reflex of my father's heart to see a print of my sister and I, but miss in the photo the brown haired son.

Crash. The instant that changed My family's path and perspective, that instant, changed. The instant that Robbed us.  so many moments from my father that he cannot get back. Still there in the yard is the wood pile David helped build when he was 3 years old. <end here< Before he faded from the photographs.

Strong effort, Rich: well done.   Great format--poem looks great on the page.   Review my comments for direction.  Gary

***********************************************

This collection of d

Digital devices

Must be the brainchild of a devious man. <borrowing a title gives your first line a bit more strength
It has the power to control the room,  <"it" implies singular, but it refers to many "devices"  <this is a problem throughout, but an easy fix
to brings in focus what you want to see.
But why does it always attempt
to escape its duty?
Why hide among the cushions and the blankets  <yes
to avoid its purpose?
It has been cursed, more than anything else
in this house.
At each addition of a new toy,
I am saddled with yet another remote that hides.
It is a fickle, frustrating, and fruitless device;  <fun line
and I cannot wait for it to become a fossil of this our age.
<perhaps using what this is about (cell phone, ipad, Android?) as your title will fix the "it" issues throughout<

***********************************8

The Missing Brother

My father checks the light sensor on his ancient camera and focuses the lens on our Sunday best. My sister and I smile and wait for the click. The Easter Sunday pictures in front of the brown house trace our lives.

Every time my father looked through that lens he saw the empty space between us. I smiled and posed and I did not know what he missed in that moment. Click. The reflex of my father's heart sees a shot of my sister and I, and adds the absent brown haired son.

When I grew older I learned of my brother. The one who was plucked from my parents before I could remember, though I was there in the car.

Crash. My family's path and perspective changed in an instant. Robbed us. Still there in the yard is the wood pile David helped build when he was 3 years old.

***********************************************

Remote

Must be the brainchild of a devious man.
It has the power to light the room,
to turn on joy, sorrow and excitement.
To control the display that fascinates us all.
But why does it attempt
to escape duty?
Why hide among the cushions and blankets
to avoid purpose?
It has been cursed more than anything else
in the house.
It is a fickle, frustrating, fruitless device;
I cannot wait for it to become a fossil of our age.

Five Frame Advancement - Letters by dog sled

(This vintage postcard is a photograph of artic mail carriers around the turn of the 20th century.)

Letters by dog sled

Sven Nortigern leaned towards the sled and plucked one of the priority letters from the mail sack.

     “We done taking a break?” his partner London Smith said.

Sven pulled down his face collar and spit a stream of tobacco juice into the snow, and then began to open the letter.

     “What the devil you doin? That’s somebodies mail Sven,” London said, moving closer.

     “I need to know why we had to come to God forsaken Hiske for this one letter. It’s the right I have for risking my life,” he answered.

     “Come now Sven. You know that we would be in a heap o’ trouble if the Service ever found out that we are reading people’s letters. When you become a mail carrier you make that oath,” London said.

But Sven was not to be persuaded, and he continued ripping the letter. His hand hurt a little from the cold outside his mittens.  He unfolded the single sheet of paper and started to read it.

After a minute, London was clearly aching to know what it said, but Sven read on until he had finished it.

     “Well? What is it Sven?” said London.

 Sven looked up. His eyes were hard and the hairs of his beard were tiny spikes streaked with frozen  tobacco juice.

    “It’s a goddam letter from the Postal Service. They are reducing the pay for all dog sled mail carriers in our region,” he said coldly. London looked surprised as it was the last thing he expected from the letter. He had thought for certain it was some low level correspondence to an area governor, or at least a love letter from one of them. After a few seconds he turned his face, and looked out over the vast expanse of frozen space around them. The snow was smooth from last nights fall, and the Yukon trail was only slightly visible where it dove into the trees a quarter of a mile away.

    “You know what I think Smithy,” Sven said, for he always called London “Smithy.”

   “What Sven?”

   “I think underpaid postal workers in the arctic sometimes lose a few letters. You never know when the tough and dangerous trail might take a letter. Just the way it takes a few men and dogs each year.”

