Oh Maple, How I Love Thee

By Zia

Bantering with Bobby about his last "almost daily" post reminded me of something he wrote in high school. Pulling out my scrapbook, I found that I had dutifully kept the story he wrote. Upon discovering my treasure, I decided to share this story with the readers of Zenestex.

Let me set the mood for this story. In 1996, Bobby being the generous guy that he is, decided to help me write one of the 25 short stories that I had to write for class the next day. (Procrastination really sucks right before due dates). He offered to write a short story for me and without encouragement, proceeded to write the following. As I don't cheat, I wouldn't have turned in the story even if it was usable, however, the laugh we got was well worth the time he invested. Enjoy the following story, presented with the permissions of the author.

The story—in all its chicken-scratch glory. The translated text is below.

There once was this tree. A tree so majestic it made all others pale in comparison. My name is Hakeem Jabamaodah. I ran into this tree, head first. Which would probably explain my little problem. You see, I am a psychotic freak, and it doesn't stop there. I now have an undying attraction for trees. You don't understand, I LOVE trees. There's this one named Maple, I love her. I just don't know how to tell her. All she does is stand there. I think she is more attracted to the little bird drilling a whole in her body. I don't understand how she can like him over me. There are cookies flying in the air! Chocolate Chip, too...Mmmm, chocolate. I think I'll give her water for her birthday. She always seems happier after a nice, cool, refreshing bucket of water. I am God. Oh, no! Somebody is getting ready to cut her down, I must stop him. (Abrupt switch to 3rd person omniscient) "You must not cut her down," said Hakeem, overbearingly. "We're building a mall here" exclaimed the lumberjack. "You'll kill my one and only love for a stinkin' mall, you make me sick!" replied Hakeem. "What the -bleep- are talkin' about you freak!" Hakeem then answered him, "I LOVE HER, LOOK!" (Abrupt switch to 1st person) I then went on to kiss the tree at the opening made by the woodpecker earlier today. "Will you marry me?" I asked Maple on bended knee. "As choked up as I am about this I must cut down this..." The man was interrupted by his cellular phone. "Hello?" YEEES! It's your very own...CALL FROM AL, and you're STUCK! "Oh, hi Al" the Lumberjack said with a sigh of disappointment. And just then I saw the light. A brilliant light that shone upon the tree. And a beautiful sight before my eyes and I heard a voice and it said "This is the Jones' please leave your name and number at the sound of the tone." The tree then morphed into a beautiful woman. Eyes like emeralds from the rolling Mountains of the Swiss. Hair like that of Chinese silk, and a face that'd make even the most happily married man alive lust for its sight. Her name was Maple, and she was my one and only love.

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Eh, Why Not Post This

The following is an exercise I just completed from an online creative writing course I am taking. It's probably of no interest to anybody reading this site, but I figured I'd post it anyway since this is supposed to be a daily column.

In this exercise to improve my mediocre writing to a level where I can write a novel, I have been asked to write about three things that I would like to write about. Seems kind of circular, but here goes nothing:

  1. The first thing that I would like to write about is the story and universe that has been brewing in my head since I was in high school. The story of Dawn Glenco and her evil father began as a comic and has morphed into a novel since I'm too lazy to reteach myself the art of comic cartooning. In its current incarnation, Dawn is the wife of Damian Black (who is now Rigel, I believe) and a shape-shifter with a severe case of amnesia. There are evil galactic empires, rebellion clans, lasers, magic, weird aliens; all the elements of a nice epic sci-fi tale. It's a good story; you'll just have to trust me on this one.
  2. I would like to write some short stories to improve my fiction writing skills before I tackle the novel. The short stories I am interested in are little self-contained anecdotes that occur in the universe I am developing for the novel. They will focus on any of the characters and take place in any time period. The primary goal is to develop my own voice for dialogue, narration, and action writing. I expect these to suck; my hope is that they will suck less as I write more of them. Kind of like how a vacuum cleaner loses its suckage the more you use it—I have been led to believe that the same principle holds for writing.
  3. Lastly, I want to write more of the stupid and inconsequential articles that my adoring audience of four readers appreciates. These articles usually document, in an absurd amount of detail, the absolute nothingness of my innermost thoughts. I'm sure they believe that I'm being sarcastic when I write the articles, but they truly are a clear window into my personal world. Yes, I am that simple.
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