Dusty drawer

Technology can not stop the dust bunnies. An electronic drawer is no different from a dresser drawer for yielding surprises upon opening a compartment you haven't been in for a while and blow the dust aside. Clicking randomly on files while my attention was elsewhere, I discovered an unknown document appear on my screen. Who wrote that I wondered? The first paragraphs intriqued me:

WHAT DOES IT MEAN?

"John Jacob Johnson was born during an electrical storm on July 11^th, 1934 as the first fat blops of rain hit the dusty ground and the wind whipped the trees into pendulums. When Mr. Johnson was calling relatives with news of John Jacob’s arrival, a bolt of lightning struck the pole, traveled through the telephone wires, out the earpiece and landed John Senior across the room. Mrs. Johnson hugged her new son to her bosom, stared at her motionless husband and wondered, “What does it mean?”

That night Betty Johnson had a dream. A path lay before her. Immediately in front of her, snarling and clawing, were a pair of mating tigers. Behind them a dismembered body spilled over the path. At the end of the travel stood the radiant Mother, in front of a large wooden box. Inside the box was Betty Johnson’s answer.

That morning Betty Johnson woke and called her sister Alice, who knew about dreams and such things. Before night fell, John Jacob’s crib was turned in a north south direction, cinnamon was sprinkled around his tiny room and Goldenrod guarded the windowsill. After a year, two years, five years had passed, the vigilant mother was satisfied that she had tricked destiny."

Well I wanted to know more and when the author was revealed to be myself - I felt a little pleased and a little cheated. Apparently my judgements were asleep when I didn't know the writer but now I have to take it somewhere if I want to know 'what it means.'

Update #5 on the suspenseful work-in-progress Remote Control

“Be careful what you wish for,” they say, but for forty-four-year-old Harold Fielding, who unfortunately isn’t one to listen to such good advice, those words will come back to haunt him.

Harold―Harry―always rebels against the norm. In fact, he says, “Wishes are like saying grace―something to be said before every meal.” So he wishes at least five times a day, while growing exceedingly fat.

However, good ole Harry has an excuse.

“If I wish hard enough,” he tells his wife Beatrice, “my wishes will eventually come true.”

Harry’s a TV fanatic and, surprisingly, very intelligent. He spends about ten hours a day parked in front of his ten-year-old Sanyo television with the remote control in hand, while watching shows on just about everything. The next day, he can tell you all about it; his recall is nearly perfect.

He never once contemplates actually working a forty-hour week and earning money. He’s already maxed out the VISA and MasterCard, plus a small bank loan that Beatrice knows nothing about. And now he’s waiting for his fortune to fall in his lap. Sadly, there’s no room there, so whatever good luck finds him usually ends up in a puddle on the floor.

Harry’s good with puddles. He’s a plumber by trade, when he bothers to do a job. The truth is, he’s been having trouble maneuvering under kitchen sinks; his stomach keeps getting in the way. Six months ago, he was depressed, which made him eat more. He’d almost lost faith that there is something better for him…somewhere…out there, and then fate stepped in. After a chance run-in with an old classmate (Harry nearly knocked him down a flight of stairs when they passed on a landing), who happens to be very wealthy and who recommends one book, Harry’s life changes forever.

The Secret sits on the shelf behind the toilet. Harry reads it every day while relieving himself of the pounds of food he’s eaten that day. Since he’s always there a while, he can usually get through five or six pages a visit.

“I’ve read it now from beginning to end at least five times,” he boasts to his friends.

Of course, he hasn’t quite figured out that one must work towards receiving the good things in life, whether by deed or thought. He just figures that if he wishes for something, he’ll attract it. Eventually.

Be careful what you wish for, Harry.

...

Read the work-in-progress so far.

~Cheryl Kaye Tardif, Canadian suspense author

Check out Remote Control, a 'work-in-progress'

I've added a "work-in-progress" to my site. I'll be posting additional paragraphs to it as I have time, up to the conclusion. I hope you check back every week or so.

Ironically, a TV game show came out in '87. It was called 'Remote Control'. I never heard about it until today when I did some research. Also, in 1988, a movie was released with the same title. I never saw that either. There's also another movie--one that is more current and probably better known. I'm sure you'll think of the title when you read my story. Keep in mind, I had this concept and wrote about it in 1987.

The story you're about to read was originally written in early 1987 by Cheryl Y. Kaye, in the small town of Chatham, New Brunswick, now known as the Miramichi. It was written as a 2700 word short story. However, it looks as if it will be closer to a novelette, about 10,000 words, when finished. This story was never published.

I am cleaning it up now, adding to it, changing the tense and tone and I quite like where it's going. It's not the exact original--I think now it's even better. I welcome your thoughts, so feel free to leave me a comment.

I can't recall what made me write the original story, but it has always been a favorite of mine. Perhaps it was inspired by that old saying...

"Be careful what you wish for."

And now....

Remote Control