    “Damn right it does.” London said. Then he turned back to the sled to prepare the dogs.

Final Revised One Act play

Darla: Wife

Frank: Husband
(Scene: Husband & Wife are sitting on their 35 ft sailing yacht, in the ocean off the coast of Mexico.)

       Frank:
Yeah, the storm really hit us by surprise this time. (Frank coils some broken lines, and settles in a seat next to Darla)
Darla?  Are you paying attention? (darla stares out at the wide ocean, her eyes unfocused)
Honey, you need to snap out of it.   We are okay, and we will make it.      (Darla continues to stare, Frank sighs deeply)
Alright, well I can’t make you help, but we need to get these sails back in order so we can travel back in. The motor got damaged somehow, so we are gonna have to use the sails.
(Darla shifts her seat, but continues to stare. Frank spends a minute moving debris around the deck of the yacht.)
Darla....honey...you need to wake up and help me. We have alot of work to do here.
(at last, Darla looks wearily over to her husband) 
          Darla: 

Frank, I am not interested in helping you.  I am brooding, and thinking about how much I hate that dog.
       Frank:

Captain? What did he ever do to you? Besides, he is way back in New Jersey and has nothing to do with this situation.
        Darla: 

Ugh...(she sighs and turns back to staring at the ocean)
        Frank: 

Whad I say wrong? (frank raises his hands, and when she does not respond he returns to his work straightening the deck, grumbling under his breath at her)
(After a moment, her eyes blazing, Darla stands up)
        Darla: 

Frank! I did not sign up for this ridiculous adventure. How dare you expect me to help with this! My $200 shoes are completely ruined by this seawater! Not to mention all the clothes I have below deck!
          Frank:  

Your $200 shoes! Is that whats bothering you? Look at this boat! I paid $200,000 for it, and its a disaster!
          Darla: 

Don’t try and change the subject Frank. You know I didn’t want to come on this stupid boat trip. If it wasn’t for the dog annoying me so much, I probably would never have said yes.

          Frank: 

Well excuse Captain for living! This trip was supposed to be good for our marriage, and it turns out, I should have brought him along!
      Darla: 

Exactly right Frank...the dog is more fun than me. (now her eyes begin tearing up. Frank looks up angrily and then softens when he sees the tears)
     Frank: 

Uhhh...you know I didn’t mean that.  

  Darla:

(crying) You did...the dog is more fun...this was supposed to be an adventure...and that storm ruined it. Now we are stranded in the ocean...nothing to do but die out here..
  Frank: 

Stop crying, we are not going to die out here. The fact is, the storm made it more of an adventure! Now  we really are high seas sailors after a storm like that. 

 Darla: 

You mean it Frank? We will be okay and make it back?

                                                                            Frank: 

Of course. Look, here comes the Coast Guard now! (Frank points up)
Darla:  

We’re saved!
Frank: 

(to the coast guard, off stage) Hey watch it! This is an expensive boat. Give me that tow line! (a line flies in from off stage, Frank secures it to the front of the boat.
Darla: 

How long do you think it will take us to get back to shore?
Frank: 

(looks in the distance, considering) I’d say... maybe 10 minutes? We only got out here about a ¼ mile. Those other boats I see over there made it in pretty quick.
Darla:  

Oh thank goodness. I need to call home and tell the housekeeper that we are alright. We have spent nearly 4 hours on this awful boat! (the boat starts moving from the Coast Guard tow)
Frank:

When you call her, ask her how Captain is doing. He was looking sad when we left. He would have loved that storm.
Darla: 

(she frowns, hands on hips) I hate that dog.   <Perfect ending, Rich.  STrong dialgue betw. two characters who resolve a conflict.  All material highlighted green represents English correctness issues that need your atttention.  Gary

Final Edited Short Story - The Kingdom of Suoegrog

The Kingdom of Suoegrog 

     The prince of Suoegrog lived a charmed life. The castle of Suoegrog stood high on a craggy hill in the valley of Neerg. The grass grew as tall as houses, and the river Elgrug ran swiftly between its banks. There was nothing that Prince Drahcir did not have, and nothing that he could not get. One day a stranger came to the castle, to inquire of the prince.

