Introducing Carl Gaskin

 

In the coming months, our goal here at Fiction Weekly will be to introduce Carl Gaskin to the literary circles of the world.  Not only will we get to know the characters and the worlds created by his original fiction, but also through live readings where he so effortlessly brings his craft to life.

So, join me, my friends, as we close our ranks around and rally support for a new voice in writing, a true creator, and architect of the human experience. Help me as we get behind Carl Gaskin and lift the words and voice of this talented storyteller into lives and the hearts of readers around the world.

Thank you in advance for your responses.

Join us for this adventure.

[UPDATE]

you can now visit,  subscribe, and soon be able to submit your own writings to Carl’s Blog

Home | The Cask of Diogenes

French Toast Tots

Open Letter to the industrial leaders of the world,

Dear Mr. Musk; Mr. Bezos; and Mr. Branson,

Please consider the following advancement to our civilization before continuing your heroic endeavors into space and points beyond Earth. The fast food industries needs you now and the people will forever be changed and grateful.

The establishment through which you chose to distribute this culinary delight is not as important as the availability it must have. Strictly speaking, it must be available to everyone all the time, especially during future pandemics.

I would humbly suggest McDonalds, Sonic, or Hardees be highly considered as a point of sale. However, you your own judgment, for it is imperative you act quickly and protect our incredibly valuable product.

There will be many fly-by-night operations which we shall not name (including IHOP, Huddle House, Waffle House, and definitely not excluding Starbucks, Panera Bread, Subway, and Duncan Donuts). These places will move heaven and Earth in an attempt to maneuver their way into this very lucrative space. Of this information, I am sure you are aware, due to your expertise in business, finance, and social customs.

I shall leave the design and exact dimensions up to you and your team of engineers. My confidence in your abilities to find and delegate experts to this project is overflowing. I have no doubt, either one of you or all of you will look back on this letter and this product as a watershed moment in your life, indeed the life of our civilization. I’m sure, as you also must be, that we can’t venture any farther into space without securing a ready and steady outlet for this product.

The Product is Trademarked as: French Toast Tots; other patents will include the “product” filled with Cream Cheese and Boston Cream

The Slogan shall be: Chicken Sandwiches might have started the Food Wars, but French Toast Tots finished it.

Thank you all for your time and attention,

Inventor. writer, musician,

Thadd Presley

Thadd Presley’s Terrible Two: Issue One

You can help support an independent writer by purchasing Terrible Two: Issue One for $1.99 Also share the link with someone you think would be interested. Anything you do goes a long way in the digital world. Any thoughts of kindness and motions of support is appreciated.

Reader Review: “These action packed short stories are surprising. They piqued my interest from the start with their onset dialogue and quick moving plots. In short order the writer brings to life the terror of drug lords and back alley thugs, and a military lineup gone horribly wrong. The flash fiction stories are believably sorrowful. The author employs vivid descriptions and dreadful characters; or those who are experiencing dread in a relatable and engaging way”.

I Can’t Remember

I Can’t Remember

by Thadd Presley

Frantic urgency pushed his failing memory into action. Who was the young woman in the faded photograph? The pictures were placed strategically to help him remember things and people from his past. Why couldn’t he remember this woman? She was in many of the pictures.
For a long moment, he stared at the small, pale face inside the brunette bob. She wore a cloche hat and a fluffy shawl. “Who are you?” he wondered aloud. Then louder: “Am I supposed to know you?”
“Dad?”
“Albert! Be a good boy. Tell me who she is and I promise not to forget this time.”
“That’s your wife, dad. My mom.” He waited and watched, hoping to see a glimmer of recognition in his father’s face. “You remembered her yesterday. You told me she used to…”
The old man raised his hand and waved his son quiet. “I can’t remember.”
Albert took his dad’s hand. “I know.”



Copyright Thadd Presley — All Rights Reserved

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

GI Joe Cellphone Camera Proof

I have been revisiting my past by watching old cartoons. I found out quickly that I still enjoy the Hanna Barbara characters, but the Loony Tunes episodes fall flat. Eventually, I began to remember some old favorites like the Thunder Cats, Blackstar, He-Man, Silver Hawks, and Smurfs. That’s when I landed on a website that hosts enough cartoons to keep me and anyone busy for years.

So, I come to the reason for this post.

Last night I was watching “G.I. Joe: Operation Dragonfire” which is a two season series that aired in 1989. In the Episode “Kindergarten Commandos” (Season 2: Episode 5) one of the Joe’s pulls out a cellphone with a camera. You will see it for yourself at 3:33, if you can believe that.

Yeah, I know… I know. They rub the truth in our faces and dare us to question them.

