Roy Rogers’ Boots

Roy Roger’s Boots

You can call me brown, if you must, but I’m not your run-of-the-mill beige. For many months, my temporary home has been this store shelf among the kaleidoscope of Crayola artist chalk, Crayola sidewalk chalk, washable window crayons, and Crayola markers. Here, I nestle inside my box with its familiar wax and cardboard scent, waiting for someone to adopt me.

I am only one of 64 colors in this super-sized traditional Crayola assortment, but I am her favorite. You know how I can tell? As soon as we get to her house, she opens my box and impatiently fingers through the neat rows. When she comes to me, she stops at the top of my cylinder and slowly pulls me from the box.  She holds me up to the light to read my label and says “Burnt Sienna” and then, “Eureka.”

I’m a muted red-brown sort of guy. I’m not the color of brick, cherry, or crimson or of buff, tan or chestnut. She tells me I’m a shade of rust with a quick kiss of orange. She then tells me I’ve brought out her childhood memories and they are floating about us, like a Technicolor 3-D movie. And that I was there, too. “You were the color my sister Pat and I would always fight over,” she said.

“You are the perfect shade to define the mesas, dry desert sand, and are the exact color of Roy Rogers’ leather cowboy boots,” she said. “And, you are all mine.”


My Following

My Following

My writing style renders itself well to the descriptive essay. Usually one page in length, my essays are devoid of dialogue and heavy on colorful word choices. My pieces reflect the meandering of my mind put to paper.

For some, essays may be viewed as step-children to “real” writing and therefore not especially noteworthy. While some essayists have made it to fame-Gore Vidal, Rachael Carson, Joyce Carol Oates and Norman Mailer, to name just a few-unless your usual run-of-the-mill essayist finds a literary advocate, such as a local newspaper or maybe a small literary magazine, or he/she chooses to self-publish, such writings seldom make it to print.

While I did pen a column in a local weekly at one point in my life, my following these days is comprised mainly of family and a few friends. But, I would like to think my appeal is more universal. I picture my “average” reader as a woman, later in years and long on free-time; a woman who is still trying to make sense of life. She is sensible enough to wear safe shoes, but adventuresome enough to streak her hair in purple.

If I want to get published, I see the writing on the wall: Find another genre and aim my writing at the younger crowd. But, I will leave these bigger decisions for later and will now concentrate on how to write good fiction steeped in dialogue.