    “Prince Drahcir, how sad that your castle is so lacking,” said the stranger.

   “What do you mean lacking? The Castle Suoegrog lacks nothing!” the prince said indignantly.

   “Ah, but it does. Do you see the highest roof, of the highest tower, of the highest spire on the castle?” the stranger asked.

   “Yes I see it,” said the prince.

   “It lacks a flag,” the stranger said simply.

  The prince looked up, staring high into the blue sky, studying the high tower, and concluded that the stranger was right.

   “You are correct fine fellow. It does lack a flag and I shall have one hung on it directly,” Prince Drahcir said, standing to call an attendant.

   “But no oh Prince, hold your way. The flag you seek cannot be found in the castle keep,” the stranger said in a mysterious tone.

Now the Prince frowned, crossed his arms, and waited for the man to continue.

   “I also notice that your ways are strange, and your castle cursed,” the stranger finished.

  The Prince's face opened in surprise. “How dare you curse my house stranger! I shall toss you out to the Selidocorc's in the castle moat!”

   “Exactly my point young prince. Your kingdom has been cursed with a backward tongue, and you know it not!” the stranger bounced up, and before the prince could stop him unfurled a parchment before his eyes. It was a large picture of a green reptile. The same reptiles he had in his castle moat.

   Below the reptile the prince read the word silently -- Crocodiles.

   “Do you see?” said the stranger. “Selidocorcs do not exist!”

  The prince frowned, and tried to sound out the strange word written beneath the reptile. But to no avail, and immediately he feared the stranger was right. The prince sat heavily in his royal chair, and spoke in a solemn tone. “Tell me then what I must do to make my kingdom right.”

   “You must seek the standard of the Knight of Left to Right. Only that flag over your castle will make things perfect once more in the kingdom.”

 At once Prince Drahcir made ready to seek this challenge. He mounted his black horse named Wodahs, and belted on his sword called Epoh. The prince spurred Wodahs out of the gates at top speed and in earnest to seek out the Knight of Left to Right. He rode long and hard for many days until he came to a sign which read ENIAM. Realizing that he had somehow strayed far off the beaten track of civilization, he knew he must be near the right place. He dismounted his steed and drew his sword called Epoh.

The silence of the wood of Eniam was eerie in the early morning light. The sun had only just begun to kiss the horizon, and the glow made the scene around him frightening. The Prince swallowed hard in the darkness. Wodahs shied and whinnied loudly at the surrounding forest. She had sensed the lurking presence of something in the dark forest. The Prince peered into the thick tangle of growth in the wood, and the very press of darkness surrounded him. At that moment a large dark shape could be seen admidst some of the branches, but in the blink of an eye the shape was gone again. Had Darhcir imagined it? Wodah whinnied harshly again, before stumbling backward, and then darting some ways up the road.

   “Easy Wodah!” The Prince shouted after her. He did not want to be left here in the dark, without transport or companion. As he looked up the road towards his steed, he noticed the lithe black shape creeping from the edge of the road. The bare fangs glinted in the new light, and the breath caught in Drahcir's throat. He wanted to cry out and warn the now still horse, but he could not. A spell had settled over the road and he was loathe to break it with his voice. The wolf crept cagily towards the back of the unsuspecting steed, until at last a breath of wind reached the horse's nostrils and she sprang forward at the scent. The chase was on. Wodah flew up the road in a panic, with her white mane streaming behind her as the wolf put to the full chase. The Prince started to run after the fleeing beasts but in seconds he was out of sight, and a moment later he could no longer hear the pounding footsteps. He was now truly alone. Alone in the loneliest corner of the world.

After many minutes of straining with his ears and doubting with his senses, he was at last able to muster up enough strength to break the spell of silence. He shouted into the dark forest surrounding him while gasping at the effort.

