Tag Archives: #author

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An Entry From The Private Journal Of Doctor Jack Tyler – September 2nd, 201-

 *Greetings one and all.  Today I take great pleasure in introducing you to yet another character from “The Vampyre Blogs – Coming Home”.  Meet Doctor Jonathan “Jack” Tyler, or Doctor Jack as everyone calls him.  He’s another member of Nathan’s extended family, as well as a dear friend to Brian and his family.  Jack of course knows Nathan’s secret and being the town surgeon, keeps a good supply of blood on hand for him.  But Jack didn’t always know about Nathan, and he’s here to tell you all how he found out.  I hope you enjoy meeting him and hearing his tale…

Things were busy at the clinic today, as they’ve been most of the week.  With the start of school there were a lot of last-minute immunizations, check-ups, summer sniffles and whatnot to deal with.  Things should quiet down for a bit, but soon it’ll be cold and flu season again.  Then of course there’ll be the holidays, not that I mind.  I love helping decorate the clinic with my staff.  I’ll also get to help with the decorations at home as well, but that won’t be for a few weeks.

God, I love this time of year, seeing all the leaves turning it’s as if mother nature whipped out her most vibrant paints and started dabbing at the trees.  Looking up I saw the sun was already setting and quickly got into my car.  From there I drove out of town and soon found myself driving down some the most beautiful country roads, bordered by forest on both sides.

Turning down a well-known side road, I headed deeper into the woods until I started seeing cars dotting both sides of the street.  But I could see people heading back to their cars.  Not many folks like to wander the trails after the sun started going down, but me and my wife love it out here.  I manage to find a good spot to park near where the street actually ends in a wide circle, designed so folks can turn around and head back the way they came.  There’s also a fence with an opening that puts your right on the walking path that leads into the woods.

Getting out, I recognized a number of my patients and neighbors.  This is a popular stretch of woods and in autumn, none of us can get enough of this area.  As I make my way down the picturesque path I’m transported back to another time, some thirty years ago, when my life had taken a much darker outlook. My mother had been diagnosed with cancer, and suddenly my world of popularity on and off the playing field had become so meaningless…

My ruminations are suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a red fox who is standing in the middle of the path a dozen yards ahead of me.  The animal is looking at me and cocks its head in a curious fashion.  There had been a fox back then too, I remember.

The animal starts to swish its tail excitedly and then proceeds to trot towards me, stopping occasionally as if to check me out.  Finally, when it’s just a few feet away, it gets excited and then races around my legs and then starts heading off to the path.  It pauses briefly to stare at me, and I just know I’m supposed to follow him, which I do.

Soon, I find myself deeper in the woods, listening to the crunching of the leaves beneath my feet, as well as enjoying the canopy of gold, red, yellow and green above me.  I also keep track of my guide who keeps stopping to make sure he hasn’t lost me.  As we venture deeper into the woods the sounds of a running water reach my ears and I know for sure where I am and who’s waiting for me.

We come to a clearing that overlooks a large stream with a waterfall just off to my left.  Ahead of me there’s a big blanket spread out with my wife Cheryl setting out plates.  My son and daughter, Joe and Darlene are with her.  While over by the edge of the stream stands my mother and the man who saved her, Nathan.  Although she’s still in her late sixties, I have to admit she’s still a fine-looking woman.  The fact that she wouldn’t still be here if not for our family friend and guardian, has never been lost on me or my wife.  She and I had been high school sweethearts, and I’d nearly pushed her away when my mother got the cancer diagnosis, but Nathan kept me from losing her as well.

He’d found me in this very spot all those years ago and given me hope when I thought there was none to be found anywhere.  That was the day he’d also shared his secret with me and showed me that even when life throws you what seems to be the ultimate curve ball, that hope can appear out of that darkness if you just keep your eyes open.

I look up and see the sun is fading.  Soon the stars will be out.  I wonder if tonight will be the night that Nathan shares his secret with my children?  A part of me hopes so.  The truth can be frightening, but it can also be wondrous as he showed me that lonely autumn night so long ago…

TO BE CONTINUED…

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Nathaniel’s E-Journal May 2007 – I’m Now A Published Author

As I sit here typing my mind is still in a whirl.  The idea that something I’ve written is actually getting published seems unreal.  Then again a lot of things I’ve done in my long life feel that way.

