Microstory 1866: Garden Path

< > Table of Contents

My family had more than enough money to afford college, but I refused to go, because I already knew what I wanted to do with my life, and four years of studying math and history weren’t going to do me any good. My parents were disappointed, but they understood. They worked long hours to earn that money, so my father’s parents chose to move closer to us so I could go over there after school every day. My grandmother would read me classic books while I was curled up in a plastic storage bin, and my grandfather would teach me things he thought every growing child should know, like how to hold a baseball like a pitcher. But we all three worked in that garden together. It was so beautiful that neighbors would ask them to landscape their yards for them. They were both retired, and appreciated the opportunities to do something productive with their lives. They didn’t start a real business, but I knew that it could become that one day, and that I would be responsible for it. By the time I graduated from high school, they were too old to be on their hands and knees all the time, so I took on the clients alone, and started charging money for my services. I kept getting more and more requests, and before I knew it, I had to hire some help to get everything done. In only a few years, I had an office clerk, an accountant, and two separate crews so we could serve two homes at the same time. I was making a real name for myself in the industry; so big, in fact, that I risked not being able to do what I loved, because I ended up with so many administrative duties. That was when a new opportunity knocked in my door.

A wealthy man who had already founded and sold off two companies had decided to break ground on the headquarters for a new organization right here in my community. Back then, before the internet, it was hard to determine who was a good guy, and who was bad, but I couldn’t find any skeletons in his closet. He asked me to design the landscaping for the building. He didn’t like the idea of anyone working in an office setting without windows, so there would be no cubicles, and no interior rooms, except for bathrooms, and storage closets. If it had a desk in it, it also had a view. To maximize the space, it was built with four separate courtyards that weren’t even all at the same height. So I guess some people would be working without windows, but for good reason. It was a company that shot commercials for other companies, so the soundstage had to be big, and soundproof. Anyway, that doesn’t matter. The point is the courtyards. The landscaping had to be gorgeous and extravagant, because hundreds of people were going to be looking at it, and living in it, every day. It was a huge project. I wasn’t sure I could handle it. I certainly wouldn’t have any time to plant any trees myself, which is what I always loved. Still, it was good money, so I had to take it. Once it was complete, the founder was so impressed that he essentially donated his nephew to me. The nephew wanted to be a businessman, but he didn’t want to work directly for a family member. He seemed perfect. He could handle all the boring stuff, and I could return to what I did best. It went well for the next few years until he pushed me out using some legal maneuvering that I still don’t understand. His uncle was horrified, but he said there was nothing that either of us could do. Except that wasn’t true. I started a new company from the ground up, using my good name to accumulate clients, and before I knew it, I was bigger than the nephew ever hoped to achieve.

Microstory 974: Weird Twitter

< > Table of Contents

A few years ago, I was trying to publish my book. Well honestly, I’ve been trying to publish my book since forever, but constantly fail, and frequently give up. During this particular attempt, an agent actually responded to my submission for representation with advice. They said that I basically already had to be famous before agents would even bother considering me. In the olden days, this meant getting published in little-read magazines, and slowly gathering a base, until you’re (inter)nationally recognized. It’s kind of like how a band has to start out playing in small town bars, because Madison Square Garden isn’t going to call them out of the blue. While the internet has changed how we access content, the dynamic has remained roughly the same. I can’t make any money at what I do until I prove I can do it without making any money. Before I had a website, I  only had two avenues for releasing my work. I started posting my microstories on Facebook, and I set up an entirely new Twitter account for fiction. The plan was to tweet extremely short stories, which sounded good on paper, but every time I attempted to write one, it just came off as humorous. Or at least it was in the comedy genre. As far as whether any of my tweets are funny, you’re going to have to decide for yourself. It took more than two years before I made any true nanofiction, and it lasted that entire year. I’m doing something similar for 2019, and then reshaping my whole schedule for 2020. Yes, I’m that far ahead with my plans. Anyway, as I was saying, what I later learned is that these “jokes” had their own special name. They’re apparently called Weird Twitter. Understand that these aren’t just one-liners like you would hear Mitch Hedberg say. His jokes were just as absurd, and often didn’t come with context, but what makes Weird Twitter so different is that they’re usually unrelatable. I have a few running gags that you would only notice if you were really paying attention. I often joke about the present condition of the hit series Breaking Bad, as if the number of seasons it had, or when it premiered, was ever in question, which it isn’t. The joke is that there is no joke, because I chose it at random, and could have chosen any other show to express the same absurdity. I also post fake conversations with my parole officer, which would make sense if he existed, or if say, there was a rumor I was an ex-con. The fact that I’m so far removed from that life is what makes it less of a joke, and more just, well...weird. I love that Weird Twitter, and other humors accounts are out there, like this one I just discovered called Tess as Goats. Look it up, it’s hilarious, and Tess-approved. I’m ashamed to admit that I don’t follow any other Weird Twitter accounts personally. My nanofiction account does, but I don’t check that feed, unless I have notifications. I only hope that other people aren’t doing the same thing, and are actually reading my stuff, because that’s why I create it. I certainly don’t do it for my health. That would be weird.