   “Hear me Knight of Left to Right. I have come to challenge you in single combat, for the glory of the kingdom Suoegrog!” His voice echoed among the trees. Nearby a party of birds broke up at the sound and fluttered off into the trees. But the wood was silent again. Minutes passed before he once again had the courage to attempt the challenge a second time.

   “Hear me Knight of Left to Right. I have come to challenge you in single combat, for the glory of the kingdom Suoegrog!”

This time the silence lasted only for a few moments. Then like from the bottom of a well, or the depth of the underworld came a voice. A deep menacing voice came from within the wood. “Return to your castle knight of Suoegrog, for I have no need of your combat.”

Though quaking with mortal fear, Prince Drahcir would not be swayed from his mission.

   “Come forth knight, for I wish to carry off your battle standard to my land.”

Silence followed this. Many minutes of silence. At last the Prince began to despair that his foe had quit the area unknowingly. But he did not need to fear. For at that very moment the Knight of Left to Right appeared on the right side of the road. He was a large and broad chested figure. Clad in shining silver armor, so polished that the sun reflected back on itself. His head was covered in a giant helmet which revealed none of his features, and gave away none of his demeanor. In his hands he carried a giant black shaft of polished wood tipped with a blade of gold and hung with a brilliant orange banner. There was the flag so longingly sought!

   The prince wasted no more time. He came on slowly towards the hulking figure, preparing himself to do mighty battle with this worthy foe. Before the prince reached the silver armored giant, the rumbling voice spoke again. “Halt small prince. I do not wish to join you in combat. It would end the ill for you as well, so I suggest you hear my terms.”

Prince Drahcir paused in his advance, and rested Epoh's tip on the ground.

   “Very well Knight tell me your terms. You know I have come for your battle standard,” the prince answered.

   “I know well why you have come. I only wish to propose a different contest for this battle, as a trial of arms does not seem a fair decider.”

   “I agree Knight. Tell me what you propose,” the prince answered greatly relieved.

   “Because you come on a quest for words, I propose that we settle this matter with a challenge of words,” the knight began. You must interpret what I say, and give me only one answer. The hint to the riddle is that our mother said this to us many days. The riddle is this:

Sa uoy veltra dna a ervri ingtmee

ervne og mingswim stju ertaf ingeat.

   The prince began to think. The day wore on to near darkness. But still he thought. He took the letters and put them into combinations that he never thought possible. He moved the syllables, and read them left to right and right to left with no avail. At last he began to ponder his old mother's sayings. He thought of her sharp tongue, and even stranger grasp of the language. What were some of her favorites?

Never stand outside while its raining? Eat all your vegetables, or you will turn into one? Pass by thee yellowing snow? Then he remembered her most favorite, the one that she would tell him when he went riding, and traveled to other kingdoms. It fit. The words came to him, and he arranged the letters again, by moving the back half of the word to the front, and the saying sprang to his lips.

     “As you travel, and a river meeting

      Never go swimming just after eating.”

    Rejoicing, as he knew he had solved it, the prince came forward to grab the standard. The knight of right to left, removed the orange cloth from his black shafted spear, and then removed his high silver helmet.

   “Well said brother. I imagined that you would one day come, as there was no other way for the kingdom to be right again than for us to join together,” the Knight said.

Prince Drahcir studied the tall knight, and nearly fainted in surprise. He was the spitting image of himself, as if he were looking in a mirror!

   So the prince said, “Brother, you were lost so long ago that I thought it impossible you could still live. We are two parts of our kingdom, and without us both the place will be backwards! Return with me and teach the people the way of Left to Right.”

  Suddenly something seemed different in Prince Drahcir's heart and mind. Why did the words fall together so easily? He looked at his smiling brother, the Knight of Left to Right, and marveled at the clarity with which he now saw the world. His brother passed him the battle standard that he had rightly earned, and Drahcir held up the fabric to read. In large black letters across the triangular flag was the word

PERFECT.

    “What brother, is the meaning of this flag?” Drahcir asked.

