Category Archives: Writing

Between Fugues

Indian Summer (orange filter)

Indian Summer (orange filter)

A handsome fellow, even in his late years. Either it was his age or an injury that kept him from standing straight, yet, he managed to get from his program seat quickly to the venue hallway where I stood. His eyes are bright and excitable, typical gaze of someone needing to share. I’ve learned in my public affairs years to allow the man his audience; at this age, if he doesn’t get it out, he may never have the chance.

“I knew it was the first Brian!” he offered, “I had a sense the moment you started.”

Thank you, my standard reception.

“Well done, good story.”

Thank you, my standard response.

“I’ve got a whole bunch of metal in my back from Vietnam.”

My heart swells with the distinct affection I have for the wounded warrior.

A watchful shadow angles in over my shoulder, reminding me of other affairs.

“You and I could speak on that for hours,” I share, “but I won’t keep you. Thank you, I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

My standard sign off.

My escort leads me down the hall, out the doors, to my truck. On the pathway, I can exhale again.

The presentation at the Florida Bibliophile Society is my last for 2014. Fall season has arrived, and my mind is shifting from sunbathing to studying, I suppose the academic calendar is now permanently stitched into my subconscious. Fall means, hunker down, collect data, commence writing because Spring means organize and validate data, present a completed, legible work by end of Spring.

This year I managed to publish one of the fifteen novels I have written since retiring December 2011. I experienced the roller coaster ride that is production and publication, with that 4G twisty of getting screwed by business partners, but in the end I have decided it’s a ride worth experiencing again. Baby is in the book biz, and Baby is gonna deliver!

This fall I’m going to prepare the continuing saga from I Blew Up Juarez, a collaborative effort between selected fans and the self, and if this business model works, I believe I could deliver a solid series within the next two years. A horror anthology featuring one of my short stories is due for release soon, I’ll update in a separate post with those details once I secure them. A political science dystopia I’ve been chomping at the bit to produce will come out of hiding. I desire to release this during the 2016 Election Season.

I’m also putting the brakes on this blog for a bit. I want to adjust it to distinguish short stories, stranger-than-fiction, and writing prompts from each other, plus add a gallery of favorite photos by season. So there will be takedowns and ups and request for reviews here and there; any feedback you have, hell, even the douchebag feedback you love to leave, feel free. It only enhances the blog experience!

Finally, I’ve recently discovered my aunt is dying. She’s the eldest on my mother’s side, and so, I’m going to spend time with my family in the coming weeks. My plan is to delve further into my origin story, and who but the elders of the clan would know them best? I, ever the skilled scribe, plan to document every story, so I might make room here to journal my progress. Expect a bunch of photos from the Pacific Ocean; I might pull a Where In The World Is Von Simeon? on you guys!

Only one life left. Making the most of it. :)

 

Over 300 Followers! You’re So Kind :)

DaliDay21

Over the weekend, I jumped over the 300 mark for *authentic* followers! Must be doing/writing something right…THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!!

Wordless Wednesday: My Award-Winning Writing Cafe

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CONGRATS MANDY!!

Writing Prompt: Last Day On Earth

writersblock

[NOTE: I joined a new writer's group! This group differs from the old one, in that these writers are eclectic in personality, diverse in style, and disciplined to work, which is what I prefer in a group setting. Our first meeting was fun. Here's one of the 12 minute writing prompts we did; enjoy!]

Concept: A meteor is about to strike our planet, decimation of our known civilization is certain! React to the news…

My fellow Americans, Armageddon is upon us. I will not speak to you as your President, but as your neighbor. I too am terrified, of what shall become of our homes, of the natural life, and of the art we cherish. And since I have the world’s attention right now for the next 11 minutes, I’d like to go ahead and share a few things. First, I need to apologize to Ms. Jackson. It was me, not Henry, who pushed Melissa off the monkey bars. I watched as Henry got swatted over and over, tears streaming down his red face, eyes of disbelief pleading to me to tell the truth. It has haunted me this entire life and I’m glad to relieve myself. Next…I confess…I looked down Sara’s shirt in Shop class all period long. She never caught me doing it, but I know I was a total sleezeball.

Alright, let’s forget the grade school stuff. This war currently in the Middle East? Well, it’s ongiong because I lost my shirt at the White House poker table! Yup, it was me, Dubya, Dicky Cheney, Donnie Rumsfeld, Metta World Peace, and Rhianna. Me against Donnie, chips high, and I lose, two sevens to his three 9s. I thought I had a good bluff, America! So yeah, you parents of soldiers battling out and losing lives over senseless interference? That’s all because of double 7s. Whew! This is therapeutic.

Okay, another one. Me, Putin and Cameron had an ultimate three way at Yves St Laurent’s former terrazzo in Marrakesh. We called it a ‘peace summit’ but really, it was all about gettin’ a piece of SOME ASS! Also, I tried LSD and I like it. I should’ve pushed for an increase in research funding because frankly, if we were all stoned right now, I think we’d be taking the end of the earth way way better.

