Unfinished

The day has come. My second novel, "Unfinished", is out. It is available from Amazon.com, through the publisher, Interworld Publishing, at www.iwpinc.net/our_store, or through the Let's Talk Nevada news blog at www.letstalknevada.com. One other easy option is to contact me directly and I'll be glad to sign and mail you a copy. My first historical novel, "First You Hear Thunder", is available the same way. Go to www.firstyouhearthunder.com for further information "Thunder" and the 1960s fight for equal voting rights.

"Unfinished is a coming of age novel set in the 1960s and '70s. Aiden Croft is an aspiring artist. As he goes about the dual task of developing his talent and finding his way in the world. He always considered his personal and artistic lives separate, but finds them, like the rails of train tracks, merging out at the horizon line. He comes to understand the absurd situation in which humans find themselves. If he is to survive to get his work done and satisfy his goals, he and he alone must take charge.

Aiden cannot control all aspects that affect his life, but he can learn to live with what he finds and use the variety of quirky happenings to improve his lot. He applies his quick and final thinking to all challenges. Many of Aiden’s choices are sound and productive, but some choices, due to the imperfection of man and the uncertainty of nature, are ill advised and possibly fatal. He learns to accept the spirit of others he loves to help steer his course.

From Chapter 1: Aiden didn’t like being pressured into anything. His dislike of deadlines was one of the reasons he was considering a change in majors. He didn’t like being told to finish an art project and turn it in. Now, feeling forced to confront this new reality, Aiden again stalled and became content to just sit and watch. His fascination grew as strings of smoke climbed from the lit end of the cigarette. As it idly burned, left abandoned in the ashtray on the bar, smoke curled upward, twisting and turning in a thin tangle of its tendrils. He cocked his head and ran his eyes up and down the ever-changing columns intent to discover any recognizable shapes.

There were always shapes in the process of being created. His thoughts reverted to days of white, puffy clouds contrasting azure skies on idle summer afternoons. Years ago, he and a friend or two would flop onto their backs in a field and chew on a blade of grass. In repose, they would try to pick out shapes made by the clouds. They found ogres, dinosaurs, huge birds on the wing; anything that their imaginations could create.

Pointing skyward one friend would trace the shape of a cloud with a finger trying to make the other aware of his discovery. “Look. There’s the nose and that’s part of the tail.”

What he saw today in the drifting smoke was legs and arms intertwined. The steady movement toward the ceiling kept the human limbs in animation; ever moving, ever more entangled. He imagined that if he looked farther up the column instead of the smoke trail ending and dissipating into the smog of the dimly lit bar, he would see torsos. He would be witness to the sensuous activity generated by the intertwining of naked human limbs. He didn’t look–he changed his thinking.

He shoved his barstool back a few inches and raised his head out of the cradle created with his forearms resting on the bar as he watched the smoke. His gaze now broadened and included the mug of beer sitting on the old, whiskey stained, butcher-block bar. The glass sat in an ever-growing puddle of its own melted frost. Aiden framed the expanded scene with this thumbs and fingers. He now had the cigarette with its meandering smoke and the glass of beer in his focus. The scene doubled with the reflection from the mirror hanging on the back-bar.

“That would make a terrific photo. I can imagine it matted and hung on a wall in a gallery. No, even better, as the cover of a quiet, bluesy record album,” he said aloud to no one.  He had, momentarily, escaped the hypnotic tangle of smoke arms and smoke legs that he wanted so desperately to forget.

From Chapter 11:  The two spoke easily and often about the immediate future. They both understood the disease and intellectually accepted the final result. A resolve settled over the pair as they continued a routine of getting high on drugs to quell any residual fears that escaped their intellect. Quietly they cared for each other. One evening as Aiden read Kitt walked into the front room naked. Aiden put down his book and gave total attention to his mate. She was quite thin and a lot of the rich color had faded from her skin. She was still beautiful, but the presence of doom was clearly evident. Her eyes had lost their sparkle partly from the drug use, but mainly from the cancer. As Aiden looked at her he noticed that her smile was still present. It attracted him to her in just the same way it did when she first waited on him in the lakefront general store. Her familiar, enchanting smile enabled him to smile back.

After a long silence Kitt finally said that she wanted Aiden to take a few more pictures of her. She insisted that it made her feel alive to be naked in front of his lens. She told him to pair these with his earlier photos of her as part of the before and after compositions he was fond of creating–like the once beautiful buildings of Beirut that had been bombed into uselessness. Aiden took the pictures alternately snapping the shutter and wiping away tears.

From Chapter 12:  If Paris and Greece didn’t satisfy him, where on earth would? In truth, Aiden felt his future was in Beirut and he was feeling anxious to get started on a career.

In accordance with his style, he quickly decided it was time to go back. In Beirut he could get a job using his camera and he knew the place well.  He needed to work for his own wellbeing. He began to think of the colorful city as home–the East of his future.