Strange thoughts at strange times--The Guitar

Funny at what times the darndest thoughts can hit you; like a short story at midnight when you are trying to go to bed and are way overdue. The following story hit me at just that time and was insistent enough to delay my sleep for another half hour. This story seemed to have a life of its own and the imagery was extremely captivating, even to me. I knew immediately that it was very powerful and needed to be shared. Preliminary feedback has been tremendous. I hope you like it.


The Guitar--Steven G. O'Dell July 2005

The music was unlike any she had ever heard before. It grabbed her by the heartstrings and pulled her physically to itself. The otherworldly strains came softly from the inner recesses of the undistinguished and quaint little shop that she had nearly missed in her private rush down the narrow cobblestone street, but she now stood transfixed as the sultry tones of the simple acoustic guitar beckoned to her from the darkness beyond the door.

One step at a time, slowly she marched forward, led by the intoxicating siren sound of an unseen master. Gradually, as her eyes became accustomed to the dim lighting of the room, the form took shape of a seated man bent over a guitar. His eyes were tightly closed, as though in deep meditation and his head bobbed and weaved subtly to the emotional melodies that so fluidly poured forth. His behavior suggested that he did not just play the music, but that he also experienced it, lived in it fully and passionately.

His fingers were now gentle and quivering, then again swift and light and she knew that the music that so deeply stirred her did not come alone from the fingers and mind of the musician, but from the depths of his very soul. His roughly handsome face changed with each phrase; soaring, now weeping and then flights of ecstasy and beyond. Tears flowed easily from her as the melodies played about her heart and feelings. She felt nearly captive and helpless in the grip of this master musician. As she watched his two hands orchestrate their dance around the instrument he held, it occured to her that the device he so masterfully expressed himself upon bore strong resemblance to her own feminine shape. She blushed as a warmth surprisingly surged through her and she instinctively knew that such hands as could express themselves in this spirit-touching manner must also know their way around the body of such a woman as she--nay, even her very soul.

Now nearly breathless, she lifted her gaze from the interplay of man and instrument, the dance between fret and soundboard, mesmerized by the now open dark and penetrating eyes that seemed to search her inner depths. The soft smile on his lips assured her that any fears were in vain and she began to willingly open her heart and mind to this heavenly symphony that she had nearly lost in her desire to hurry to nowhere important.

Book Two--The Evil Returns

I have finished transcribing the second installment of the Shining Armor series. It was all handwritten (my family loved their computer time as much as I do) and still needed typed. What surprised me is how much room the handwritten word can take up in a notebook and how little room it can appear to be on the printed page. Aside from having to flesh out the story to the tune of about 100%, no worries. I have faith it can be done, but have to admit that the temptation was there to just tack it into the first cover and call it 'part two' from there. Cooler heads prevailed (well, that remains to be seen) and I will do my best to fill it out some more. The basic premise is good and I am sure it will hold up to the tweaking (if 100% fleshing out can be called tweaking).

The siren song of part three is calling me wildly and I may have to get it down on PC first. It covers a good portion of two handwritten notebooks. (Funny, the first one was taken from notes that filled very FEW pages and I had less trouble developing it into over 60,000 words than I am with this second one.) Well, here we go again.

Preliminary Excerpt from Book Two of Shining Armor series--The Evil Returns

[The following will likely be fleshed out a bit more and detailed better, but it is here in rough form for commentary by any readers that wish to respond. Thanks for all the support.]


The day had come for Ron to see the insurance investigators. He and Denise walked in with all of his financial records, income statements, affidavits of his character and every other scrap of evidence in his favor that he could procure.

“Mr. Jameson, I’m Charles Findley. Would you please come with me—alone, if you don’t mind.” He glanced at Denise as he said this.

“Alone? Why is that?”

“The policy is in your name. Unless, of course, this is your attorney….” He waited for Ron to verify.

“No, this is my wife and she has every reason to be interested and supportive in this matter, wouldn’t you agree?” Ron's manner was firm. It was obvious he was not going to bend.

“Ah…yes, of course. This way, please.” The point had been made and Findley turned to lead them. Victory number one for our side, Denise thought and she winked covertly at Ron.

After all were seated, Findley immediately began to state his company’s policies and their stand regarding Ron’s situation. The pile of papers in front of him seemed endless and Ron now showed his impatience just as quickly.

“Can we just cut to the chase here, Mr. Findley? You think I burned my own home for the insurance money. It’s quite obvious that you do. I know it and you know now that I know it. The fact is that you are paid to find ways not to pay on policies that your company cheerfully takes money for. I can almost accept that as legitimate. It has its place in cases of fraud, but it is entirely reprehensible and may be fraud itself to take money from honest folks when you know that you have no intent to deliver on your advertised promises. And, if I am not mistaken, I believe there is at least a law regarding truth in advertising, in addition to breach of contract….”

“Mr. Jameson….” Findley attempted to interrupt and again gain the high ground in this battle of wills, but Ron maintained his newfound momentum and pushed forward with a strength born of excess frustration and pent up rage.

“One moment, sir. I might add that the Attorney General could well be interested in the outcome of this little meeting. Now, you have quite a stack of papers there in front of you. You must have before you every aspect of my life. Your resources are probably much better than you’d ever admit. Then it should also follow that you will know that I am not in any dire financial straits—i.e., I am not a gambler, I have not of late contracted any diseases, nor do I have any pressing and expensive medical needs of any kind, etcetera, etcetera and etcetera. You have likely checked my background deeply enough to have seen that I had top-level security clearance in my work for the government, so the moral veracity of my character is above reproach.” Ron now stood and glared down at Findley from his fully erect height. “You could have verified anything that you chose to, but just in case you have missed something, I have a present for you.” He slammed his own pile of papers onto the desk in front of Findley, who involuntarily jumped at the sound. “Add this to your reading. Perhaps there are details your diligent staff of investigators chose to ignore. If you are an honest and a wise man, as I hope you are, you have nothing to fear in this matter, but if you are not, I will go to every legal measure to hold you personally responsible. Do you understand?”

Findley was a seasoned veteran in the insurance business. Still, he was unused to such treatment from those that he was supposed to be intimidating. The whole thing was very unsettling and he tried unsuccessfully to maintain an air of indifference. “Mr. Jameson, there is no need for threats, I assure you.” He was now on his own feet, trying to regain the lost psychological advantage. Before he could do so, Ron took Denise by the arm and left, slamming the door loudly. Findley stood in stunned silence, staring at the now closed door. Much as he wanted the last word, he actually hesitated to follow.

“That did feel very good.” Ron clenched his fists in a half-raised gesture that signaled his own feeling of invigoration.

“That was an inspiring performance. You’ve won this round, Sir Ronald. Absolutely magnificent.”

He smiled so wide that he feared it would become permanent. “I was inspired, I guess. It felt so good to blow off some steam at the petty little tyrant. I think I scared him, don’t you?”

“Well, he won’t soon forget Ronald Jameson, I can assure you." She laughed aloud as she pictured his face again. Her laughter was like the sweetest music to Ron. It had been far too long since he had seen her really happy and encouraged.