The first time I stepped out onto a stage in vaudeville to play a part in one of the Marx Brothers routines I felt the same way.  I’d been helping out in their rehearsals and knew the routine by heart, so when Gummo wasn’t able to appear with his brothers one night, I was drafted then and there.  I’m proud to say that I did not suffer stage fright, but that was mostly because I had Julius, Arthur and Leonard with me.  I knew they had my back and I wasn’t about to let them down.  In a way, it was like being back in the Union Army, where I knew I had a bunch of guys watching out for me just as much as I was keeping an eye out for them.  When we finished our routine they made sure I took a bow with them.  After that I started finding myself on stage a number of times with some of the other acts who knew me pretty well.


But I digress.  As my second semester taking writing classes was drawing to a close, one of my instructors urged me to try and submit a few of my short stories to a few magazines for publication.  This was in March and I trusted my instructor’s judgement and with their help I prepared a cover letter, synopsis and a sample of one of my stories.  Needless to say the results were pretty much what I half expected…

Not to say I wasn’t a little hurt, but my instructor was like, “Good, now you’re really on your way to being an author.”  Needless to say I gave her a very curious look, but nodded and kept trying.  Within weeks the responses, or rather more rejections, came rolling in…

Yet in spite of this, Brian, his family, fellow students, and even other members of the English and Literature faculty kept urging me on.  So I kept at it.  Finally, yesterday, I got a response from of all magazines Playboy, who wanted to publish one of my stories. It was one I submitted on a whim to their college fiction contest last year.  I didn’t win mind you, but one of the editors kept it on file because he thought it was really good.  


In any case, somehow they were looking to fill space and he remembered my story and contacted me saying they wanted to run it.  Naturally I said yes so next month, my first published short story will be coming out in Playboy Magazine.  I’m hoping the readers like it, or at least those who read Playboy for the articles, all of two of them.


Still, to have my first published story appear in a magazine of that caliber is an honor.  I’m hoping it will help springboard me into other publications or at least get my name out there.  Or rather my pseudonym Daniel Bachmann.  Bachmann was my mother’s maiden name and Daniel was my grandfather’s name.   Too many people out there know or heard of Nathaniel Steward over the last few decades who don’t know my secret.  So a fake name just seemed more appropriate on this occasion.


So my first published work will be sandwiched somewhere in between naked women and… now I’m jealous.  Time to head out and enjoy some nightlife.  I hear there’s plenty of great places here in London, and the lights at night are beautiful.  Who knows, I might get an idea for a few more stories.  Yup… I’m a writer all right.  Always thinking about the next tale.

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Nathaniel’s E-Journal, August 2005… Beginning A New Chapter Part-II

Another night and I stand once more in my artist’s studio located on the top floor of the building that houses my club “The Crypt”.  No one’s allowed up here unless I say so, and tonight I wish to be alone with my thoughts.  For two days now I’ve been wrestling with the idea of trying my hand at writing novels.  

 
In some ways the idea seems ridiculous.  Me? An author?  


Then another question comes to mind in the form of one word, why?


That’s the sticking point for me.  Why would I take up writing?  Because I’m bored and want to try something new that I’ve never done before?   It wouldn’t be the first time.  When I joined vaudeville, it was simply to keep myself busy and working behind the scenes as a stagehand at night seemed ideal.  But then I started to get to know the performers like Julius, Arthur, Herbert and Leonard… better known as the Marx Brothers.  Their range of talents fascinated me.  The number of instruments they could play, or the snappy patter they should spout on a moments notice never ceased to amaze me.  Plus, they seemed to sense the feeling of being ‘lost’ and ‘adrift’ in me, which made them reach out so I could be a part of their comeraderie.  But it didn’t stop there.  Others in the troupe welcomed me as well, like “Fatty” (Roscoe Arbuckle), the Keatons, Harry and Bess Houdini, the lovely and sweet Mae West and so many others…

Before I knew what was happening they’d be teaching me all kinds of skills and even dragging me out on stage to help out in their acts.  I could write endless stories about those days and the ones that came before.  


