Another day and another chance to get sick. The rain is nothing short of a joke. The beard grows and the days are numbered for the people that say huh…even though they’re not confused, they’re just tired. The snake skin on the grass and the hawk over head. The people are nice until they are tired. That’s what it is, it’s nothing but being tired. The rain falls down and the clock spins out of control. The month has been short and long at the same time. The spirit of the future is waiting for more rain, and the time of your life is nothing short of a wait…wait…what word should I say now. There’s dirt and grass like pieces of paper and down from the tent there is a lake. There is so much and will it rain again…oh…I don’t know. I don’t care. I don’t stand a chance. Because people are tired at the end of the day. Words and motion and the hell of it all. Bricks and buildings and let’s start over. Let’s have another laugh. Let’s slow down. One more night. There’s been so many before this one. So what’s one more….
(This is a long post, intended to be read in more than one sitting. It will be the last post of august 2014)
As the summer of chaos is slowing down and about over I’m thinking about work, stability, and the future of my book series that I had planned to be completed by 2016. I started working with this world in 2006 and now almost ten years later I’m still following around the protagonist Henry Oldfield. I’m eager to get a new typewriter and a new corner of this planet to begin the exercising in writing that it will take to get back to the creative energy I had when I was working on it before. There will be a difference this time, not all of my day will go to these books, well not yet, as I will be working in the public sector and then writing and editing after. As far as books go I have two more planned releases for two thousand fourteen, making that five books that I finished this year, not including the books by others that I edited, making this my most productive year as a writer. I don’t think this will ever be done again, because as I grow older the paper mountain shrinks and a new one is made, the back projects fade and new life obstacles stand in the way.
Being a writer and a person is a balancing act. The real and the fiction must be both given responsible amounts of time. I must get better as a person and as a citizen in order to become a better writer and artist. I have set very high standards for myself, as far as goals and legacy attributed to my cannon when I do, in many years, reach the end of my life, but for now, I’m somewhat young, somewhat romantic and blinded by living my life and trying the best I can.
Below are a few sections of the next couple books in the, Adventures of a Dying Young Man Series. The first two novels are out. You can buy them by clicking on the covers. They are both under ten dollars. They are first and second editions. When I’m done with this series, it should, if done properly, be something special. I’m sorta worried about people stealing my ideas, but not my words or my style, because only I can replicate it. I’ve spent so much time with these characters and this world that it is my fingerprint. But with that said, I probably will delete this sometime…just in the near future. Thank you for reading. If any large publishers or indie publishers with actual binary ones and zeros stumble across my words and would like to help me get these books out to a larger audience in stores, and also, pay me a bit of money, perhaps, and I stress perhaps, we could work something out. I’ve worked a long time with West Vine Press, and I believe in the message of real books. The problem is the budget, because there is basically only my imagination and my drive that keeps it going. I would like this story to be given a chance, because I think it’s a interesting story, and also, because I’m a writer worth reading, who will soon be able to stand toe to toe with the greats of this strange art form. Maybe not they will say. I don’t care. It’s just life. Rock and roll and that is all.
If you would like to message me for anything word related, or to talk about these books, send me an email at…
Book A, More Adventures of A Dying Young Man, & Book B, The Original Adventures of A Dying Young Man, Out Now. Click on Cover to buy A Copy.
Book C, Adventures of A Dying Young Man, The Fear & The Going, Part One, The Going, Out December of this year.
Book D, Adventures of A Dying Young Man, The Fear & The Going, Part Two, The Fear, Out Spring of 2015.
Book E, The Future Book of War, Out sometime in 2016.
Below are some draft pages. There may be errors and the prose will be different as the books have not went through the final rewrite and some have been written years ago.
UPDATE. I deleted this post. read the first two books. I want to be careful with my material.
• Almost two weeks. Move into apartment on weds. 4 days left at bug tent..
• Did you know….that none of us even exist. For example…I’m just a character in a novel. This is all part of the advertising. Don’t worry. Hash tag. Coming soon.
• The bugs are being cool and staying away so I opened the tent and a little frog jumped in and there’s now a cat living next to me and so I guess the woods are telling me it’s time to go back to society. Two more nights and I’m gone woods. Also I’ll get to all my digital letters and hate mail in the morning. I Don’t have time because I’ve lived in a tent and want to shut a door…so I’ve had to work real hard in three weeks to get back above zero. I’ll be getting back on the bus next weekend to get all my typewriters and clothes and what not. But three weeks. That’s not that much time really. Peace.
• An interesting aspect of the streets in this post modern world is how office buildings have wide open windows even at the ground level. This gives off the quality of trust to the locals. For instance…in every m live media office building is clean and modern with flat screens streaming out to the streets. This is like some form of Walt Disney ride where you are in the newsroom. The strange thing is you hardly ever see anybody working and your local newspaper building has a for sale sign on it and now is owned by one of the oldest oligarchies in United States history.
