A good friend asked me to check on his house while he and his family were away.
So, I did.
I proceeded to run around the side of his property and into his back yard. Making sure to provide for multiple angles of my lunacy in motion- for their viewing pleasure.
I guess this is what happens, during winter in Maine, on a Sunday Funday!
Happy Monday everyone! I hope this helps to kick off the week in the right direction 🙂
-Matt
Wouldn’t you have done the same thing?
Screaming Hills – Chapter 1
Written by -M. Taggart
“What can burn your thoughts, can burn your soul.” Nick tossed a rock over the edge of the cliff. He listened carefully as the rock hit the side of the cliff face. He didn’t hear it land at the bottom.
“What the hell does that mean? You should write that down.” Rick stepped on his cigarette. Smoke spilled from his nostrils as he spoke.
“It means whatever you’d like for it to mean. Have you ever noticed how people are in this town? Not all, but most. The depressed expressions with sunken eyes and an edge of hostility in their walk?” Nick opened his arms wide with his palms up. They stood at the top of Indian’s Leap, the town overlook. One side consisted of the entire view of their home town, The Falls. The other side was a view of their High School rivals, Little-Vegas, as they liked to call it. “It’s as if they’ve given up.”
It was noon. The sun was too hot to not be under shade. Rick knew the heat of the sun wouldn’t keep Nick from standing in this one spot for the next hour. Sweat would soak both of them and their shirts would stick to their backs and he knew Nick wouldn’t move. He’d stand there and look at the town.
“I guess. Maybe I’m one of them. I don’t know. There’s not much money in either of these towns. The paper mills went under years ago and now they sit and rot. What’s to be happy about?”
“Isn’t that just it though?” Nick smiled.
“Don’t go on one of your rants. Come on, let’s get down and find a place out of the sun.”
“It’s funny. When I’m asked a question, I expect that I’m expected to answer the question. You asked. Now I answer. How about the corn fields. How about the next strong thunder storm, or the wind that comes with it, or the rain that drenches the fields which creates the corn. All this corn throughout this valley and the sweet smell it spreads and no one can find a reason to love this? No one but maybe the farmer? But! We know the farmers’ kids, and they are dealing, and walk with their sunken eyes and spread nothing but filth and hate along with a deadly addiction. So the happiness stopped with the farmer who created the sweet smelling corn and begs the skies to open and dump beauty on his fields; only to be crushed to a stop by his off springs’ inability to accept happiness. Does that sum it nicely for you?”
Rick lit another cigarette, inhaled fully, and again smoke vacated through his nostrils. “You won’t be here much longer will you?”
“I’ll stand here longer. But no, I will not stay in this town. I argue with myself. I’d like to stay and conquer my back yard. I’ve read and heard how important it is to do this before leaving. Otherwise you chase what you had failed to accomplish. But, I doubt this is true because if it were than no one would ever be anywhere without having failed first. I also think most of the people who say this only say it to sound as though they’ve put true thought into the statement. And from what I see, people are full of shit. I want to develop as a person and I’m sure I’ll stunt my development if I don’t leave. I want to walk in a town that lives on hope and feel what that might taste like. Do you see?”
“I get it. You asked me a question. I need to answer. But you asked if I see. Yes, I see, but I don’t understand. How can you feel what hope might taste like?”
“I only said that to be sure you were listening. Actually, it’s like this; what if hope was chicken soup made from scratch served at a restaurant that was loved by the town. What if the chef was a grandmother who had ten grandchildren and those grandchildren stopped in from time to time to have the chicken soup. What if the grandchildren loved their grandmother so much they hoped she might live until she was one hundred and twenty and what if each time they stepped into the restaurant they said a prayer asking for just that. And then, they order the chicken soup.”
Nick’s face was tense. Rick knew it wasn’t easy for Nick. How Nick expressed himself with words was a fraction of what Nick felt inside. He’d seen Nick turn to the Nick that the others talked about. Feared. “You know, this time, I think I do understand. And yes, I’d order that soup. And I’d taste hope. I get it.”
“Then why can’t the people of this town get that corn is their fucking chicken soup. They are blessed with the most fertile valley in all of New England. The fucking river rushed over its fucking edges so many times in the past that it’s literally farmland handed to them by God and they don’t see it. They don’t get it. They smash their bodies with heroin and coke and whatever other drugs they can get. And they fall into what they consider normal for any small town with its mills gone. And they die. They all fucking die.”
Rick watched as Nick’s face transformed from tense to focused and angry and relaxed again. The sun was still too hot. And their shirts were now sticking to them. But he’d stand right here with Nick and the both of them wouldn’t be going anywhere, just yet.
***
Published by, Z publishing House.
Next Chapter coming soon
I hope you all have a good day today, and please, watch out for those distractions.
They tripped me up for a minute.