    “Ah you see that it is the standard of PERFECT,” the knight answered.

Drahcir suspected that there was more of a story behind this standard, so he probed further.

    “Is this the flag of another kingdom close by here?” he asked.

    “Indubitably my fair brother. There is still much to be done before Suoegrog can be returned to its rightful state. It is why I have waited here many long years,” the Knight of Left to Right answered.

    “Tell me what must be done,” the prince said.

    “Very well, but prepare thyself for a most fantastic adventure,” he answered.

   Now, the two brothers flung arms around each other and moved off into the forest with their heads bent together, and began the plotting of the next great adventure. But the story of the Kingdom of Perfect is for another tale.

For the first time, Prince Richard, from the Kingdom of Gorgeous, in the Valley of Green, by the River Gurgle thought more clearly than he had in a long time.

draft: Journal assignment - Maple leaf Rag

This was the first time I had ever heard the Maple Leaf Rag by Scott Joplin, and I knew I would never forget that moment. Tennessee Jack was hammering the keyboard with the most energy I had ever heard come from the old blue box. The jingling notes, and the dancing melody transported me from my parents dark shack, to places I couldn't yet imagine. The warm Mississippi night smothered the sounds from outside, and I couldn't help but close my eyes and rock to the rag time. The competing melodic lines bounced back in forth in my 12 year old mind like bouncing balls, and as if the vision was a prophetic picture of my future. When I opened my eyes again I was 3 years older, and before them flew those same colored balls. They crossed up over my head, arced in a perfect ellipse and were caught again in my hands, only to be tossed again in a never ending loop I called the Crystal cascade. Fredo the Clown was standing at the piano now, inserting his funny little additions to the Rag tune as the pianist kept up the steady pace of Joplin's masterpiece. I twirled again in a circle, all the time keeping the five colored balls whirling in the space over my head, like mini planets orbiting my cranium. The crowd was laughing loudly now at the antics of Fredo, and I knew that I only had to keep the balls up a little longer, because Fredo would be over to collect them. I stole a glance and saw the clown, all makeup and red frills flopping across the ring towards me. The dancing beat of the Maple Leaf still pressed forward in the cacophony of the tent. As Fredo got close, I pulled off the next part of the act with near perfection. One, two, three, four of the balls flew from my hand and pelted poor Fredo in the head, until at last I was left holding just the blue ball in my hand. I looked out at the laughing crowd, crammed full of sweaty little kids, a few nicely dressed mothers, and the usual ragamuffins who filled out the grandstand. With an exaggerated shrug I tossed the last ball at Fredo, who neatly caught the sphere, and then began his own juggling routine. Fredo was of course, the true master, and my part in the act was done. I circled the juggling clown, feigning a look of great surprise and interest, accented by the elaborate face paint that coated my cheeks. A few more minutes of this and we would be done for the night. Then back to the tents and the railcars for the raucous party that would mark the end of our circuses stay in rural New York.

In the back after the show, Fredo walked through as I was stripping off my clown suit. “Hey Billy you reject” he rasped. Fredo had somehow already lit a cigarette even though he had just stepped out of the ring only a few seconds before. “You threw that last ball too hard, don't do it again or I will rip your head off, right there in front of the crowd” He said this with complete malice, and continued walking past, not even my poor performance could cause him to pause for a moment when there was booze waiting just outside . Fredo was what my mother would have referred to as a lost cause. Fredo did not struggle with addiction, in fact he defined addiction as well as vice. There was not one vice that he didn't have.

I didn't say anything, but just let him go. There was nothing to be done, because I knew tomorrow night he would say I threw the ball too lightly, or I didn't smile big enough. The show was now wrapping up and I could hear the talking, shuffling, and general noise that accompanied a departing crowd. A moment later Renoir the pianist appeared in the back tent area, dressed to the nines in his faded blue tuxedo. He walked slowly over and stood with me for a few moments.

“Good show Billy, I think the crowd really likes you out there” he said, his french accent making the compliment even more impressive.

