http://slow.writerscafe.org/tworeeler The original writings of author tworeeler en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1776051733 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Presuming you've seen Tarantino's latest. Having done so you then know the imperative in the upping of game. And, while tight and well-paced, your screenplay is lacking in several key areas. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1731249/ The day wasn't hot but I woke up sweating. Call it sweat, but it might just as well have been whatever residue that remained from the dream I was having. After all, presuming that dreams have a weight, an accretion, there must be some evidence of their having passed from one state to another, betwee.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1569652/  I was cold sober when I killed that sonofabitch upstairs. I’d beendrinking all night (as I'm sure he must have been), justsitting there downstairs listening to him pace back and forth, inperfect time with the increasing throb of a heartbeat against theinside of my .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1503660/     A learned man came to me once. He said, "I know the way, " come." And I was overjoyed at this. Together we hastened. Soon, too soon, were we Where my eyes were useless, And I knew not the ways of my feet. I clung to the hand of my friend; B.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1475230/ petit theatreself-aware synthetic mother it is proudof meaning nothing it pains,while smilingthe proverbial moteit will castin thine eye http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1321707/ I hate knee-jerk liberals just as much as knee-jerk conservatives. Warning, contains explicit language. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1315619/ The story of an orphan's journey through the wilderness. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1287450/ an exercise in dialogue and character development. graphic content. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1281750/  We drankbourbon mixed with sweet warm tea in his study, surrounded by shelves of dusty oldlaw books and hulking taxidermy poised viciously above our heads. He hadn’t yetpressed me on my past, hadn’t even asked where I hailed from. It almost seemedlike he didn’t want t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1262994/ The dayspassed. I grew bored with the work, like I always do. My hands itched forsomething more familiar, more visceral, and they preferred working in the dark.I didn’t see much more of Mrs. Reed in that time, but I didn’t let it botherme. I’d catch sight of her in the stor.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1261874/      "Youlifted my wallet, you shitheeled bum!" Big Tom’seyes were puffy, one now stained-brass from where somebody had socked him. Hisbreath still reeked of bile and stale beer, even two days on " and as far as Iknew, he’d only just .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1261069/ I was born onAugust 6th, 1945. Born isn't the right word. I was born, of father and mother,on September 16th, 1898. There's a better word, more appropriate, for whathappened to me on August 6th, 1945, but it's in a language that you probably donot speak.  It was not aneasy birth (the .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1249967/ “What I want most in thisworld,” he’d said tiredly, after final exams and once he was well and truly ridof the school and all its staff and students, “is just a little peace and quiet.” He found it there, in thepale, chill halls of the ME ward of the .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1247695/ being the adventures of a drunkard http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1247606/ She was laying on the gas just a littlemore than made her feel safe. With every curve in the highway, she felt thewheels slip a little; it made her hands clammy. But she was late. There was noexcuse, she just hadn’t been paying attention to the clock. Engrossed in somestupid TV show. S.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1247437/                 There's something about clean hands that invokes trust in even the leeriest of folks. I've also been told (more than once) that I have a reassuring smile. I thumbed through the wallet I'd lifted only an h.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1244713/ http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1244276/ I am a man in a state of paralysis. It is due in no part to anyphysical infirmity, but is rather the unfortunate side-effect of a true psychicdissolution. I’m beset by a kind of mental constipation, an emotionalatrophy. The "Western" syndrome. Think of Dostoyevsky’s underground ma.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1216950/ A MAN occupies a lit space at the center of an empty stage. The echo of his words implies a great expanse of empty space beyond the light's perimeter. He appears confused, either unableor unwilling to move from his place. Man: I don't mind waiting. I waited all my life. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1187486/ Shame is everything. The simple but nigh insurmountable task of taking accountability for one's actions; of suffering (or even reveling in) the hot, sudden blood-rush of embarassment. What's so hard about that? It should be ingrained in us as Americans, passed down to us from those fortuitous Protes.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1183348/ being the adventures of a fat young man http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1183346/                 I usedto be just like you.              