The first thing I want to say is thank you to everyone who has been a positive influence on me and my writing process. You have given me love and support during this long journey of writing my book, by something as grand as reading and commenting on my blog, to simply being my friend. The debt I owe to you is so great that I cannot even hope to attempt to repay you. Thank you so dearly.
With that mushy gunk out of the way, let’s get back down to business! I am still short on content for the blog this week, so I hope you will be satisfied with another excerpt from my book, this time the opening sequence of the book. Hopefully I will be back up to fighting strength by Saturday! Until then, read and enjoy! -BW
Some things are too important to have occurred by design. The color green, the love a family has for each other, and strawberry ice cream cannot have happened on purpose. Even the insertion of a certain influence, a young man into a world of adventures in deep interplanetary space, cannot claim to be anything more than a highly advantageous accident.
If we are to believe the statisticians, accidents never happen.
“Accidents happen.” Quin told the man he met on the metro, an underground train in Washington D.C. “Whether we call them accidents or not is our decision. I choose to call them providence.” Quin licked his ice cream.
The man didn’t have time for this. He and Quin were leaving the Anacostia metro station, and he had a very important meeting to attend in the capitol building. He felt no compulsion to listen to a boy prattle about providence. Especially not while the boy was eating an ice cream cone. Technically, Quin was not a boy, but a young man. Serious attention is rarely paid to any individual whose mouth has been dyed blue by ice cream, even if he is a young man and not a boy. Quin had bought the ice cream for breakfast at a Sinclair gas station this morning. He had tried to strike up a friendly conversation with the girl in front of him buying teen gossip magazines and a six pack of chocolate pudding cups, but she was uncommunicative, like the man from the metro.
The man tried to interrupt Quin’s flood of words, but suddenly an orange Frisbee came sailing through the sky and whacked Quin in the head, rendering the man silent.
Quin moaned, rubbed his head for a second, and then picked the Frisbee off the sidewalk.
“Take this Frisbee, for instance.” Quin said. “There is an infinity of possibilities stemming from this Frisbee. Maybe the Frisbee will guide me like a vision into an adventure.”
The man looked at him with less than patient indulgence. Anything Quin said with a blue mouth could hardly be taken seriously.
The man kept walking.
“Have a nice life, kid.” the man called over his shoulder.
Quin smiled and nodded.
“Thanks. I will.” he answered.
Quin was old enough to drive a car, but not enough to vote. He found both institutions tiresome and outdated. He considered any mode of transportation short of a elephant in full regalia below his stature, and his opinions regarding politics were well developed. He supported equal rights for horses, fish, and gummi bears, but not for men and women. He had seriously considered voting for Mr. Potato Head in a presidential election if he ever got the chance.
Quin is a sort of person that is fun to talk about, whether he’s present or not. It’s easy to say he lives the life of an underdeveloped child, and to easy scoff at him if he’s not standing beside you. If he is standing beside you, it is much easier to take him seriously, and harder to scoff.
Thanks for reading! Check out my book in the Kindle Store!