Doc walked down Main St. to the edge of town. It was shady
toward twilight on the dusty streets. They needed some rain soon to cool down
the town. Doc wanted to see if he could make a little rain himself by improving
his circumstances.
He heard the sound of the hammer banging the anvil from
several doors away. He turned into the doorway and stepped back involuntarily.
The Smith was hammering metal bar into the traditional horse shoe shape. Sparks
flew as the metal was shaped by repeated blows wielded by the heavily
perspiring workman. He had heated it
just hot enough to shape it. It was a skill that not everyone could master. He
was a craftsman not just a smith. Just the fellow he needed to see. Doc stepped
back into the doorway and waited quietly until he could get his attention.
Finally the Smith looked up and saw Doc standing there. He
took the completed red hot shoe and dropped it into a bucket of water that steamed
and heaved as the remaining heat was drained out of the beaten metal. He looked
at Doc and said “What can I do for you Mister?” “Whatever it is it can wait a
spell until he finishes shoeing my pony” said a voice from a shadowy figure
leaning against a post on the left side of the smithy that was obscured by the
darkness of the late afternoon. The figure leaned forward into the light.
Mystery solved. It was Wild Bill.
“Not a problem for me Marshal” Doc said. “I just wanted
to talk to Mr. Brown about making me a chair.”
“A chair? Why come to me to make a chair? You'll
do better with the cooper. He works more with wood” said Brownie the
Smith. “That’s the point partner. I am a dentist and I go through wooden chairs
like shit through a goose. So I thought I might see if you could something with
iron. I have some thoughts that I sketched out for you to look at Mr. Brown.
Once you are finished with the Marshal to be sure.”
Wild Bill pushed his hat back on his head. He had lost
some of his hair to the point that his forelock might be termed an aftlock. Not
that anyone would mention it to his face. “Well that sounds a sight more
interesting than shoeing my horse. Let’s take a look John. I would be
interested in seeing my own self.”
Doc brought out his notes and showed his conception. It
was based on some of the chairs he had worked with in dental school. The frame itself
was metal. A strong metal that even the power of pain that sprung from a moose
like Deputy Williams could not shatter. It had an adjustable recline that the
he could use to fit the various bodies that came in to get a tooth pulled. Both
the Smith and Marshal were engrossed and an hour flew by before they knew it.
“I think I know what you want Holliday. It should not be
a problem. Give me a couple of days to get working on it and I will show you
what I can do” said Brown. “Couldn’t ask for more than that.” The sun was just
about ready to set as Holliday and Hickok walked out into the street.
“That was purely fascinating John. I never knew that a
dentist chair could have so many moving parts. I reckon I am going over to the
Chinks for dinner. Perhaps you might be peaked and would care to join me.” “Sure
enough Marshal that would be mighty fine.”
Holliday and Hickok walked to dining establishment at the
edge of what was a small section of town where the Chinese could be found. They
had come in with the railroad which was strange since most of the Chinese that
worked on the railroad came from the Pacific coast. When they finally drove the
golden spike that united the coasts the Chinese workers burst forth in a diaspora
that left the detritus in many small towns throughout the West. Especially in trail
end towns like Abilene.
Wang’s was a small cafĂ© where the food made up for the
filth. Hickok sat with his back to the wall as was his custom. Halliday sat
across from him. They ordered the staple of the house. Chicken and biscuits
with fried potatoes. What made Wang’s different is the spices that permeated
the food. What that spice might be was the subject of some debate. Some said it
was some exotic Chinese spice. Others thought it was just that the Chink did
not wash his hands. Whatever it was it brought custom back. So it worked.
Doc chewed thoughtfully and looked at the Marshal. He
figured he might take a chance. “I be pondering on something Marshal that I am
sure you know. Young Hardin is being pushed into something he doesn’t want to
do by Thompson. It is as clear as day.” “That it is John but you don’t need to
fret. I think young John Wesley is a very smart young man. He ain’t gonna be no
sacrificial lamb to save Phil Coe’s bacon. He just has to sit and wait. The
thing will resolve itself soon enough. Sure enough. You could pass that on if
want. Just so it don’t come from me.” “Fair enough Marshall.” “Names Bill to my
friends. I reckon I would like to count you among them John.” “Be honored to do
so Bill.”
“I didn’t know there was so much to being a dentist John.
I mean a new chair and all. I imagine you will have a lot of patients when they
hear you are handing out bottles of laudanum with each tooth pulled. That seems
like a good deal to me” the Marshal said with a grin. “That might be a problem
Bill. Not only could I not afford that transaction but where would I get the
supply? I might have to send off to Chicago and who knows how long that might
take?” “Well pain can be a powerful inducement. But laudanum might not be the
only arrow in you quiver son. I might have an idea for you.”