• ”You know the only thing I’ve never lost is curiosity.” Hemingway, The Snows of Kilimanjaro
• I can tell you about the future…but I’m always running way behind schedule in the present.
• Some guy told me he was going to get two bowling balls and sink to the bottom of the lake. I gave him my copy of The Myth of the Sisyphus…which is one of three books I have on me….a high life and two smokes….and said shut up and read a book brother.
• Lost my apartment. Back to the hunt. Back to the bug tent.
• Been in so many places and cities and states this summer it all looks the same.
• Started to take mental notes for the future book of war. I think ill have to write many short stories before i even get to the novel. one will focus on a major offensive in Rome and then what the vets do after the war is over. the year will be set in 2021 to 2027. The last book in the adventures of a dying young man series.
• Chapter one. Where is Babushka?
• I want the book to read like a Kubrick film. Down to the grass and the dirt and the ropes and the follicles of hair. Every particle and atom and neutrino must be accounted for. This is the only way for true future storytelling. The book will be a big book. I will need many typewriters and many beers and more random life experiences that circle on repeating the axiom of nonsense.
• I was sitting in the park. A Squirrel fell out of a tree. Thump. It wasn’t dead but it looked pissed. Bad dream i said to the squirrel. I knew it was time to call it a day.
• Found an apartment. All good to go. One more night. One storm after another. Ill miss the lakefront property…but not the mud and…oh…it’s all good.
Summer Notebook. August 9th 2014. Short Journalistic Piece called, More Than Half Way There. Written by Andrew H. Kuharevicz.
This isn’t really a short story. I don’t have the time right now to edit and put everything in quotations. Time is not working on my side. I am living outside and only have one hour a day with the computer. It is what it is. It is life, and this is just a series of handwritten pages that I wrote in my notebook…
This is what happened. It’s not all that much. It isn’t war. It was just this…
I was writing in the library and an older man said something to me. He was in his mid-sixties and his name was Albert. I know because he asked my name, and I don’t know why, and so I asked him his name. I was doing something and didn’t want to talk but Albert told me he didn’t know how to use the copy machine, “can you talk to it” he said.
This man I didn’t know was trying to make copies of sheet music and he performs in the park with the free symphony. Albert said…you must have had a class or something? you sure are a fast typer. I said I’m a writer and I guess you could say that. He opened his folder and showed me more sheet music. Nice I said and he asked me if I played.
Play? Yeah Albert said. Music. You play an instrument? Sounds like you play based on your typing. I laughed and said, yeah, well, I write a form of I guess…folk songs I guess you could call them, at least I do when I have a guitar but…yeah so…real cool though… I have to get back to my…
And I was trying to get back to the screen but Albert said, that’s all my handwriting, right there, see, on the sheet music, and I bet when you were writing your words I was writing music. Very good I said, and…
Here take this Albert said. It was a sheet of his music. It looked like art. It looked like writing. It was so much cleaner than my scribbled notebooks. I looked in my bag and then I handed Albert one of my handmade books. What score I said. I mean composition or piece is this? Albert pointed and… “oh…Bach”.
And now that I write this back at my tent, as the sun goes down over the lake, I can’t remember what Bach composition it was. I was in a rush at the time, and I know exactly what I was doing. I was trying to find a job. The cover letter was to be attached to my resume for a war correspondent out in the middle east, and I didn’t think that I would get the job, even though I should get the job, and sure, I would go over there and risk my life and be on no side because I am everything, but I would go and watch how the end game scenario of the flesh of steal and gunpowder and these crazy minds who are out to shed each other’s blood plays out. And the end is slow but steady, and I would go and write in war, I really would, only because I am a man of words and only here to get you the story, because this is about everything that is all of us…
But this is all beside the point, but then again not really, and that is because everything that is everything is part of the reason that I was in a rush and can’t remember the name of the Bach composition that Albert is playing a piano solo for, and He’ll be there this weekend. For some reason this is interesting and I don’t know why I said, but the truth is that I’ll be here and you’ll be there, and Albert will be playing the keys down at the park, and he’ll do this for free. He used to play the flute in the university of Michigan symphony and he’s still doing it. This is great stuff I said to Albert. He’s almost seventy and he’s still a music man. I’m thirty three. I’m more than half way there Albert.
Sand on feet. Dirt on hands. The birds fly out to sea. The last of the young bugs have hatched and summer is at the eleventh hour. Listen and a new notebook is inked as the tides fall towards my blood drawn veins.
Words on pages featured in pictures are taken from the book, The Original Adventures of A Dying Young Man, By Andrew H. Kuharevicz. $9.99, Full Novel, 168 pages. Go HERE! to buy!