In closing, I’m gonna roll a spliff and cheef in the Oval Office, because I’m the Chief of State, and the state I’m in merits cheefing. HA HA! This is why they got a guy to write my shit, oops, STUFF, oh hell, who the fuck cares about decorum! I’m gonna take off my clothes now…EVERYONE GET NAKED AND START FUCKING!!

President, out! <drops pen like a mic>

Original composition 9.7.14

 

Wordless Wednesday: Poetry Night

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See the girl with the ninja tattoo..?

Read My Book? Need Your Feedback ASAP!

Love that you bought it, would REALLY love your feedback!

 

You bought my book? AWESOME! Wanna tell me what to do next? Also awesome!

Go RIGHT NOW to Make Contact and select FOCUS GROUP from the pull-down menu.

I’m collecting information to help me decide my next move in the book game.

As always, thanks for playing along!

 

 

Tell Me What To Do!

Busy Secretary Working in Office

Hello friends! On April 4th of this year, I released my debut novel, I Blew Up Juarez. Proudly, I sold several copies and ran out of printed books!

I intended to put out the next “book” this holiday season, but I have another idea, and this is where I need your help!
On AUGUST 31, 2014 I’m sending out a quick survey for all readers of I Blew Up Juarez via email to collect your thoughts on how the story continues, even if you’re not finished reading the book! Exciting, right?
If you are interested in becoming a participant, please send an email titled “FOCUS GROUP” to vsenterprisesfl@gmail.com by AUGUST 30 so that you’re included.
It will be a bcc interaction, so don’t worry about your individual opinion being lost in the mix.
I value your insight. Thanks!

 

Regards,
Von Simeon
Author, I Blew Up Juarez

1000 Likes! You Guys Are Awesome.

 

‘I will shoot you if you’re transgender.’

double-face-palm

This is a SPECTACULAR Craigslist ad in all ways, shapes and forms! If you have the time, I encourage you to read all the way through, but I direct your attention to Paragraph 3 in particular.

Proofread before hitting OK, folks…PROOF BEFORE HITTING OK…

http://tampa.craigslist.org/pnl/crg/4564964105.html

The Estate Sale

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My foot step into the first room made a hollow noise against the centuries-old wooden floor. Instinctively I fold my arms tight across the chest, for some reason feeling very invasive in this person’s – persons? – home.

To the left, the estate sale organizers had created a three-tier shelving with boxes full of “chinch”: sewing bobbins, Christmas cards, crochet needles, rope. Before dismissing them all I land upon a box labeled, “Stationary” and proceed to shuffle through its contents.

 

The organizers want $8.00 for the whole box, but I decide I only want these particular parchments.

The next room I enter is full of blankets, handmade all, crocheted or quilted by the same woman who sent correspondence on Little Stinker paper. This is where I experience The Clocker. She’s the person (usually a she, sorry but it’s true!) who follows you around to see what you value so she can grab it under you. Her joy at these events is not in finding something that resonates with her, but in finding something that she took away from someone who admired it. Psycho, right? Well, she starts by placing her hand on a pile of needlepoint napkins.

“Aren’t these gorgeous?” she asks. Her hand strokes the top one, a very nicely stitched sunflower design, as her eyes widen for my response.

I give her my best, “Meh” and continue forward.

She tries another play beside the stack of boxes. “Are those cigar boxes? Ooh, I want to see one.”

I turn and find she’s right behind me, violating all personal space rules. I appease her by lifting the stack of boxes with one hand, then placing them in front of her. Before she gets a chance to play “Do you like this one?” again, I swipe out the large box from the stack and keep it moving.

My friend finds me playing with a set of binoculars. “Have you had a chance to check out the books yet?”

I adjust the focus in my left eye to stare in the room across from me. “Nope.”

She nods with that nod of, you need to check it out.

I put down the binoculars, cross into the room I was spying into for a bit before I journeyed towards the reading room. As I pass through the corridor, I notice The Clocker has found the binoculars and is busy pretending to use them.

The reading room is where I meet the gentleman of the house. Yellowed corrugated tubes line a segment of a wall. Maps. Large shipping trunks fill the center of the room; my friend’s haggling on the blue and brass one. There are measuring tools, a surveyor’s scope, and medallions from all over. A well-traveled man, the highlights of his years being the early 20th century.

My eyes circle up to the bookshelves and I observe a mixture of children’s classics, encyclopaedia, a book on house keeping, and then rows upon rows of engineering-based books. Titles like, “Metals,” “Measurements,” one simply “Engineering.” My friend happens to pass behind me, “He was into digging. You should see the big tools in the garage.” I shall.

As I skim the shelves, I put together a story of a small-town boy with an incredibly busy mind. He marries his high school sweetheart and takes right off to the oil fields, working his way from entry level to lead engineer before he’s in his 20s. He’d be gone for months, sailing the world on large frigates, learning new techniques, putting his own to practice, every once in a while sending Lulubelle (my name for the needlepointer) a gift in exchange for a letter. They were a couple that used the power of written word to keep it together, and they managed to live a long and productive life.

I smile at my happy little made-up-on-the-spot tale, then remember to pull the books I want before The Clocker finds me again.

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