Story: 'The Letter.'

[coyleys]

The other day I noticed my wife reading a Jane Austen novel

“What’s that rubbish your reading” I said

“Better than that rubbish you write” she replied

“Rubbish! Rubbish!” I cried

How dare she. I was hurt to say the least.

I now knew the depths of anguish suffered by Van Gogh when denied by his loved one.

The hurt and torment endured by Romeo in his last moments on this earth.

Was I to be denied my rightful place in the archives of English Literature?

Would my name never be spoken in the same breath as Wordsworth and Shakespeare?

(Don’t stop me; I’m on a roller here)

Was I to be condemned to a life of subjective purgatory?

Was this to be “good bye cruel world?”

I could foresee my own epitaph…..

 

Here lies Coyley

Scorned by his loved one.

Cast aside, dumped in the gutter of mankind.

A victim of mental poverty and cerebral persecution

His spirit to forever haunt the valleys of perpetual ignorance.

And all because his writings were deemed rubbish.

 

But then again I thought that didn’t stop Geoffrey Archer.

So here is my meagre attempt at this month’s theme.

 

The Letter.

[Falls]

The other day I noticed my wife reading a Jane Austen novel

“What’s that rubbish your reading” I said

“Better than that rubbish you write” she replied

“Rubbish! Rubbish!” I cried

How dare she. I was hurt to say the least.

I now knew the depths of anguish suffered by Van Gogh when denied by his loved one.

The hurt and torment endured by Romeo in his last moments on this earth.

Was I to be denied my rightful place in the archives of English Literature?

Would my name never be spoken in the same breath as Wordsworth and Shakespeare?

(Don’t stop me; I’m on a roller here)

Was I to be condemned to a life of subjective purgatory?

Was this to be “good bye cruel world?”

I could foresee my own epitaph…..

 

Here lies Coyley

Scorned by his loved one.

Cast aside, dumped in the gutter of mankind.

A victim of mental poverty and cerebral persecution

His spirit to forever haunt the valleys of perpetual ignorance.

And all because his writings were deemed rubbish.

 

But then again I thought that didn’t stop Geoffrey Archer.

So here is my meagre attempt at this month’s theme.

 

 

 

Yes, I did like the story. We have Old-Order Mennonite communities about 70 miles north west of us. They are very hard working people but generally live in closed comunities. They still use horses to plow, ride about in buggies, dont have electricity or telephones, etc.

 

Living next to people who don't practice the same life style and have the latest cars, and electronic gadgets must put a terrible strain on the communities and make some of the younger ones quite restless.

 

But a word of caution regarding yourself. Don't sink to the same depth of anguish as Van Gogh. We don't want you cutting your ear off. That is, unless you desperately want to impress Shoeshine and Mantespook, win the April contest and get the book token.

 

Regards

[sauerkraut]

Very clever coyleys. I especially liked the PS!

 

As an avid Austen reader myself, I noticed a couple of expressions which - to me at least - didn't seem to fit the "old-fashioned" writing style:

 

"pigeon English" - maybe "contemporary" English, or even "worldly" English??

 

"thoughts ran amok" - perhaps "my thoughts were in (complete/utter) disarray"?

 

Feel free to ignore/reject/shoot down in flames as appropriate

[coyleys]

Thanks Falls

I was going to use Mennonite, Hutterites or even Amish and would have been a lot more appropriate, but they are not as well know as Quakers and so may have confused the reader even more.

Thanks also Sauerkraut.

I will take your advice on that, consider it edited.

Seeing as you’re an avid Austen reader you will recognise a couple of lines that stand out from S,S .

I must admit I have only read two of Austen’s books P,P and S,S.

They were hard going at first but once you got into her style they were a really good read, I’m a bit hooked now so will eventually do the lot.

Cheers

[Mantaspook]

Hi Coyleys,

 

Would my name never be spoken in the same breath as Wordsworth and Shakespeare?

 

I think this is just possible, the best I can come up with that fits the most likely scenario is this : ”If you go down Wordsworth Avenue and call at the Shakespeare pub, you’ll find Coyleys propping the bar up!”

 

A nice change of writing style there, I was transported back to my old English lessons where a group of 14 year olds utterly failed to grapple with classic literature and the second hand on the clock Sloooowwwed riiiiiiight dooooooown… Happy days, (when the bell finally rang.)

 

I can’t fault the concept of what you are attempting here, I’d probably have been tempted to go for the obvious comical story of a naïve girl discovering the technological wonders of the modern world (“…at first I thought the fishtank was haunted but I later found it was called a television” etc.)

 

I’d just like to echo Falls comment that you avoid the same anguish as Van Gogh, you should certainly avoid cutting off minor body parts. To impress me, it’d have to be a complete decapitation.

 

I leave you with a quote from Burton Rascoe, you could do as I have done and ask your wife to make a cross stitch of it to hang above your desk. (Her reply was, sadly, unprintable)

 

"What no wife of a writer can ever understand is that a writer is working when he's staring out of the window."

 

So true

[Hopman]

 

Don't sink to the same depth of anguish as Van Gogh. We don't want you cutting your ear off.

 

I've seen your website and that photo. Cut off your ear and how will your glasses stay on?

[scribe]

coyleys,did you know there's a good market for EROTIC writers!!!!!!! ,

we want more NIPPLES .

[Hopman]

Of course, for an Amish story there's always this one:

 

An Amish boy and his father were in a shopping mall. They were

amazed by almost everything they saw,

but especially by two shiny silver walls that could move apart and

slide back together again.

 

The boy asked, "What is this, Father?"

The father (never having seen an elevator) responded, "Son, I have

never seen anything like this in my life. I don't know what it is."

 

While the boy and his father were watching in amazement, a fat old

lady in a wheelchair rolled her way up to

the moving walls and pressed a button. The walls opened, and the

lady rolled between them into a small chamber. The walls closed, and

the boy and his father watched the small circular numbers above the

walls light up sequentially. They continued to watch until the last

number was reached; then the numbers began to light in reverse

order.

Finally the walls opened again, and a gorgeous 24-year-old blonde

stepped out.

 

The father, not taking his eyes off the young woman, said quietly to

his son . . . "Go get your mother."!!

 

_

 

[coyleys]

Good one Hopman