Coming home

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12079212_10205268603461764_725415955947525686_nLooks like autumn has arrived in the Texas Panhandle. It’s a bit chilly outside, and it’s been raining on and off all day. There hasn’t been a heavy downpour, just a gentle rain along with the quite rumble of some thunder. It’s the perfect lazy day!

Last night, I went to my alma mater, Kress High School’s homecoming game. I rarely go to the game since I’ve been out for going on my 22nd year – yikes! – and I don’t have any children in this school. When I do go to a high school game, I go to Lubbock High, where my niece marches with the band.

So I’m at the game, and not many people are there. It’s a small community and the school only fields a six-man football team. If you’ve never seen a six-man football game, imagine you get rid of most of the line. It’s strange, but it’s also a lot more face paced. If you ever have the chance to see one, I strongly urge you to check it out.

While I’m in the stands, watching my old team get beat, I decide to head to the concession stand for something to drink, hot chocolate or coffee. It was cool and windy, and I thought a warm beverage would be in order. While I waited in line, two of my Class of ’94 classmates found me. It had been over twenty-one years since I last saw them. On the one hand they both looked good. I hope they thought the same about me.

We visited for a while, all thoughts of a drink forgotten. I’m glad we ran into each other, and I hope we get together again soon, but I can’t believe how much they changed in the interim! When I consider where I’ve been since high school, with all the ups and downs, I guess I’ve changed a lot, too.

It’s a shame that you lose touch with people you grew up with. I spent everyday for years with them, and all the others in my class. I haven’t remained close to any of them. Sure, I have most of them on Facebook, but that doesn’t replace actual physical interaction. I realized who much you lose as you move along through life.

I wish more of my classmates could have been there, but I’m not surprised that there weren’t more. I’m more surprised that any were there to begin with. We left a little before the third quarter ended. One of my classmates left to go to work, the other didn’t want to be there alone. Me, and my brother and father, also decided to go. The game wasn’t going well, and we really didn’t have a reason to stay. I just wish I could have bought that cup of hot chocolate.

Quizzaciously? Um…what?

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I came across this video while scrolling through YouTube. I’m a big fan of Michael Stevens whose videos on his channel, Vsauce, tackles seemingly random questions. As someone who likes to write, I found this video fascinating. Michael discusses Zipf’s Law, which when talking about language, you will encounter a word proportional to its rank. Which is to say if a word’s usage ranks it as, say 1000, it’s used 1/1000 times as often as the word that is ranked number one.

The video is long, but it’s informative, interesting, and I’m just a geek for random scraps of knowledge. Consequently, the word quizzaciously has only been found used once in the English language, well until this video went up. “Thanks Michael,” I say quizzaciously. Now I’ve used it twice on here. I’m such a fanboy.

Ignore me and just watch the video.

Leading up to NaNoWriMo 2015

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NaNoWriMo 2015 is a month away. Are you ready? I know I’m not. I have no idea what I’m going to write about. I have nothing to say. There are a few ideas rattling deep in my head, but I don’t know if any are the stories I want to tell, and if they are the ones I want to explore.

Last year I began to write Giada, and it was an unmitigated disaster. I would like to revisit it, but this time change the point of view from Giada and back to Fr. Mendoza, the main character from my first NaNoNovel. This would be a prequel, the story about a prostitute that saves a pious priest. I still want it to be her story, but told from his perspective. I just don’t think NaNo is the right time to try so ambitious.

Then there’s my idea of a Hollywood producer wanting to make a movie starring his father’s favorite actress, a woman who had given in to a retirement she never wanted. He wants to make his movie, tell his story, something I relate to. I haven’t fleshed too many details, but this one intrigues me.

Finally, there’s the story of a priest with a promising career ahead of him, who though he’s intelligent, charismatic, and a favorite of his superiors, but is otherwise arrogant and aloof towards those he feels beneath him. As a punishment, he’s exiled to some poor, rural parish, one that’s nearly bankrupt, financially, spiritually, and morally. I like this one because it’s mostly about small town politics set within the confines of a faith community, where being Christian  is only a buzzword and not actually practiced.

I’m sure there will be other ideas that come and go in the next month. Hell, I may be inspired to write something completely different come November. Right now, I need to read a few books to review for this month and the beginning of next. If I decide to review a fourth, it’ll have to wait until the beginning of next year. I don’t want to exhaust myself like I did last year.

Short Story: Marionette

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This story is a little more explicit that usual. If you’re offended by adult situations, please do not read.

~Joe~

I woke up in someone’s arms and at first it didn’t register to question this. I remained blissful in that hazy area somewhere between consciousness and sleep, where dreams and reality meld, where the inner child is sated as the mind is allowed to wander down avenues long abandoned.

I remained there for what felt like an eternity, or maybe only a few stolen moments, before I became aware of his presence, and how he shouldn’t have been there. My eyes opened with a start before I closed them in a silent prayer. “Please, don’t let it be him,” I beseeched my silent God. I slowly turned to face him, hoping to find myself in bed with a complete stranger, as odd as that might sound. Instead, I looked into the contented face of my sleeping ex-husband.

“Shit,” I groaned. Greg began to stir as soon as I uttered a sound.

“Good morning, beautiful!” He greeted me sleepily with his crooked, mega-watt smile. “You were amazing last night.”

“Get out,” I hissed, pulling the covers up to hide my nakedness from him. He no longer had any rights to see me, to have me as his own. He gave that up when he left to be with her.

“Oh, it’s like that?” He grinned. “Right, I’ll just be going. Do you want me to pretend that this wasn’t your idea?”