Microstory 497: Mastermind

< > Entire Story

Ah, The Mastermind. Bold, clear-headed, and sometimes rather rude, he knows what needs to be done, and doesn’t wait for his team to catch up. Like the Performer, he too will run off on unsanctioned missions. The main difference is that he never apologizes for it, and is less adept at reacting to unforeseen circumstances. That’s not to say he isn’t smart. He is, in reality, likely more intelligent than nearly everyone else in the group. The Crafter may be the only one he wouldn’t be able to measure up to. Unlike many other smart people, though, he’s never felt the need to prove himself to anyone, least of all himself. His ideas more often than not clash with those of other, and he has trouble relating to them. He sees things one way, and doesn’t really understand why anyone would not see it that way. He knows intellectually that there are as many perspectives as there are people, but doesn’t really like to fall in line, and act accordingly. He possesses what’s known as a super-magnus degree in literature. Basically this means that he is one of the greatest authorities of the subject, and that you would have a hard time finding anyone who knows more than him. This degree can take centuries to reach, and doesn’t really allow for much else. He can read a full-length novel in a matter of minutes, and comprehend it excellently. Unfortunately, he doesn’t always apply his knowledge appropriately to social or business situations, which makes it difficult for people to want to work with him. His brother is The Composer, but you would not know that if you weren’t made aware of their last names. They do not have a brotherly relationship with each other, and each one has to earn respect from the other through professional conduct. To be clear, the Mastermind is a very good person, who has always kept an open-mind..about...having an open mind. Over time, working with the group changes him, and he goes on to be just as much of a hero as everyone else.

Microstory 273: Perspective Forty-Eight

Click here for a list of every perspective.

Perspective Forty-Seven

I’m very suspicious of my brother and this new job that he has. He has been working to be a writer for pretty much his whole life. He doesn’t read as much you think a guy like that would. He claims to gather most of his inspiration from television and movies. I just think he’s lazy. He’s had a number of random jobs here and there throughout the years. My God, one time he was a welder. But he’s always thinking that he’s on his way to publishing the next great American novel. He never gave us any indication that he was interested in a career. Then all of the sudden he’s working for one of the largest technology companies in the world. He says that he’s a literary editor for the material they print and post online, but he talks about it with this weird level of deception. It’s like he’s trying to keep something about his job from us. He does say that the company holds contracts with the defense department, which is true, but I still think he should be able to say something about his work. Maybe this is just me being me. We’ve always had a rivalry between each other; one that I clearly take more seriously than he does. I’m younger than him, but I started writing stories much earlier, and so I kind of felt like he was stealing my thunder. Our parents didn’t give him more attention, of course, but that’s because they don’t really care. It just seemed to me like he only got into it because I was doing it, and because he’s not good at anything else. My fiancée says that I need to focus on myself. I’m the one who actually has stuff published. Sure, they’re self-published, and they’re not exactly selling like hotcakes, but I make enough money to only have to work part time. I’m going to have to start working harder, and taking on more hours, though. We’re trying to have a baby. She’s been supporting our relationship for years now, and it’s time I feel like I’m actually contributing. And it’s also time I stop worrying so much about my brother’s business.

Perspective Forty-Nine

Microstory 232: Perspective Seven

Click here for a list of every perspective.
Perspective Six

As a therapist, I understand that it’s my job to be patient, unbiased, and careful. It can get pretty hard, though. One of my clients is a chronic cheater. I’ve tried to give him my best professional opinion on the matter, but in the end, he’s an adult. At some point, you just need to grow up and make the decision to stop your destructive behavior. I admit that I kind of tried a little experiment with him. I kept altering my diagnosis little by little. Each time I did, he would be able to resist his temptations for a while, but then he would regress. His brain was excellent at finding loopholes to his condition, so that he would never have to actually change his ways and commit to being a better person. When I first went to college, I had every intention of studying philosophy. I knew this upperclassman girl in high school who happened to be taking philosophy class while I was a freshman. She gave me her locker combination, and I would regularly go in and take her textbook to read ahead of time. Once I actually took the class for myself, I was a superstar, and already knew the “answers”. But then I got to college and realized that I no longer cared. I don’t know what happened in the short year between my formal introduction to the field and starting summer classes at the university, but I was done with it. I understood the value of asking questions with no answers, but I was no longer personally interested in the matter.