I couldn’t believe how much it looked like the cameras we have today. It’s placement on the cellphone is right on and it makes me wonder just how much farther ahead technology is than we know? I’m sure we have no idea unless they give us hints like this.

The official release of the first camera phone was in 2002, but some say it was 2000. No matter which is accurate, someone knew about them and gave it to the G.I. Joe’s in 1989.

Take a look at the screenshot for yourself.  The video link is above.

Changing Realities

Imagine how much our perception has changed in the last five years. Most of us have seen undeniable Mandela effects. We’ve faced the reality of our childhood memories being wrong, contemplated the obvious changes to the past, noted things we know that are now different, and we just write it off as a thing that happens now.  Accepted it as if it’s not that strange anymore.

The past is changing right before our eyes and the future is changing by the decisions we make. So, why is it so hard to grasp that NOW is just as flexible?

You can change the future right? 

The past is changing right? Atleast, something is changing it.So, think about it. There is a way to change your situation, your role, your everything.

People say and we read: Become who you want to be, become the greatest version of yourself, visualize what you want and you will attract it.

These are true and they work. But I want to add or change one thing:

Be who you want to be… Right Now.

You want to be a writer? Then, get a pen and write. Publishing doesn’t make you a writer, writing does. You want to be a director? Then, shoot a movie. Use a VHS camera. Use your phone. Be the director you imagine yourself being. You want to be a musician. Get the instrument and play it. You’re not going to be good at it. But, your not supposed to be. You’re just  supposed to be at it.

So, get at it.

Still Alive

My dad told my mother that it was not the right time in his life; that everything was happening too fast and he wanted to wait a few more years. So, when she started crying, he knew he had her convinced. They went together.

The small office was in a house on South Laughter Street, right downtown next to the municipal swimming pool.

Outside, a few feet from the road, was a white sign with red and blue letters, sticking out of the lawn like a cheap campaign slogan. Written in Old English font, fading in the sun, the first line was written in red:

“Cash only!” —

The second in blue:

“Your privacy is our priority.”
S. Laughter Street Clinic.”

Mother cried when she read it.

Inside a man took them into a surgical theatre and asked my mother to relax and lay on the table.  My father didn’t want to stay in the room, but the doctor ordered him to stay with her and hold her hand.

“Murder is not easy, Mr. Frente.” He put on plastic gloves. “Your wife will need you to support her and take some of the blame once she realizes what she’s done. To stand at the morning mirror tomorrow, alone and before God, will not be like it was this morning. I hope you understand that.”

My mother started crying again.

“Why do you cry?” The doctor asked perplexed.

She said nothing, sobbing.

“Why is she crying?” He asked my father.

My father looked at my mother. “She doesn’t want to be a murderess.”

“Do you blame her?”

“No, but we can’t have a child now. We’re not ready. There’s too much at stake. My job, the money. There’s just to much to do before…”

The doctor nodded his head and went to his cabinet where he brought back a bible. Inside he had a page marked. “will you please read from the highlighted area before we begin?”

Pushing the bible away from him, he yelled. “What’s this?”

“Just read the last rights. At least you can do that much.”

“No. I will not. Now, you have the money. So, do your job, will you?”

“I’m afraid you don’t understand. sir. I’m not going to do it. I’m going to explain the instruments to you and you are going to do it. Anyone can do it once they are shown how.”

“What?” He couldn’t stand it anymore. “I paid you to do it. What do you think? I’m no doctor.”

“You don’t need a doctor. Doctors are for healing people. You need a clean room, clean instruments, and secret place to commit murder, which I have provided for you. You need me to stay quiet once you are finished killing this child and, since you have paid me very well to do so, I will. But I am not a murderer. No amount of money could persuade me to kill an innocent child.”

My mother was off the table and through the door before my father could reply. She did not return to the car, but instead called a taxi and only left the S. Laughter Street Clinic when it arrived.

She divorced my father and has never seen him again.

The first entry in my journal is this: my mother was convinced to have an abortion, but in the end it didn’t matter. I was still born.

Words We Don’t Know

Words We Don’t Know

Words come and go
But the soul knows
There’s much more we could say

Love comes and goes
But our heart knows
There will be better days

Friends come and go
But in the end
We know that real friends stay

Life can often be slow
But, where does time go
Once we learn how to play?

We sometimes sow
Words we don’t know
As our muse dances and sways

Standing toe to toe
With the thing holding our soul
We relive every mistake we made

Our work always grows
Most often we’re shown
That our best effort is only clay

Love is Over-Rated

I said that Love is over-rated and I meant it. At least, the shallow, weak emotions society sees as Love .  And I’ll go even further and say most people don’t know what Love truly is.  I wonder: Do I even know?

