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An Excerpt from my upcoming novel, "The Pioneer", (Simon and Schuster) - Available in stores soon. (They say by Christmas...)
PAGE 34
'...Madeline and I were doomed to a nearly impractical relationship. We constantly worked competing hours, what with her job as a consultant for a highly regarded law firm in town, and my painting portraits of people in their sleep. Still, however, there was the smattering of fond memories I somehow could call upon at the end of every difficult year, when Madline's parents would visit from Rumshawken, New York. Rumshawken, I'm told, is not on a map. Apparently the founders had been beaten within an inch of their lives by a homophobic cartographer during a water shortage. "Just tell people it's near Rye", Madeline was taught since she was a child. ("We'll come to you!" is the town's motto.) And, so, year after year, her parents did.'
PAGE 93
'...My father, Abe. Jesus, what a man. Everyone who knew him called him "Jealous Abe" because he was the just the kind of guy would slap the engagement ring off of a woman's hand for even mentioning the wedding date. I always stuck up for him, though. And to tell you the truth, I'm not sure which direction having been his son tilted me in. I certainly had every reason to hate the man. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. In 1979 he killed an Indian. I cannot defend that; the rest of his dealings, it seems, have me trapped in a veritable purgatory of perspective.
I spent most of my young life in the hallways of courthouses. I know the smell of coffee and ballpoint pen ink as if it had been coursing through my blood since birth. Jealous Abe spent most his work days in the Lubell County Courthouse, not defending himself, but nearly contiguously bringing suit upon suit upon others. In his most famous case, the only to make it past the first week of trial, he contended that the comic strip "Prince Vailant" was but a thinly-veiled retelling of his own life's story. One time he sued the boy scouts for libel...'
PAGE 122
'...I drank so much that night I couldn't feel my legs, or my childhood. All I could bring myself to do was sit at the foot of that hill, paralyzed with the knowledge that on the other side of the crest lay my father, Jealous Abe. He had been buried that day but was dead for months. He's the only man in the state of Maine to ever prehumously order six rounds of autopsies on himself; not surprising to anyone who knew that the man claimed he had been granted invincibility by President Jimmy Carter in a poker game at a Rotary meeting. I had the task of mailing a letter to Mr. Carter. "You screwed me, Jimmy", it read in yellow crayon, "I've been beaten with another sock of lies."'
9:49
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