Saturday, August 31, 2013

A note: The computer dropped dead again. I’ve lost just about everything; all favorites, emails, contacts, pictures ad documents. The pits. I’ll be working on this over the weekend – mildly cursing the lack of open businesses.

Yesterday I was writing an introductory outline of a story that has been bothering me for a week or so. I left it rather up in the air because I’d reached my personal blog word limits, more or less. I try to keep the blog between four and seven hundred words – although, I must admit that I’ve argued with an editor that the word limits for articles she’d imposed (seven hundred words) was too short for character development.

She had a valid point.  I left the travelling across the desert. Their destination was a place called “The Ranch”.

The ranch is a place in the desert, protected on all sides by rugged land, no water points and, being desert, heat. The ranch is also graced with water, tapped from a  river deep beneath the desert, secretly, and is run by a white man, staffed by Mexican Americans (less than fifty, by the way, and many of the functions are performed by separate companies, all owned by a very wealthy holding company, solely owned by one person – the ranch boss). The purpose, other than a vacation home for the boss, is to train such groups now  making their way across the desert.

At the end of the day from our introduction, the group is met by the boss, the animals cared for and camp set.

The next morning found the people assembled for the bosses briefing before breakfast.

(We’ll leave the story now, and pick it up tomorrow. The Renter came over and needed help. I spent three hours there and need to complete other things now.)


From the reaches,

Ten Whiskey

About tenwhiskey

User tenwhiskey is also the author of this blog. He currently lives in small town Kansas in a semi-retired condition. His kids are married and gone (thank you). An empty nester. Divorced. Very happy with life as it is. Ten Mile maintains a personal blog here, writing of events as they appear to him; commentary, and opinions abound. He deviates into fiction as the mood strikes and creates flash fiction stories and short stories. He will not warn the reader when he drifts from fact to fiction. He feels adults are, generally, smart enough to figure out which is which. He does, however, attempt to make his fiction sound as true to life as possible. You have been warned. He, as time permits, writes and occasionally sells writing. More often than not he gives it away to various non-paying publishers of Ether Magazines, forums or for entertainment on a wall for in need of a hand friends. He likes candy, pies and a certain amount of strife. In the matter of strife - in his yourth on the farm, he became embroiled in a slinging fight. The fight involved lath as a launcher, fresh cow patties as ammo and it was a six way free for all. A little mud only adds (Umm?) a certain taste to life.
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