I froze. What was he talking about? Thought the previous night was a blur, I doubted I was the one to have initiated anything with him. I never did. He was a highly skilled manipulator who knew how to pull people’s stings and get them to do what he wanted without ever being the one to initiate anything himself. I knew his game, and I refused to be strung further into whatever web he was trying to weave.

When I didn’t respond, he shrugged and got out of bed. In spite of myself, I couldn’t help admiring the way he looked as he walked across the room, completely naked. He kept in shape, every muscle defined so that he looked like some god of old, without going overboard and looking like some juiced up freak. Vanity motivated him to wax all hair off his body, and his sun-kissed skin was perfectly tanned.

I hated him. Next to him, what was I? Some aging scorned suburban housewife? My breasts were beginning to sag, and my tan had faded along with the pain of our divorce. I still worked out some, but not with the same intensity I did while married to him. My husband didn’t care about some trophy wife. With that thought, I bolted upright. Where was my husband?

Greg’s smile broadened as he read my mind. “Don’t worry about Mark,” he assured me. “He’s sleeping in the guest room. It was his idea, you know, for me to sleep with you. He almost begged me to take you. He watched and he thanked me for the honor of sleeping with his wife.”

“You son, of, a, bitch!” I yelled, hitting him between every word. I forgot my modesty and I let my covers fall and I ran to him. “You sick, twisted, mother, fucker!”

He laughed. In spite of my anger, I couldn’t help but feel the gravitational pull of his personality. He was evil, I had no doubt, but the thought of making love to another man while my husband sat watching turned me on more than I ever thought possible. I was surprised, but I didn’t care. He need to go.

Instead, I pulled him towards me and pressed our naked bodies into an embrace. I began to kiss him hungrily, wanting to devour his vitality. I missed his energy, his raw, primal sexuality as he made me feel like some otherworldly goddess. I knew better than to let him back in, but I was powerless to resist him, and he knew it.

I fell to my knees and began to kiss his manhood. It had been too long since I had felt him. I suppose I had last night, but it was lost in a haze. I began to please Greg when we were interrupted by my husband walking in on us. He looked shocked, his place usurped by the man who had wronged me years ago. I didn’t care. Let my sissy of a husband look on. He rarely satisfied me the way Greg could.

Mark stood in silent horror, until someone else came into the room, Greg’s wife. “Oh, look like’s hubby’s busy with your wifey,” she purred. “Why don’t you come back and let me take care of you?”

It became clear to me, that this is what the sadistic bastard wanted. He had always begged me to sleep with his friends, to agree to an open marriage, to become a swinger. I had refused, morally disgusted by his perverse desires. Now, he had finally succeeded in divorce what he never accomplished during our marriage. He had manipulated me into become an adulterer, and I knew he had won.

The pain was intermingled with delight, and I lost myself to his desires.

“So?” he interrupted as he caressed my cheek. “Are we going to stop now?”

I shook my head. “No. I’m yours. I’ve always been yours. Do with me as you will. Greg will enjoy being our bitch.”

And with that, the invisible strings that I had thought I had cut so many years ago revealed themselves, and I accepted that I was nothing more that a puppet in his practiced hands, and I loved him all the more, cursing my own weakness. I hope that bitch enjoyed my husband. I was never letting hers go.

Short Stories

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The drive

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Benjamin, TX Water Tower – Joe Hinojosa 2015

I took a drive down to see my friend this past weekend. I usually go down every few months, so it really isn’t a big deal, but this time I took out my car for the first time. I haven’t had my own car in several years, not since my life fell apart back in 2011 and 2012, and my car got repoed at the end of 2012.

It’s difficult to put one’s self back together, especially after begin ripped to shreds by divorce and other former flames, unemployment, and a total disintegration of one’s identity. For a year or two, there was nothing left of me to even begin to mend myself anew. I was a tattered soul left to fray in the wind, and every setback threatened to pull the last remaining threads and unwind me completely.

But I persevered. I didn’t think I would, especially at first, but slowly I did begin to mend, unnoticed by anyone, including myself, but the frayed ends began to stitch themselves together, until one day I felt myself whole. I have no memory of the process, it working itself in secret, but I feel more or less complete.

So now I have a car of my own, the ultimate expression of freedom, and I drove down after work on Friday, spending the weekend there at her house. I spent Saturday with my step-daughter, something my ex-wife has been badgering me about for a while now. That evening we had a cookout and a small campfire in the front yard, and made s’mores.

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Welcome To McKinney – Joe Hinojosa 2015

Sunday me and my friend headed to McKinney and walked around downtown. Most downtowns I’ve seen are run down and mostly deserted, but McKinney has a lively square, with shops and diners open for business. I bought a jar of apple preserves from one store, and then sat down for a beer and pizza from The Mellow Mushroom. It had to be the best pizza I’ve ever eaten.

After our lunch, we headed to Frisco to meet up with some writer friends I have. It was nice to see them and to talk to them. My only mistake is that I didn’t take my laptop with me, so I didn’t get to work on anything while I was there. Still, it was a pleasant visit, though not long enough. They never are.

I drove back home on Monday, but I took a detour to Lubbock to see my niece who’s on the pep squad at her school. There was a game she was cheering at, so I decided to drop by and support her. I didn’t know the way, but I drove down unfamiliar roads to get there. I rarely like taking routes I’m not familiar with, but on Monday it was a nice change of pace, seeing sights I’ve never seen before. I didn’t get home until after eleven that night, completely worn out from the drive and the football game, but it was worth it.

As I think about it, life is much like that impromptu detour I took on Monday. I never planned on losing my marriage, or my job, or my car, but I took the unfamiliar road and I survived it.  I came out the other side stronger and with a greater appreciation of the good things in life. I’ve seen sights I never thought possible, and I’ve grown as a person, becoming a better man, or so I hope.