Wild Bill looked for the proprietor and he did not spy
him in the restaurant. “WANG YOU IGNORANT PISSANT CHINAMAN COME OUT HERE!” Wang
came bustling out from behind the blanket that hid the kitchen from the dining
area. He bowed to the Marshal. Wang was as good as a mute. He never spoke but
seemed to understand English especially if they were salted with curses. “Set
me and my friend up with a couple of pipes. Pronto or I cut off that pigtail
and feed it to my dog.” Wang bowed and went back behind the blanket.
“Come along with me” said Wild Bill after ten minutes had passed. He
walked through the back door of the establishment. Holliday followed warily into
an alley that was redolent of the odors of the Oriental. Wash hung from the
windows and ropes hung between the dilapidated dwellings that seemed bursting
at the scenes with people that Holliday did not even know existed in this town.
It seemed a mystery. It was cleared up soon enough.
Hickok walked to a door in a building listing across the
street and entered. Doc followed. In the dim lamplight he saw a row of what
looked like bedrolls. In front of two of them young Chinese women stood with
their heads bowed holding a long pipe. A dollop of opium in their other hand. They were naked.
70 comments:
One writes best when one writes of what one knows.
The metal was not molten, but instead, it is heated to a specific color in order to render it pliable enough for the required work.
You can look it up.
Also, I would suggest that you try to include some hint of what Dodge City is like - does the wind blow, what is the sun like in the sky, how dusty is it, those sorts of things. So far I get the sense it is no different than Carroll Gardens.
So far I get the sense it is no different than Carroll Gardens.
Cue the ♫ Brownstone Cowboy ♫ theme song.
I forgot that song.
Dodge City is the windiest city in the country.
Cue the campfire scene.
...Chinese women stood with their heads bowed holding a long pipe. A dollop of opium in their other hand.
Can you help me out with the symbolism here?
Thank you for the constructive criticism Sixty it is very helpful. I went back and fixed a mistake chickie pointed out and I will fix up the blacksmith scene with what you said in mind.
I must really suck in setting the scene because it is set in Abilene not Dodge City.
I really appreciate it when someone who has real hands on experience corrects me so I can get it right.
I wish that Shouting Thomas had access here. I need someone who knows about having sex with Chinese prostitutes.
Deja vu.
Writing about what you know flows easily. At least for me.
Writing about what you don't know stretches you and makes you work harder. I think it is an essential part of the process of learning how to write.
Setting the scene is an interesting point. I am not a big fan of overly descriptive pieces. I remember what I enjoyed about Louis Lamour's early work such as the Daybreakers is that he kept such description to a minimum. He concentrated on the characters which drove the action. I guess I kept it too much to a minimum and need to set the scene a little more effectively.
I can tell you the next scene has some blowing involved.
No wind though.
I can tell you have never stood on the plains of Kansas. It is a world so far removed from what you know that it would blow your mind. Or your nose. Or something.
I have to figure it out. The thing is this story is pretty much set in town. They will not be going out into the plains. So I want to incorporate more detail about the town and people and drive the story through their interactions.
Think more "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance" instead of "The Big Sky."
But your point is well taken. I will try to put more physical location in setting the scene.
Let me know what you think of the revision if you have time.
Thanks.
I hear you - a writer must walk the tightrope of scene setting or boring the reader to death.
Alls I'm sayin', amigo, is that when your character steps outside in Kansas the wind is going to figure into that scene. It can't be ignored nor downplayed. The door will slam open or shut, the guy's hat will blow off, the soiled dove's skirt will be blown skyward, something like that.
Same thing with the sky and the sun - those are things that make themselves noticed out there.
In Victor Hugo's Hunchback of Notre Dame he went off on a 40 page tangent about how literacy put an end to architecture. He set the hell out of that scene, just sayin'...
Writing is very tricky.
Look at what I just did to windbags comment. By removing my duplicate post his comment means something completely different.
It's tricky.
I think good writing involves knowing what to leave out. The reader's mind will fill in details without having to point out the minutiae. Despite liking Thomas Wolfe, his descriptive style can wear you down at times. Leaving the reader to flesh out some of the details draws him into the story, because he he pulls from his own experience and injects it into the story.
Then again, what do I know? I prefer dictionaries and atlases to fiction. My $.02, but if you disagree, don't shoot me, I'm only the piano player.
I don't aspire to be Victor Hugo. I would be happy to be a combination of Elmore Leonard, Louis Lamour, George V. Higgens with an overly of Robert B. Parker.