“Thanks Ren” I answered, grateful for the encouragement. There were few other performers who ever gave me any encouragement, despite the hours I spent practicing, and honing my juggling. All the presitge went to Tarka the lion tamer, and Denise the show girl. Circus life was a hierarchy, and the only person who ranked lower than the clowns was the pianist. Hence the only friend I had in the whole troup was Renoir.

“Hang here for a minute Billy, I have something for you” he said and ducked back towards his piano.

A moment later he appeared with a bottle of Champagne, and two dirty glasses.

“Wuz this?” I asked, my southern drawl sounded so pathetic compared to Renoir's accent.

“A little celebration for you, because if I am correct, today is your 100^th show.”

“Damn, you are right Ren. I can't believe it”

“Well boy,angel in the circus business time flies. Look at me, I planned to play in this disgusting show for a few months while I searched for real place, and now I have been here 15 long years.” he said.

“Well you know I am only 15 right? They always slap me around when I try and get some liquor”

He chuckled “I will tell you Billy, a year in the circus is worth 3 years on the outside. Just look at Fredo, I bet he is only twenty five”

I knew that wasn't true, Fredo was at least in his forties.

Renoir poured the two glasses, and then he clinked mine.

“To 100 shows”

I tipped back my glass, and tasted the sweet liquor. I had champagne only once before when I had nicked it from a sleeping Fredo. But when he got ahold of me later I regretted it more than the hangover.

“What do you want to drink to?” Renoir asked. The night had now gone silent, with only distant sounds coming from the train tracks a quarter mile away.

“How about......to the Maple Leaf Rag” I answered.

And we drank.

draft: Fanci-Lube

Few people say that they are embarking on a new life when they walk into a oil change garage for their first day of work, but that was what I was telling myself. I came through the door, following the boss whose bald head was at such a low level that I could clearly see the expanse of the work space. The garage was Fanci-Lube, one of the many quick oil change places that appeared like weeds in suburban strip malls outside all major cities. It was a certain sign of the times that Americans were too busy, or unable to change their own oil anymore. My father would just roll his eyes at such extravagance. But this was now my new vocation. My dream of finding a job in the art world of New York City was  dying before my eyes, and drowning in a pail of dirty engine oil. <great symbolism The smell of the place was that sharp hint of new metallic parts, it stung my eyes, or was it something else causing my eyes to smart? <comma splice  <yet a strong descriptive opening!!

“Hey Mitch!”  the boss called. “Come here!”

Over near one of the cars, a middle aged mechanic looked up, his white face still fresh in this early morning. “Mitch come over here. We got a new guy.”

Mitch ambled out from behind the behind, his gray jump suit stained in multiple places with the grime of a season or two at the Fanci-Lube.

“Luke, this is Mitch Hagaful. You will shadow him for a couple of days until you get your feet wet,” the boss said crisply.<note how the comma goes b/f the qmark <you can identify and fix the rest

I reached out and shook Mitch's hand. “Nice to meet you” I said.

Mitch grumbled the same, and waited for the boss to move off through the doors.

“So where do you come from kid” Mitch said as he led the way into the garage.

It was a tough question, because I really was raised in upstate NY, but since I had spent the last 6 years in New York city, I felt like I belonged there better. But to fit in better I decided to stick with the country persona.

“I am from Green County, New York, just outside Albany”

Mitch made no response, just nodded as we headed across the smooth concrete of the garage floor.

“So I assume you went through the technician training course. So I don't have to teach you the basics of an oil change, or tire work right?” Mitch started as we reached the far side.

“Right”  I said. I wanted to add something funny or more personal but I could tell that Mitch was a no nonsense kind of worker at this time in the morning.

Mitch looked over my shoulder and shouted  “Yo Ferris, come over here for a minute”

Another middle aged white guy came from across the garage, carrying with him the quart of oil he had been taking down from a shelf.

Mitch pointed a finger at me and said “This is Luke. Today's his first day.”

Ferris smiled broadly and stuck out his hand and we shook. “Nice to meet you Luke. Welcome to Crappy-Lube, the place dreams come to die.”<funny

Mitch snorted, and put his hand on my shoulder to guide me towards the office door.