My days on the battlefield while serving in the Union Army.  So many stories were lost there that only I know about.  The hopes and fears of my brothers in blue, as well as some of those who wore the rebel gray.  In 167 years of walking this world, I’ve not forgotten a single person who I’ve met, good or bad, I remember them.  I also remember the stories they shared, the sweethearts they pursued and the outcomes.  


So many stories to choose from, but where would I begin?  


I brought up the idea of my taking up writing to Brian and his family last night at dinner.  Much to my surprise no one laughed.  Instead they eagerly supported the venture.  Brian in particular urged me to take a couple of creative writing courses at the college where he teaches history.  “We’ve got some really good instructors there and they could really help you hone your skills?” Brian pointed out.  “I’ve taken a couple of them and they were really helpful.  Of course, you’ll need to decide on a genre to write in.  Agents and publishers like to represent someone who has a specific kind of novel.”


“You should write romance,” his daughter Lisa suggested with a twinkle in her eye as she looked at me.  Even though she’s only a child I have a feeling she’s developing a crush on me.  I’ve seen that look before in girls her age and even younger, over the decades.  But only one ever managed to land me, but she was extremely persistent.  


Even now I can feel her eyes on me after seven decades.  Looking up I find myself staring into a pair of dark eyes, forever captured in oil.  Dark hair frames those eyes along with the lovely face and strong chin.  “Magda,” I whisper and smile.


Our time together was not nearly as long as either of us had hoped, but it was magical.  Our first meeting and her prolonged pursuit for my love could fill several volumes.  Her persistence paid off and after three years she became my wife at the young age of sixteen.  


As I stand there lost in thought, the sounds of music reaches my ears from several floors below.  The Crypt is now open and is already filling up with the usual crowd.  Even from here I can sense the whirl of emotions and life down there.  Laughter, sorrow, broken hearts, lust, hopes for love…  


A flash of light through the window catches my eye.  After several nights of gathering clouds it looks as rain is finally drawing near.  I make my way up the stairs and onto the roof of the building to watch the approaching storm.

I see lightning in the distance over my hometown, it’s going to be a good one.  But instead of retreating back inside, I stay where I am and feel the breeze on my face and close my eyes.  I can feel the storm’s energy on the wind and without thinking, several lines of words describing the feeling come to mind.  Some of the words are trite, but they still help paint a picture within my head.

Suddenly my eyes shoot open as realization sinks in.  Painting a picture, but with words instead of oils or acrylics!   No pencils, no paintbrushes, just words that form an image or a scene within the readers mind.  That’s what an author does. But they don’t just paint one picture, they paint a whole series of images, coupled with emotions and thoughts.  Yet, I can still use my skills as a painter as well.  Illustrations and book covers… yes.  


And I have so much material to draw upon.  My own experiences as well as those of people who’s memories lives I keep alive within me.  I’ve shared their stories countless times with descendants so they are never forgotten.  


But what kind of stories to write? 


From down in the alley I hear the sound of raised voices.  Looking over the edge I see a young couple having a heated argument.  The boy is obviously breaking up with the girl and leaves her in the alley alone.  But she does not remain that way for long.  Three others, friends of hers arrive and comfort her.  One of them is a young man who obviously has feelings of his own for her.  But instead of being foolish and declaring his affections, he merely gives her the support and comfort of the friend she needs right now.  


But I can sense a change in her.  It’s not big, but her gratitude to him and the two girls with him is obvious.  I hear her say she wishes more guys were like him as they step inside.  Perhaps something will come of it eventually.  


However the thing that gets me most is the image that forms in my mind.  Just like the other night down in the club, I could see other figures, superimposed over the trio.  Their outfits changed several times within the span of a few seconds.  I saw flappers, soldiers, suits, gowns, hippies, but their actions were all the same and leading towards one thing… romance.


“Love Across Time…” I murmur as the first drops of rain start hitting my head.  


Why not?  I’ve seen and experienced it so many times in the last fifteen decades.  Oh, the settings and ways one behaved have changed over time, but the feelings never do.  


Feeling elated at the idea, I spread my arms wide and let the rain and story ideas pour over me.