I had noprospects, no potential �" all the makings of a short order cook, a door-to-door.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1118986/ So now I guess I think I can write pulp, now...make up your mind, a*****e. Jim Thompson's spinning in his f*****g grave. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1118963/                 Job woke from a peaceful sleep into a warm, clean-smelling haze. 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Job rode through the dark, the collarof his borrowed jacket turned upward, though it provided.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1112206/                 In the Spring, he was discharged from the hospital - well-rested, though with a new and nagging cough. Once free, he started out toward the river.              &nbsp.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1112167/                 He waslying on his side in the shallows, upon a bed of smooth, cold stones. He faced away from theriver, staring instead into the darkening woods. There was no memory beyond sinkingbeneath the river. He retched suddenly, coughing up .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1111926/                  He’dslept at a distance from the man and his wagon, and when he awoke, both weregone. He found the horse where he’d left it, as well as his bag of remainingprovisions. Upon finding.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1111769/                 Heremembered his mother. All silk and soft words, faint flower smells. He sensed her more than he remembered her; he could not recall her face. She had died of rheumaticfever when he was five-years-old. Father had left not long after. .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1111645/                 Thehorse seemed to relax once they'd rode a distance from the bear-man’s camp. The boy kept catching the scent of charred meat on his clothes; he found he had noappetite the rest of the day. He rode as close to the river as he co.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1111637/                 Thesmell and the smoke became denser as they neared the camp, and he had to shuthis eyes against the rank, suffocating miasma. The man had sheathed the knife, but still stood closebehind him, a hand on his shoulder. The boy was cauti.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1111585/ Real men don't cry. Or, if they do, they do it in the dark. Into their pillows.Real men eat their feelings. They stuff themselves full to bursting, until they vomit their insides up and die of heart attacks and hypertension and colon cancer. Real men belittle lesser men. They browbeat them into.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1105563/ You'd be doing your duty as an American to read Charles Willeford.Why, you say?Well, for starters: he served at the pleasure of this nation's army in the second World War, protecting and upholding the ideals of The American Dream, earning an assortment of medals for conspicuous valor in the process .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1105393/ my second (and last) attempt at poetry http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1104197/                 Everybodyliked Officer Kretzl. Because he was funny, and he had a way of telling thetruth.                He oncetold a man �" who happened to.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1103946/                 What henoticed first was the man’s smile: a sort of good-natured and endearing “Aw,shucks”. Country-boy naivete obfuscating a knowing half-smirk. Those same teeth. He remembered what they’ddone, where they&rsq.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1103765/ She set the table, disconnected the phone and lit a single candle.It was their 20th anniversary, and the day called for celebration. The dayserved as two anniversaries, really �" two separate occasions of significance,which happened to have occurred on the same day. She only celebr.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1103764/                 I wasgiven my last rites when I was born. In actuality, I was born dead. I was subsequentlyrevived to screaming life, and summarily diagnosed with a terminal blooddisorder. Then was called in the priest, to give me my blessed send-of.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1103762/                 “Turnyour head and cough.”                Hedidn’t like doctors. He thought, if he should have to get undressed in thiscold little room,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1103761/                 Therewas wet, and there was a smell. He wasn’t sure which woke him.                 Thesmell was not the smell of what was wet, it was something else... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1103758/ They were not art lovers, though they had to admit to artisticvagary being just about the surest way into anyone’s pants, man or woman.“You sure won’t find an artist wanting for p***y.” one of themobserved disdainfully.His friend nodded in solemn agreement.They happened t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1103757/ 1.                A coldnight in Detroit was colder than a cold night in most places. 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One old man in the back row chuckled softly.He took a long pause for dramatic effect, took a sip of water."This is what our philosophers tell.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1102748/ http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1102747/ my first and last attempt at poetry. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1102287/ one from the heart. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/tworeeler/1094056/