The ominous words rang in my head. I wanted to say something, and ask a question,  but it wasn't allowed.

“This here is the office, where we do paperwork, and fill out all that good stuff.” Mitch said as he pointed to the huge desk. The desk was piled high with paper, although it was in neat stacks. The yellow and pink sheets of carbon copy pads poked out through several of the piles. “The paperwork is probably the part you will struggle with the most. I know I did. But we don't need to worry about that now. Let's tour the rest of the place.”

We moved off along the wall, and past the large viewing window which looked into the customer waiting room. There were already a couple of people standing around in there, maybe dropping their cars, or even picking them up at this hour. I paused for a moment to watch a well dressed businessman take a seat in one of the red upholstered chairs. I should I have studied business, or engineering, and then I could be on the other side of that huge piece of glass. Whoever told me to go to college for my dreams was a fool, because Art History does not pay bills, especially when Emily came along. I caught up with Mitch near the tire spinner. This was where we would remove and replace the tires, balance them on the rims, and spin them for the tests. It was not very complicated, and with a little training I had become fairly competent during my hands on technician course.

“Here's the spinner” Mitch commented dryly. “But I need to warn you, its about 10 years old, and doesn't work all that well. We have tried talking Gordon into a new one, but he says it works fine.”

Mitch reached down, worked the pedal, and then stepped back. The machine continued to spin, rapidly gaining momentum, without any control.

“Why doesn't it stop?” I asked.

“Cause its <read my mind a piece of crap” he answered. A slight smile tugged at his lips like the dream killing world of this garage was really just there for his amusement. I was beginning to see that maybe Mitch was not the wooden character I first took him for.

“So how do you stop it?” I asked.

Mitch leaned over again, fiddled, bounced, and tapped the pedal until at last the machine stopped moving.

Just then Ferris came up behind me, and peered down at the machine.

“The commissioner says you just got to 'wiggle'  it a little. Its fine” He broke into that mocking grin again. I looked from one mechanic to the other, trying to get the joke.

“Who is the commissioner?” I finally said.

“Gordon” Mitch said, his expression as neutral as ever.

“Of course” I managed as Mitch led the way to yet another station on the garage tour.  Ferris grinned even more stupidly as we moved off and I had to shake my head a little, this place was different than what I expected.<comma splice

The morning went on rapidly, the garage floor filling up with more tech's<no apostrophe and more cars. I shadowed Mitch through 2 oil changes, a tie rod replacement, and a tire rotation. Then we spent about two hours in the office going through the paperwork of it all. Tapping my head with the pen as I tried to memorize the procedures.

In the afternoon Mitch let me take on an oil change on my own as he worked over at the tire spinner. I began to feel some confidence in what I was doing. This regular paycheck would be good for my family, and good for me too. I hadn't had a full time job in about 2 years, so actually seeing some steady money would be worth the toil.  When I finished up the change, I came over to the spinner to confer with Mitch. He was working the machine smoothly, letting the tire spin and calibrate, so I didn't disturb him. A minute later he stopped the machine, and popped off the tire, but as he drew it off the machine started spinning again. He cursed it as he turned around, setting the tire to the side and he saw me.

“Well?” he said.

“I finished up, just tightened the screw on the oil pan” I waved my little wrench at him as proof.

Mitch made a sort of “whoop de doo” type of a face, but said “Alright then. Let me finish with the spinner here and I will be over to check it out”

Then something happened that changed my time at Fanci-Lube permanently, and one that would change my life perspective as well.

