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At the Intersection of Sports and Culture

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The Stone of Tomorrow: Intro and Chapter 1

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I wrote/am in the process of writing a novel for young adults. Frustrated by my inability to bust down the gates of a, or any, reputable publishing house I have decided to post chapters here to my website. Like it, share it, do with what you please. If it sucks, lacks an experienced editor’s voice and/or you’d prefer I stop disseminating, tell me that too. Your feedback may very well determine the fate of this folly.

-JL

SUMMARY/INTRO

The Stone of Tomorrow is about Wheelie, a 12 year old boy who following his parents’ divorce moves with his mother to her hometown in rural New Hampshire where they will care for the boy’s grandfather who is confined to a wheelchair after suffering a stroke. The expansive farmhouse where the grandfather lives has been in the family for generations going back to before the Revolutionary War and includes a massive stone fireplace that was part of the original foundation.

One night the grandfather goes missing and when the curious boy investigates he uncovers the magical powers of the farmhouse. Transported back in time through the fireplace the boy encounters an evil officer in the British Army and a mysterious man who may very well know the whereabouts of the boy’s missing grandfather.

Joined by a young neighborhood girl who is equally lonely and desperate for adventure, the friends travel back and forth through time hoping to stop a chain of events that threaten to rewrite the course of history and eliminate the very existence of the boy’s family.

Chapter 1

UNDER A DARK MOON

The dark figure lurched over the lifeless mason’s body and began making its way up the side of the rocky slope towards the entrance to the quarry. It had stopped raining and the clouds had opened up just enough to allow the full moon to shine through giving the mysterious man plenty of light to see as he navigated his lanky frame over and around large boulders of limestone and granite.

When he reached the top of the hill he looked back down the steep slope one final time to see if he was being followed. The mason’s arms and legs remained splayed out over the rocks. The man smiled. Confident that he was alone he drew the bloody stone axe out from beneath his red coat and started his descent down the rope ladder and into the cave below where his date with destiny awaited. [Read more…]

September, September

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September, September how I long for you so. With your much cooler temperatures and your skies so blue.

September, September how I loathe you so. For ending our summers and postponing our dreams of new adventures and old friends.

September, September how I admire you so. Your classrooms bursting with optimism and your trees full of change.

September, September how I fear you so. The tic toc of the office clock never stops as an omnipresent indication of the indefatigable passing of time.

September, September how I enjoy you. Indoors or outdoors, on sofas or mountains, you account for vices both pure and idle.

September, September how I hate you so. For lost weekends of football, weddings and back to school events.

September, September how I love you so. With beauty and grace you offer fresh starts and moments of reflection and appreciation. For all that we want. All that we miss. And all that we have.

 

 

 

One Book, Two Books

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One book, two books.

Where did they go?

Why the editor and widow we all want to know.

What took them so long to reach the light of day,

and what’s with this moment to have one final say?

 

As kids, now parents, we hold both authors proudly.

One famous for a cat, the other Boo Radley.

Scout and Atticus, the Lorax and Grinch,

what you accomplished wasn’t a cinch.

 

Now after all these passing years what to make of these latest editions.

Should we hold them as gospel or some form of sedition?

One from the good Dr. about house pets and tough choices,

the other from the Mayor of Monroeville who altered characters voices.

 

The patriarch, our protagonist, a symbol of strength and conviction.

Reduced to anger and bigotry please let it remain fiction.

Of course as they say these new stories have more meaning.

Beyond lessons, morals and capitalists leanings.

For no icon is too sacred when money is to be made,

legends belong in the light not hidden by the shade.

 

Ted and Ms. Lee we hold your words dear.

Growing up your books helped us make sense of our fear.

And we promise to read your latests creations,

regardless the provenance of publishers inclinations.

 

As you will forever remains titans for the stories you’ve told.

For hearts and minds young while our bodies grow old.

 

 

The Day the Sports World Stood Still

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The fields lay fallow. The grass stands stout. Quiet crashes down, up and throughout stadiums like a tsunami, a tidal wave silence.

No scores.

No statistics.

No winners.

No losers.

A 24-hour self-imposed moratorium on competition. Allowing old wounds to heal, and youthful spirits refreshen.

Until tomorrow, when the games begin again anew. With a renewed purpose, a clearer mission. To entertain and distract. Thrill and anger. Joy and sadness.

The emotion of sports takes a well deserved timeout. Clearing minds. Filling hearts. Returning soon.

 

 

Flying Over France

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In my next life I shall return as a helicopter flying over the Tour de France, capturing images of the French countryside as the most famous bicycle race in the world travels through places like Paris and the Pyrenees, Normandy and Nice.

The grand sweeping beauty of hedgerows and pastures beneath. Historic palaces and fertile manors, both indicators of a revolutionary past and a peaceful present.

There will be moments of concern and trepidation as the thin air whirls past my propellor while ascending the steep slopes of the Alps. But my spirit will be emboldened while watching world class riders rise to the occasion, legs and hearts aching, starving for more oxygen.

Yellow is the goal for them, but for me, a helicopter, the clear blue skies be enough as I toast another great adventure down the Champs-Elysees. My one true Arc de Triomphe.