Here’s a tall tale I shared with Marc Schultz on his promotion site!
https://www.wordrefiner.com/book-reviews/the-other-side-of-the-hayfields
I live in a small town in Ohio. Main street is lined with brick buildings and the community is surrounded by cornfields.
Apparently, there’s a bit of gypsy in my soul. I’ve lived in many areas of the United States. I grew up on the east coast, have lived in Iowa, Kansas, Texas, Arizona, Colorado, among others. Lots of road trips in these areas.
Here’s an old road trip from many years ago:
Late Seventies, east coast, Wet Willie (his name is Bill, but nic-names ruled) wanted to go to a Rolling Stones concert. We got tickets and drove a couple of hours to Philly in his green Ford Pinto. We were barely old enough to drive, but showed up for the tailgate party a day before the event with a cooler of beer. We didn’t think of anything logical, like food or water, just beer. We didn’t care–it was Friday night, at least a thousand people having a party in front of the big stadium, where the Eagles still play today.
At four in the morning, some fool started screaming they were about to open the gates. Everyone grabbed their stuff and soon all of us were getting crushed at the front gates. The pressure was getting serious until I noticed I was looking at someone’s belt. I was getting pushed into the Incredible Hulk. Yeah, his belt was almost at my eye level. I tapped on his massive back, and he turned and growled at me. I told him if he told people to move back, they would listen. He grunted and then with true Hulk voice made the proclamation: MOVE BACK! The crowd dispersed.
When the gates finally opened at ten in the morning, the rushing crowd caused the same problem. The pressure became so intense I was getting pushed up, my feet not on the ground any longer, trying to hang on to the cooler still loaded with beer. Suddenly, I heard “hey, little buddy” and the Hulk lifted me with my cooler on his shoulder. I stayed on his shoulder until I passed my ticket down to the guy at the gates and then entered the stadium. I found Wet Willie, and we found seats for the Rolling Stones–Some Girls tour. Tall tale–but every word is true!
Here’s another tall tale I shared with Marc Schultz on his promotion site!
https://www.wordrefiner.com/book-reviews/the-other-side-of-the-hayfields
Years ago, in Arizona, my wife and I shared a house with a wonderful woman, Deanna, and her ten-year-old boy, Tyler. One day, I told Tyler a story about growing up in the north.
“In the summer, we had followed a path through the woods until we reached a wide opening, carved out so the electric company could install the long path of power lines. The power lines went up and over a hill, but erosion on one side made for a very steep decline. That very steep decline, we decided, would become the new sledding hill for the winter. All of us “borrowed” tools from our dad’s workshop. And yes, we got in lots of trouble when they were missing and damaged! We plotted and planned and determined making a bob-sled path down the steepest part made the most logic. After all, Junior High kids were very intelligent. This continued for days as we made the track smooth and built a secure edge on both sides to keep the sled on course. Towards the end of building this super structure bob-sled course, one of us mentioned a ramp halfway down might be a nice addition. We congregated, worked the details and soon had built a solid ramp, all made from soil. It was five feet long and only a foot tall. What could go wrong? A little air—to have some fun.”
The winter arrived and finally … a heavy blanket of snow. School was canceled and all of us marched out to the hill with our sleds. Now the bob-sled course looked intimidating and a debate arouse on who would go first. I was confident. I volunteered. I was five-foot-three, well under one hundred pounds. I had a Flexible Flyer sled built just after the great war. The sled was five feet long, weighed almost as much as me, a solid tank of divine craftsmanship.
I stretched out on the sled, grabbed the handles at the front and carefully creep over the top of the course. The sled slowly tilted over the incline as if I could control slow motion. It tilted and the first ten feet were straight down from the erosion. Speed accelerated quickly, but I was on the track and heading straight toward the ramp. I lifted off the ramp and was feeling good. I hit it straight on course and my weight was even and balanced on the sled, but I caught air like those dudes in the Olympics! I was only five to ten feet in the air, but I was flying and I could see I was veering off course. I had air; I had time, so I leaned on the sled, hoping to sail me back on the bob-sled course. A noble idea, but I finally landed towards the bottom of the hill, off course, now running through bramble bushes until I hit a small tree the electric company hadn’t cut down yet. The sled stopped. I went flying again. I finally got on my feet. My winter jacket shredded by the brambles, scratches on my face, but I was all smiles. I dragged the sled to the top of the hill to encourage the others, but I had sailed so far, no one else had the courage, or good sense, to try the hill. I would hold the distinction of such bravery. The only run.”
Tyler loved the story. He said, “You have the best stories. You should be a writer.” I had heard the comment from other people, but this time it was special. It sparked something in my heart, and I decided one day I would become a writer.
Has writing changed my life? Yeah, I’m chasing dreams (with wisdom–I had to wait until I had enough time and savings) like a kid again–building bigger and better sled runs.