Mitch turned back towards the spinner, to try and stop it, and I saw that  the next tire lay on the ground to his left. I moved over to grab the tire, hoisting it up so that I could help him get it on the machine when it finally stopped. I moved closer to the machine, but the problem was, I was losing my grip on the tire. Mitch was bending over the racing machine, wiggling the pedal, and he didn't see that I was having trouble holding the tire. So I shifted my grip, and it turned out the problem was that the little wrench in my hand was making it hard to hold the edge of the rim. Well, when the wrench dropped from my fingers, I instantly knew that there was going to be a problem. Time slowed down, I heard the wrench clatter against the spinning wheel, heard a sharp ding as the wrench caught in the machine, and then just a millisecond later the louder crack behind me. I knew what had happened before I turned, but I dropped the wheel and spun quickly, hoping it wasn't true. The wrench had been launched like a tiny missile directly into the giant glass window of the customer viewing area. The window, being tempered glass had not shattered, but displayed a huge unsightly spiderweb of cracks. It seemed that the normal sounds of the garage, the tinkering of metal, the hiss of compressors had suddenly gone completely silent. Everyone stared, first at the smashed glass, then to me and Mitch at the spinner, our mouths hanging open as if the dentist were looking at our deepest tooth.

“Damn” I heard Ferris whisper from somewhere behind me.

Gordon the boss came through the door like the survivor of an air raid. He had apparently been talking to a customer in the viewing room at the time, and he crouched as if he was going to need to duck again any second.

“What the hell happened?” he said rather meekly.

“Accident” I said.

Now Gordon approached, rapidly recovering himself from massive surprise, to raging anger.

“Who is responsible for this ...accident” he stammered out, his face now red with the emotion.

I suddenly saw how this was going to end. My first day, my first job, my first chance at actually taking the reigns of my family and being a provider. Gone. One day into the job and its all gone. Perhaps they would only dock my pay to cover the broken window? What would my wife say when I came home and told her that I would be working for free for a couple weeks, or worse, that I was looking for another job?

“It was my fault. I did it”  I thought I was saying those words, but then I realized it wasn't me. It was Mitch who had spoken up. I looked back, and saw the ever impassive look on his face. “The old spinner never stopped, and I was trying to get to down when I lost the wrench on it.”

Gordon's eyes narrowed in surprise.

“For god's sake Mitch, how could you be so careless?”<comma splice He whined at him.

“Sorry Gordon, its the spinner, I told you that it was dangerous remember? <CS I am very glad no one was hurt”

Gordon was still seething, but then the words of Mitch's last thought suddenly got through to him.

“What did you say”? He asked, slightly calmer now.

“I said, its a good thing no one was hurt by the faulty equipment. I mean, this is a safety violation and its a good thing we aren't investigating an injury here” Mitch remained impassive, speaking quietly so that only Gordon and I could hear him.

Gordon slowly began nodding.

“Okay, new kid. See what you can do to clean up that window mess” Gordon said and he hoofed it quickly back to the store side. Possibly to call the glass company, or the insurance company maybe, but unlikely.

I looked back to Mitch. He had saved me. My job, my dream of being a provider, all of it. But for what? He didn't even know me, yet he had taken it all on himself. Would Gordon dock his pay? I couldn't let that happen.

“Listen Mitch, I need to tell Gordon what happened. I can't let you take that”

“What do you mean Luke? I think thats exactly what happened, going to tell Gordon something different would only confuse the poor sucker.” he answered.

“But Mitch, you don't need to do that. I dropped the wrench, I can take the consequences”<CS

Suddenly, Mitch smiled. The first one I had seen all day from him.

“The consequence Luke my boy, is that we are going to get a new spinner. So don't go and lose your job when we just made this crap hole better for you”

I looked at him, the triumphant smile on his lips, and then I glanced around at the other mechanics and techs grouped in a semi circle about us.

They all looked so different. Different skin colors, different names, different builds and different expressions. But yet, somehow they were all the same. They had ended up here somehow, because few chose to be there. Here was a group of guys who made the most out of what they had, most out of what they were given. Why? Because they had to?  Not really, it was deeper than that. Something in the soul of man that drives him to provide, even if it had to come from the hand of a disreputable lube stop.

My eyes traveled back to Mitch, and I stuck out my hand again.

He looked confused for a moment and then he reached out and shook it.

“I'm Luke” I said “Thanks for having me at Crappy Lube, where my dreams came to die”

Mitch smiled again.