Honestly, I don’t know if I know. That’s just the nature of not knowing. But, I know what Love is not and that gives me an idea of what Love feels like.

Love is not dependence.

“We need to help people to discover the true meaning of love. Love is generally confused with dependence. Those of us who have grown in true love know that we can love only in proportion to our capacity for independence.” — From The World According To Mister Rogers

Love is not something that goes away with time.

The more we love, the more we want to love and it begins with love for ourselves.

Love is infinite and all powerful.

Love can see beyond the facade people portray as themselves. It is a mirror that reflects the real you back perfectly and allows you to see the parts of yourself that is blocking your desires. Love does not lie to you and allow you to remain stagnant.

There is a literary device used in many stories to show a character’s growth throughout life and the many ways they change, but throughout the many obstacles and events, their dreams never change nor does their core essence. This device is called Bildungsroman. I think this is one word that can help describe one of Love’s attributes.

I believe societies Love is become the direct opposite of Bildungsroman because true Love would never turn you away from something you desire. It would never stand in your way or hold you back from reaching your goals.

Love pulls you forward. Whether it’s the Love of someone else or your own, it will direct you in a positive way. Love does not have a negative connotation. It draws you in.

 

It is not the thought that matters, but the action. Love perfects you, it does not tear you down. Love expands your horizons, it does not tie you down. Love is a fire that burns away the lies and stupidity and tempers the truth. Love wakes you up and shakes off the contentment and satisfaction you thought was good enough.

Many may say it, many may think it, many may want it, but few actually do it.

“You think because he doesn’t love you that you are worthless. You think that because he doesn’t want you anymore that he is right — that his judgement and opinion of you are correct. If he throws you out, then you are garbage. You think he belongs to you because you want to belong to him. Don’t. It’s a bad word, ‘belong.’ Especially when you put it with somebody you love. Love shouldn’t be like that. Did you ever see the way the clouds love a mountain? They circle all around it; sometimes you can’t even see the mountain for the clouds. But you know what? You go up top and what do you see? His head. The clouds never cover the head. His head pokes through, because the clouds let him; they don’t wrap him up. They let him keep his head up high, free, with nothing to hide him or bind him. You can’t own a human being. You can’t lose what you don’t own. Suppose you did own him. Could you really love somebody who was absolutely nobody without you? You really want somebody like that? Somebody who falls apart when you walk out the door? You don’t, do you? And neither does he. You’re turning over your whole life to him. Your whole life, girl. And if it means so little to you that you can just give it away, hand it to him, then why should it mean any more to him? He can’t value you more than you value yourself.” ―Toni Morrison

“I do not trust people who don’t love themselves and yet tell me, ‘I love you.’ There is an African saying which is: Be careful when a naked person offers you a shirt.” ―Maya Angelou

“Letting go doesn’t mean that you don’t care about someone anymore. It’s just realizing that the only person you really have control over is yourself.” ―Deborah Reber

 

Creative People And their Muse

Breaking down poetic boundaries and looking inside

 

Have you ever met someone very interesting and wanted to get to know them?

If you have, and most of us have, you will better understand what it feels like for a writer to have a new idea. The ideas do not appear as words interacting with other words. The characters are people, who live in towns and cities, and have lives and hopes and dreams of their own. Connections are built between the characters that lead to dynamic interactions and have lasting consequences for the story.

While writing the story, feelings develop for the characters because the writer knows how they feel. It’s with these emotions, the ones that exist in the writer’s mind that create characters so real and interesting, that the reader becomes involved and develops emotional attachment.

Ideas sometimes grow into forbidden orchards and conversations sometimes bloom into beautiful gardens.

It might seem strange to you that a writer creates a killer who carries a knife with a short, dull blade because he likes to watch the light’s in his victims eyes flicker out right after they die. And how about the writer who talks about a character as if the person is really alive? It might seem strange when a writer models a victim or love interest after someone they know in real life. But, writing is a very strange thing indeed. It’s strange to have people talking in your head, strange to imagine murdering someone and how to get away with it. Writing is strange in a million ways.

Time and time again, creative people collect poison water from a shallow spring and carefully filter it until it is clear and sparkling.

Writers enjoy creating people and stories. It’s part of their lives. The Muse gives her stories and takes them away. Life is good when the Muse dances. Life is miserable when she hides herself away. It becomes like a drug. It’s their way of life. The Muse is an important part of any creative person’s mental and emotional support group.

 

So the next time the creative person in your life is talking about their story as if it is real or you recognize features of a character in the checkout line at the neighborhood grocery store, just be happy that the creative person is being creative.