I.M. Writing Literature

You recollect back a few days ago when I was a writin' about the big ruckus over my literature I wrote for the teacher's wife? I guess it must of upset her a might bit more than it appeared, cause it looks she must have misplaced them sheets of paper with my literature writing on them, leastaways that's what I figure must of happened. Maybe it were when she was a visitin' the RV park lawnderomat, cause somehow several ladies stayin' here stumbled on them pages, the result being that they was pesterin' Nilda right and left as to when I was a gonna write some more literature, and some of them was even a askin' me to write specifically about them.

Then the RV park office lady comes up to me one afternoon in the back isle of the drugstore and starts asking all kinds of things about my literature, such as where do I get my ideas for my literature, if'n it's from actual experience and the like, the kinda questions that a woman ain't got no business asking a man that she ain't married to.  When she started gettin' more friendly than I remembered Nilda being when we was a sparkin', I lit right out of there.

I didn't know whether to bring what happened, (actually, what almost happened but didn't) up to Nilda, nor not. Then I remembered how Nilda was always a supportin' me in my writin' efforts, so as she was a slatherin' on another layer of beauty cream just afore lights out, I brought what was a troublin' me up. Which is the why and how of the writin' of the followin'. Nilda said I should write something for them lady's. Of course, she wanted to read it with me first, just to make sure I didn't make any mistakes, as she put it. Once she was satisfied with it, she would give it to them and and hopefully it would do some satisfyin' of their needs by them readin' it. She then started talking about other things, including me requiring more research for my writtin', all of which it's probably best I not get into.

So that's where what follers come from, but before you read on, Nilda suggested I put something like this at the beginning of my literature: Those of you that's got some of those Puritan ways may want to not read this, and those of you that's got some prurient ways should probably read what you usually do. But for the rest of you, if you want to find out what kind of writin' them lady's thought was so interesting, read on.

Bertha Ethel Snowbird's bosom was heaving as she paused on her way to the top of the ornately carved, curving wooden staircase that led to the upper level of the RV Resort's clubhouse. Her eyes glanced upward, and there he stood, an apparition, bearing a striking likeness to one of the Geek God’s Bertie had studied about in her recent ancient civilization, history class. From the moment she saw him she was struck speechless, parts of her quivering in her intense need to draw a breath.

Grayson Devlin Poindexter IV had just finished his conversation with Hannibal Larcey, his financial adviser and confidant. Absentmindedly placing the phone in his pants pocket, Dev, as he was known, whirled to descend the wooden steps, a path that would take him to what he knew would be the worst moment of his life, and it was at that instant their eyes met.

One set sparkled with astonishment, innocence and wonder, the other was pale, hooded and dispirited, displaying only the last flickering embers of hope. It was the look that man and woman have shared down through eternity, the one that fans the embers of hope back into flames. The one that unlooses the bondage of innocence, freeing its occupant to devour the offerings of life.

The silence that permeated the moment was roaring in Bertie's ears, sounding much like when she had watched the trains climb the ribbon of rails on the nearby mountainside where she grew up. A throbbing, similar to what she had felt when those giant engines pounded by her secret hillside hiding place began in her head, descending downward, and generating feelings in places Bertha had never before had feelings. What was happening to her, she wondered. Then her breath became even more ragged, the end of every nerve of her body seeming to be spouting Fourth of July sparklers. Lord help me she thought, I’m about to faint.

For his part, Dev, was also feeling something, the sense of dread at knowing he faced another expensive RV repair, but all that changed at the sight of Bertha Ethel. It was as if the one person he had constantly dreamed about but knew would always be unattainable had suddenly appeared before him. For there, standing just a few steps below him, was Meg Ryan, Sharon Stone and Tea Leoni, all rolled into one. He saw the look of innocence, the cute, pert, little nose, the rounded curves and the beautiful hair he had always dreamed of, but knew he would never gaze upon. All thoughts of his troubles, his life as it was, a life that an instant before was collapsing around him, vanished at that moment. For here, just before him, was his life, his future, and all he had to do was to reach out and catch her before she fell down the stairs.

That last thought crashed through his momentary euphoria and brought him back to the present. Forging past  the unintelligible  jumble his mind had become at the sight of this unbelievably scintillating woman, he saw her eyes, those beautiful bright blue eyes,slowly begin to roll upwards as her delicate, fluttering eyelids began to descend. Dear God his tortured mind screamed, now that at last I’ve found her, don’t take her away. Like a man possessed of the fury of a weekend warrior trying to get the last site in the RV park, Dev leaped across  the abyss of the few intervening steps, throwing his arms around his blond goddess just as she began to topple over backwards. A fall that would surely have extinguished her life had it been allowed to happen.

For a moment Bertha Ethel’s momentum threatened to carry them both outward, a trajectory that would have seen them plummeting to the bottom of the stairwell and a sure death. Death! The Darkness of Death! Never could he allow it to come between them. Summoning near superhuman reserves of strength, his bugling biceps nearly tearing the fabric of his hand tailored shirt, he held to her with a desperation born of the ages, teetering on the abyss between a future he thought he would never have, and the fate that befell Romeo and Juliet.

Exhausted almost to the point of collapse himself, by summoning his last ounce of energy he swung them away from the stairwell, their intertwined bodies collapsing as one toward the steps. There they lay, unmoving, Dev’s bulging arms securing Bertha, holding her tight to his unmoving body that had provided a cushion for her short fall.

Now I know you all was probably expecting something more akin to what them RV park lady's was a wantin', but this literature, leastways the books I read and how Nilda explained it to me, didn't do it that way. There's characterization, plot development, reader involvement, and rising action leading to the climax. Now this part had them first three, and the second part would have them last two, if'n anybody wants a second part that is.

PS. If you don't want it writ, its okay, cause Nilda has asked me to finish it fer her in that case. Sides, I'd much rather write about what me an Nilda does in our daily livin' and all, plus some help pieces fer folks that's just taken up this mobile, mobile home life. Seems like all this literature writin' does is cause me trouble, when I could be usin' the time to work on fixin' Ol' 5th Wheel so we could be a gittin' down the rode and away from this place. Either that or I got to get Nilda to find her another beauty palor, cause was where all this literature stuff started.