Dear readers, I’m having a difficult time at the moment. I’m not going to get into details, but let’s just sum it up by saying that I’m dealing with challenges on multiple fronts. I really don’t like how I’m feeling. I think I’ll get through this momentary storm intact, but sometimes it really doesn’t feel like it. But I think that’s what my issues are now—something I need to weather and survive.
I’m sorry to be cryptic. You’re here because you enjoy or appreciate my writing, and I’m not doing that very well at the moment. So I’m going to do something else instead, with two-pronged intentions.
I self-published a novel as an ebook a few years back. I like it. It’s not for everybody, but I do think it sounds like “me,” for lack of a better description. I’m going to post the first couple of short chapters below. If it seems like something that you’d enjoy, the whole ebook can be yours for $2.99 here.
If a few hundred of you bought it, that would actually help me out a lot right now. It wouldn’t solve all my problems, but it would make a difference with one or two of them.
Anyway, if you are so inclined, take a look. I hope you like this little taste. I probably won’t post again until the weekend arrives. I hope to feel a lot better by then. If anyone reads the sample but is still on the fence, maybe I’ll post another chapter. Thank you, as always, for being here and sticking with me
.
I WANNA ROCK, by C.C. McCandless
(formatting is a little wonky from cutting and pasting it here)
CHAPTER ONE
I hated mowing the lawn more than just about anything else in my life, so naturally that’s what I was doing on the morning of my 40th birthday. I was almost done, ducking under a low-hanging branch with my trimmer while edging a corner in front of the wooden fence, when my wife, Jenna, peeked out the back door. She had my tattered, maroon, terrycloth bathrobe on and her dark brown hair was tucked into a ponytail. She still looked stunning.
“It looks great, honey,” she called.
I took out my iPod earbuds and silenced the spinning whine of the trimmer. “What?”
“I just said it looks really nice. You did a good job.”
“Thanks,” I replied, and wiped my brow with my soaked shirt sleeve. “I was just wrapping up.”
“You’re going to bag up all the stuff, right?”
She meant the clippings. And no, I did not intend to do that. It was going to be a scorcher of a July day and we were expecting rain soon. Rain, that I hoped, would wash most of the dead grass away without any effort from me. We had installed those French drains for a reason.
“I, umm...wasn’t going to.”
“It looks so nice when you do. All clean.”
She smiled at me over her coffee cup. I was done considering doing anything but what she wanted.
“Are the kids up yet?” I asked.
“Just Isabella.”
I surveyed the territory. I could knock it out in 20 minutes, half an hour, tops. “Okay. I’ll be in as soon as I can.”
Her smile grew wider. “I love you!” she called. “Happy birthday!”
“Love you too.”
I waved, tucked my ear buds backed in, and got to it. Happy birthday, indeed. I hit fast forward a couple of times until Van Halen started blasting in my ears as I raked up the fresh grass clippings.
CHAPTER TWO
She was right, it did look a lot better. With the grass appropriately raked, bagged, and hauled to the curb, I headed inside. Our three-year-old, Isabella by birth, but Izzy to all that knew her, sat at the breakfast table, munching on a banana.
“Daddy mowed!” she said, pointing at me. I gave her a quick kiss on top of the head. “Eww,” she replied. “Daddy is yucky.”
I couldn’t argue with her. I was disgusting. It didn’t matter if it was 70 degrees or 90, cutting the grass got me sweating like Shaquille O’Neal shooting free throws in a playoff game. Plus I had the uncanny ability to inevitably get dried grass stuck all over me. I looked and felt like I had jumped into a pile of clippings.
“I’m going to shower. Be back in a few.”
By the time I cleaned up and got back downstairs, our other two kids were up. Luke, our 12 year old, was watching TV on the couch, oblivious to his epic, spiky bedhead. And Kayla, our oldest at 16, was surveying the contents of a kitchen cabinet. She, too, was wearing an old bathrobe and sporting a brunette ponytail. Mini-Jenna. She closed the door and turned to me.
“Dad, are you going to make pancakes?” she asked, her big, brown eyes glinting. Jenna shot her a look.
“Kayla, it’s your father’s birthday. You should cook something for him,” my wife said.
“I would, but his are so much better,” countered my daughter.
“She’s got a point,” my wife added.
“I’ll help, dad,” called Luke.
“All right buddy, come on over.”
They were right, I made pretty great pancakes. Luke whisked everything together while I prepped the griddle. Plenty of butter on the cooking surface was key. The kids were old enough that I could now dispense with the animal shapes, except for Izzy, who still loved it when I crafted a Mickey Mouse for her. She hopped down from the table and made a beeline into the kitchen to check on my progress, climbing up on her kitchen stool by the counter where I was cooking.
“Eyes, Daddy!” she implored.
Of course. I couldn’t possibly forget to make his eyes with M&Ms. I grabbed a bag from the pantry and quickly flung a couple on.
“Nose too,” she said. “And mouth.”
I looked at my wife as I finished choco-fying Mickey.
“She gets this from you, you know,” I told Jenna as I flipped Mickey.
“Of course she does.”
We ate peacefully. Jenna and the kids began to clean up, then my wife started hitting me with “that tone,” the one that meant she was up to something but didn’t want me to know what it was yet. She thought it worked, but after nearly 20 years of marriage, she was as transparent as a clean window.
“So,” she began. “What are your plans for today?”
“Nothing, really,” I said.
“Oh, okay. We could get pizza tonight.”
“Sounds great.”
“And I thought we’d do Antonio’s. They were really good last time.”
“Perfect. What time do you want to go?”
This threw her off.
“Oh, uhh,” she stammered. “I thought we could get it to go and eat here. Maybe we could all watch a movie together after. Wouldn’t that be fun, guys?”
The children hemmed and muttered their agreement. Kayla and Luke were good kids, but they were both old enough that hanging out with mom and dad on a Saturday night was not their preferred way to pass time.
“Will you pick up the pizzas, honey?” Jenna asked. “I’ll call in at 5:30 and they should be ready at six.”
“Sure. Not a problem.”
“Great,” she replied. “So that’s the plan. You’ll go get the pizzas. A little before six.” “Sure will.”
“Great. Perfect.” She crossed the room, gave me a kiss, and headed upstairs. Once she was out of earshot, I turned to Kayla.
“Your mother is being weird. Surprise party?”
“Totally,” she answered. “And don’t wear a t-shirt tonight. I ironed that nice, black collared shirt and hung it up on your closet door. Wear that.”
“You’re picking my clothes for me, now? I mean, I expect that from your mom, but this is a little much.”
“It’s just a good shirt. Makes you look like a rock star.” She smiled at me. “Okay, done.”
I am looking forward to reading your book. I had no idea! Thank you for sharing 😊