I spent a couple of years trying a few things; English literature, film and theatre, and even art history, the biggest cliché of all. Upon starting psychology, time was running out, and I really just needed to settle on something. It was a relatively small program, if you can believe it, so I chose to trust the devil I knew. I continued to pursue the subject in graduate school, and here I am. I considered going after the research side of the field, because I’m not a particularly warm and inviting person, but there’s too much math. I kind of have to push myself to talk to these people every day. But now I find myself trying to figure out the solution to a dilemma. After some deductive reasoning, I’ve discovered that my newest client is one of my oldest clients’ most recent extramarital affair. I suppose it was bound to happen, with statistics being what they are. Both of them are aware of some vital information regarding an ongoing case involving a kidnapping and a police shooting. The new client is an FBI agent who’s being told to hold back the evidence while the old client just overheard it, and is married to the cop involved. Suddenly I’m feeling like I should have at least kept going with philosophy for one more semester, so I would have had the opportunity to take Ethics.

Perspective Eight

Microstory 98: The Typist

Diego Villa was considered to be one of the most prolific writers in history. He basically did nothing with his time but write; starting out using a typewriter, and moving on to computers as they became available. For the last couple of years, the physical act of typing had become more difficult. A few months ago, he was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis which made his carpal tunnel syndrome practically permanent. It was heartbreaking for him to learn that he could no longer continue with the one constant in his life. He had plenty of money, so he didn’t need to work, but he felt useless throughout the day. His computer remained off most of the time, and he would spend hours trying to sleep off the depression. One day, he woke up from naptime with an amazing idea, and for a few seconds, he completely forgot his obstacle. But it quickly returned to his memory. The story would forever be stuck in his brain. Still, Diego couldn’t help but try.

He switched his machine on and just stared at the screen, with nothing better to do. After several minutes of this, a single letter appeared on the screen. What? He kept concentrating, and more letters followed. The more he tried, the faster the words appeared. The keyboard wasn’t moving, so he hadn’t somehow spontaneously developed telekinesis. No, this was all in his head. His brain had figured out how to trick his eyes into seeing something that wasn’t even there. Despite being certain that none of this was real, he sat there for hours, the sentences and a paragraphs streaming out at the speed of thought. Eventually, he stopped thinking of the individual words, and simply came up with the general plot developments. Entire pages blinked into existence instantly. His nose began to bleed and his head burned with pain, but he ignored it. He had to keep pretending. His final push. It was near midnight when he reached the final words of the greatest story he had ever told. Just before the last period could appear on screen, Diego fell over and died. His caretaker arrived the next day and discovered his body. She contacted the family, and within months, they had published Diego Villa’s final novel. It sold more copies than his other books combined.

Microstory 97: Homeless Tenant

Everyday around 8:30, I look in the windows and make sure that no one was in the house that I didn’t know about. Sometimes the homeowner doesn’t leave at all, and I’m stuck outside; but if she does leave, she always returns at exactly 6:30 in the evening. The first time I discovered this house, she had accidentally left it unlocked, but then I found a spare key in her desk. I had an extra one made and have been using it every day since. I don’t ever steal anything valuable. The first thing I do is take a nice warm shower. That way, the water heater has time to compensate by the time she gets back home. She keeps a lot of fruit in her kitchen, so I pick and choose what won’t be noticed. I also like to have a piece of toast, careful to clean up the crumbs. Since she doesn’t own a television, I spend the rest of the day reading the books she has in her library. After a couple years of this, I had all of the narrative fiction read; some of them twice. I moved on to the more technical material that would have been far beyond me before. She was apparently some kind of astrophysicist. I was this close to finishing high school, but I’ve learned more in the last few years of reading on my own than I ever did as a kid. I found her educational literature to be fascinating, and wished that I had had an opportunity to go to college. After exhausting her resources, I started to check books out of the public library, but I would always read them in her house. It felt more like home to me, even though I could never sleep there. One day, I was in the middle of a book about exoplanets, when the door opened. The homeowner walked in and dropped a stack of papers on the coffee table. I’m stunned. “Applications for your GED, college admittance, and financial aid,” she said. “I think it’s time we move you on to a formal education.” How long has she known?