That is a huge aspiration to attempt to be worthy of in the real world.
Removing the duplicate extends the joke and renders it more subtle. Now, the reader has to join together the posts over a period of time and make the connection. Fucking brilliant, Trooper. I can't think that shit up, just appreciate when I stumble on it.
"Whatever it was it brought custom back."
Replace custom with customers.
But that's better - with enough time and frequent beatings we might make a writer out of you yet.
Here is my close personal friend Roy Underhill burning himself while pretending to be a black smith.
Before she became a neurotic global shipping manager, she was a blacksmith.
LIB! From unicorns to methylamine - what a career arc!
Cue the Groucho song ring tone.
I was impressed with her portrayal of such opposite characters. Strong, independent, and confrontational versus weak, needy, and timid. They did share a greedy, market-savvy professionalism. The entertainment world's war against women through its portrayal of the fundamental nature of women.
Trooper, AS I've suggested to you, I think it's important that you visit these cities. Or are you w/ Annie on travel???
Trooper, AS I've suggested to you, I think it's important that you visit these cities. Or are you w/ Annie on travel???
I have nothing against travel I just don't have the time.
We are doing so much that I am lucky I have time to do any writing at all. I can only do it at night in front of the TV or on Sunday which has devolved into my day off.
Someday I would love to travel to the Old West and places like Tombstone and Deadwood.
You don't want to be Victor Hugo? Mon Dieu, l'homme, avez-vous pas les aspirations de grandeur? Pouvez-vous pas voir la beauté de l'écriture en français? Cela me rend très mélancolie et triste.
Talk American compadre!
..Deadwood.
Isn't that our destiny, Viagra notwithstanding?
I wish that Shouting Thomas had access here.
I could swear I've seen him post comments here.
Setting the scene is an interesting point. I am not a big fan of overly descriptive pieces. I remember what I enjoyed about Louis Lamour's early work such as the Daybreakers is that he kept such description to a minimum. He concentrated on the characters which drove the action. I guess I kept it too much to a minimum and need to set the scene a little more effectively.
I think you're balancing something here. You're carrying forward all those authors' work as part of your own background setting. Western fiction. You can ask, "why can't my readers have all the background that I have" and leave it at that. You only have to watch for egregious stuff like molten horseshoes.
On the other hand, witness for example, the feedback you got at Lem's for the ongoing fiction. Nobody has actually been to North Dakota; everybody has preconceived notions of Julia. People are actually curious to read how this resolves.
My guess is that some drilling takes place, some pipe gets laid and the dimbulb traipses back to the big city unchanged, leaving a trail of oozing sores behind.
What preconceived notions?
Mon Dieu, l'homme, avez-vous pas les aspirations de grandeur? Pouvez-vous pas voir la beauté de l'écriture en français? Cela me rend très mélancolie et triste.
Allow me to translate:
My fault? you homo! You have some illusions of grandeur. You poop and piss on the beauty of French literature? This renders me melancholic and sad.
What we have, is a fail-yuh to communicate, bilingually!
I always knew you were a cunning linguist Sixty.
No wonder you are so popular with the ladies.
What we have, is a fail-yuh to communicate, bilingually!
Bilinguals speak with forked tongues.
What preconceived notions?
Thank goodness there are no trees in North Dakota.
Sixty almost needs a cameo in that story.
The official state tree in ND is the telephone pole.
The way I see it is Julia accrues Hot Rod of rape after they have drunken consensual sex because she feels that she would never had sex with a Republican. When the police refuse to arrest him on her word alone she kills him.
Is that too much of a downer?
Hmm, that is a downer.
If crime is going to play out, and since you have clearly drawn two sides viz., Julia vs. Men, perhaps it should play out like the Trayvon-Zimmerman confrontation. Maybe there should be one plausible reason to like Julia. Otherwise people are going to hate Julia with all the passion of Crack Emcee. We need to foster understanding rather than fester hatred.
Well she could be great in the sack once she gets loaded and loses her inhibitions.
Even Sixty and Shouting Thomas would like that.
She could blow him while eating Skittles. I hear that's a thing now.
El Pollito sprechen "Thank goodness there are no trees in North Dakota."
Yeah, now. Cf "The Sahara Forest" joke.
No murders, Troopski - damn, but you do have a black heart.
They have at it, she sees the error of her ways and becomes a real woman. A real conservative woman and goes to work for Sarah Palin. She just had to cast off her shackles and actually liberate herself.
You can do it. Just on killing - that's just wrong.
But Sixty I am a Crime/Western genre kind of writer not Barbara Cartland.