Even if you tell yourself that you’re going to enjoy coffee, or tea, or a morning car ride- someone sends a
text and the moment you tried planning for yourself, that moment that you desperately need and continue to let slip away- Don’t let it slip away.
I’m going to be ignoring all the right texts, calls, emails etc.
It’s time. I have to remind myself that it’s ok to give to myself.
Also, I need to update my blog…any suggestions? It’s been a long while since I’ve even looked at new templates. I know that I need a template that will help highlight photography.
My soul is calling for more creativity. Too much noise causes too much noise. Creativity, for me, helps expedite healing.
Seriously, to anyone out there reading this, I’d appreciate any feedback on possible updated blog templates.
Thank you,
Matt
The wonderful Gabriela Marie Milton has selected a very precise time to publish my poem
“Global Desires” on MasticadoresUSA.
https://masticadoresusa.wordpress.com/2021/09/29/global-desire-by-m-taggart/
Global Desire
It’s dark, with little wind, and we are alone watching
only the flames and listening to the crackling, and
smelling the aroma of the burning pine and oak.
Each flame is unique with movements and degrees
of color created by the moment of energy released.
Each differing angle, while flickering clues, is
********
You can read the full poem here:
https://masticadoresusa.wordpress.com/2021/09/29/global-desire-by-m-taggart/
Thanks everyone, and cheers!
Matt
I feel that this writer needs more eyeballs on their work.
So please, give it a look-see!
Cheers!
Please ‘click’ on over and check out the interview!
https://masticadoresusa.wordpress.com/2021/07/17/masticadores-interview-matthew-taggart/
“M.- Since when do you write? Was there a specific moment that prompted you to start writing?
5th grade. In tiny hand writing. I still have the story. I begged my teacher to read it. He, Mr. Silverman, told me he needed to use a magnifying glass to read the words.”
https://masticadoresusa.wordpress.com/2021/07/17/masticadores-interview-matthew-taggart/
Thanks to both Juan Re Crivello, Fundador de Masticadores, and the wonderful author and editor Gabriela Marie Milton.
Have a great day!
Matt
I love Gavin. I’m blessed to be his father. I don’t understand how a parent could have the capacity to not love their child. And yet, so many don’t. And so many do. I’m in the ‘do’ category. I always knew I wanted to be a father. And bam! Here I am! And there he is. Looking rather serious and daring me to sink his battleship.
The doctor told my wife to call her when she starts to bleed. We had already lost one. I held on to Faith- Tell life it can’t. Gavin wasn’t supposed to be born. So we were told. Somehow Megan and I suffered a bit more though. Megan nearly died during an ectopic rupture when Gavin was nearly two years old.
Megan lived. Gavin lived. I’m trying my best to live.
Gavin won. In so many ways.
-Matt
Gavin is five. Not sure about his soul though.
Yesterday I picked Gavin up from school and told him I was going to drive him to a surprise. Gavin loves surprises! I drove him to a toy store and told him I was going to buy him a toy for absolutely no reason other than that I loved him. I gave him a budget and in we went. He picked out Tyro, a blue and stretchy Dino figure.
Just as I was paying for his new toy he decided he had something to say to the friendly cashier.
“Excuse me. Do you see that human right there? That’s my Dad.”
Well, there we have it. My son acknowledged my existence as a human and also as his father. I can rest easy.
-Matt
P.S.,- As some of you know, I’m a very proud father and husband 🙂
Have a great day and buy someone a toy! lol they may just have something to say.
I’ll be sharing a published poem tomorrow!
Please keep an eye out! The Poem, An Old Beginning, was one of three
which I had previously submitted to a poetry contest.
The batch received a semi finalist mention, but they were unpublished.
I’ll be sharing the published poem as soon as I can.
Have fun today!
Matt
*A special thanks to a very talented author/editor who made this happen. I’ll be sure to
include their details as well.
My Dad would have been 66 today. It’s been a tough few days leading up to this. The emotions snuck up on me. I didn’t expect it to be like this. At night I’ve been sitting on our back deck looking at the stars waiting for him to show himself. Sometimes I play his music. I don’t always handle that too well.
I took Gavin fishing this past weekend. He met an adorable little girl who was bird watching with her mother. Within minutes they were talking and it didn’t take long before Gavin announced to them that his Grandfather died. My father was amazing with Gavin. Which, for me, was healing to see. When I was Gavin’s age my father wasn’t part of our family unit.
Things change.
Thanks everyone, for the digital support and friendship. I consider of number of you friends. Even if only through these online channels, you are great people. I’m thankful for that and I’m thankful for WP. One of the bright spots for me (concerning the writing world) was Tara and her accepting a short story of mine into a wonderful horror anthology that she edited and published. Tara, I appreciate you. I still can’t find the motivation to submit any work and you were able to get that unstuck. I know I can ‘get there’ again, but I guess not yet.
So, I think I’ll take myself fishing today and see if I can find Dad.
Matt
mtaggartwriter 