Can't Stubby at least masturbate himself to death watching Filipina porn?
Then there would be at least one rub out. So to speak.
Well, it's your story Troop. But take your time. I'll front page any updates.
I wish more people would comment.
Sixty almost needs a cameo in that story.
As soixante naif.
I wish more people would comment too.
I will try to see if I can generate some comments.
It might just be that people don't like it all that much. That happens sometimes.
So when do you self-publish? spinneli is the in-house expert on that and should be able to give guidance...not that you need guidance, O reincarnation of The Great One.*
* Yaknow, Art Carney's second banana. Can you imagine what Art Carney, who was a serious thespian, felt playing 2nd banana to The Great One his whole TV career?
It might just be that people don't like it all that much. That happens sometimes.
The page views on the first one were relatively high. So was deborah's valentine post. I think that both posts crossed some blog intercourse boundaries so to speak and that's the reason.
Give it more time.
I gotta run. I'll be back tonight.
Intercourse boundaries!
Caution, chafing ahead.
Can you imagine what Art Carney, who was a serious thespian, felt playing 2nd banana to The Great One his whole TV career?
Let's ask him:
"I love Ed Norton and what he did for my career."
Believe it or not, after I made that comment about Carney I had second thoughts, not about the comment itself but about the fact that playing Ed Norton had to have been enormous for Carney not only in terms of opening other doors but in terms of setting him up financially for life. One of the things about The Hoineymooners was that even though Carney played a great Norton there was something in Carney, call it a shadow, that had to do with class differences. Gleason was pure working class in origin and made no bones about it. Norton had a touch of the lace Irish about him that came through even when playing working class. I felt all this stuff as a kid watching the Gleason Show from the floor sitting in front of our Raytheon. I really did. Okay, don't believe me, whattayouknowanyway.
lace = lace curtain
Replace "Chinks" with "Chink's".
Did Hickok sit with his back to the door? That doesn't seem right.
Was the vest his tell?
Norton's vest, that is, not HIckok's.
As for Trooper's killing question, how about something like this...
After leaving the bar Julia is assaulted by a shadowy figure in a hoodie with Skittle breath. Hot Rod (or Horn Dog or Peter O'Toole or whatever the fuck the hero's name is) comes along and whacks the assailant over the head w/ his .44 magnum pistol, killing him. He's arrested and tells his story to the cops.
The cops interrogate Julia to see if she'll corroborate Rod's story. She can't bring herself to tell the truth, b/c she thinks Rod killed Hoodie Guy b/c he thought he was black. Also, it would be an admission of physical weakness. So she throws Rod under the bus.
It turns out that Hoodie Guy was Stubby, of course.
Nice Chip I like it.
It was a tragic case of mistaken identity.
Stubby thought Julia was the Filipina diswasher at the Long Branch.
What the fuck, Trooper, you invited that cocksucker phx over here?
Fuck you.
Which reminds me, Virgil Xenophone asked for an invite. You might have missed that.
Maybe Stubby should be a person of color.
@Sixty, I think Trooper wants a token lefty to fill the hate-object void left by the banning of Titus.
I know what he's doing, but it will end the same way as Titus, IngaMengele and Cracker.
Those people are filth and it is nice to have on place on the internet where they aren't.
Hey I want to give the guy a chance. I am into evangelizing if I can. If it gets to be a problem I will deal with it. But I think he will be cool.
Virg got his invite.
I have some liberals here. Like Ritmo for instance. I say lets give him a chance.
I need the perspective of someone who got bullied a lot like Jake Golden does in the Joey Gallo series.
Like you said you want to learn from someone who lived it. Just sayn'
Plus he didn't follow up on it.
I understand, but I have a visceral negative reaction to some of those pukes. Your blog, your rules, I can dig it.
I knew you were a closet Elmer Gantry.
Look at how I turned you into a hopeless romantic!
Nobody is gonna believe that you want romance and not blood and guts.
I credit it to all the gay shit my wife forces me to do. Just sayn'
I like the violence and possible death idea. But...I think it should be ambigious as to whether Julia actually does any mayhem. Let her just twist in the wind for a while being accused.
Also...to get into the Long Branch mode, I suggest you listen to and watch Delbert McClinton. Nothing says Honky Tonk like that man's music.
I'm waiting for the aliens to come and rescue Doc, heal him, and then plant him back in Los Angeles in the '80s, where he eventually goes on to play himself under the name "Val Kilmer".
How about a character named Marty McFly? Of course, you never develop him, but it would be a humorous distraction.
This seems like "Deadwood TV series" material.
Should be popular.
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