Novel Podcast: A War Between States, Part One

Here it is! Finally!

When I jumpstarted this web site again after its long hiatus, one of the things I decided to do with it was podcast one of my novels - one that was unfinished but that I felt COULD BE strong enough to warrant attention. The idea was to read it in 7-10 minute intervals, and “publish” those intervals in serial fashion once or twice a week. (A secondary idea would be that I’d be forced to FINISH the novel, which has been floating around for a few years.)

For the last couple of months, I have been working on it in all the nooks and crannies that I got, and the end result is this: just shy of 7 minutes of material - the first half of the first chapter of the book.

So, you probably want some background, a “book jacket blurb” if you will. OK.

The book, which is a black comedy of sorts, takes place in the fictional town of Marionville, which is situated in the southwestern corner of Georgia, butt up against the Alabama state line and not far from Florida. It also has a few scenes in Atlanta and Warner-Robbins, as several of the characters actually live in Atlanta and are only dealing with Marionville because they have to. In the opening chapters, you will be introduced to five main characters (and a whole soap opera cast of secondary ones) whose lives intersect as they deal with the backwards politics, racism, corruption, and overall depravity which lurks in the water oak- and magnolia-lined, almost empty streets of Marionville.

That’s enough for now, I think.

OK, here is the podcast. Below it is the actual “transcript” of what’s being read, so you can follow along. Enjoy.

A War Between States Part 1:

Chapter 1, Part 1: Campaign: Sarah
May 7, 2003

Sarah Dobson sat in her armchair, wearing slacks and a loose, billowy, floral print shirt — her favorite shirt.  She clutched a Diet Coke in one freckled, slightly wrinkled hand; a Kool Menthol dangled from the other.  She watched the TV set in front of her.  She had no idea what was on. 

If her friend and employer, Dr. Nancy Walker, had taken her pulse right then, Nancy would have remarked that Sarah’s heart was racing, that maybe Sarah should relax, though she hadn’t moved at all for nearly an hour. 

She was waiting for her husband Phil to come home.  When he came home, it would begin.  After fifty-five years, two sons, a bout of alcoholism, a fight with cancer, a long career in education without ever being a teacher, and countless Diet Cokes and cigarettes, she would begin.

Her life’s work.

Her destiny.

As calmly as she could, she took a puff from the cigarette and a swig from the soda, but then her heart nearly leapt out of her chest when she heard Phil’s car door slam.

She rose, put out the cigarette in her soot-dirty ashtray, and spun the cap back onto her soda bottle.  She turned on her heels and met the opening door with the most spectacular smile she could manage. “I’m gonna run for Mayor,” she said when Phil nudged the front door of their house open.

He stood flat-footed in the doorway, his lean frame outlined by the afternoon sun.  He carried a brown paper sack in one arm, held a pipe wrench in the other.  For a moment, he gaped at her, caught off guard. But then she saw him collect himself — she knew that even after thirty-five years of marriage, only she could throw him off, and even then not for long.

“Well, that’s it,” Phil said, a grin starting at the edges of his mouth and creeping across his face until it threatened to touch his large, prominent ears.  “That’s what you’ve been pushin’ for.”

“I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout it, Phil.”

“I figured you had….”

She stepped back and put her fists on her narrow hips, the Diet Coke still held in one.

“You figured?”

He crossed the room and placed the paper bag on his own armchair, which was situated beside Sarah’s. “You’ve been preoccupied for the last week or so, so I figured somethin’ was on your mind.”

“And you didn’t say anything?”

“No.  When somethin’s botherin’ you, it’s best to wait until you clear it up in your own head before pursuin’ it.”

She sighed and let her arms drop.

“I guess you’re right,” she said, and went to peer into the sack.  It was full of all the grocery items she’d asked him to stop off and buy on his way home from work:  bread, milk, eggs, Doritos, Folgers, Diet Coke and cigarettes.  While she inspected the bag, Phil strolled through the dining room and kitchen to the back porch, and placed the wrench on his little workstand there.

“So what do you think?” Sarah shouted after him.

“I think it’s a great idea!” he shouted back.  “Kyle Cox needs a swift kick in his pants, and you runnin’ against him might just do it.”

She eyed him as he returned.  She moved the sack to the kitchen counter, then moved out of the way to let him empty its contents, put the sundries in their respective places in the cupboard and refrigerator.

“Do you think I can win?”

Without missing a beat, and without looking at her, he answered, “If you work hard at it. Remember, Cox is a Marionville institution.  He’s been mayor for almost thirty years.” His manner told her what he thought, even if his words didn’t.  He did think she could win, but he believed it would take phenomenal amounts of work — work he doubted she would be willing to exert.

She scowled behind his back.  He was right.

As if to reassure her of things she didn’t need reassurance about — she knew he loved her, no matter what he thought about her ability to win — he put the last can away in the cupboard and crossed to her. “Come here, let me get some lovin’,” he said, and scooped her into his sinewy arms.  Still clutching the neck of her soda bottle, she let herself be scooped up, and hugged him passionately.

“Are you happy about my decision?” she asked.

“Ecstatic.”

“If I win, I’ll be your boss.”

“No you won’t,” he said, and kissed her.  After the kiss, he pulled back only a little, and whispered to her, his full lips only inches from hers, his breath musky and pleasant in her nose.  “Remember, I hold the city’s purse strings.  You won’t do nothin’, spend nothin’, without my say-so.”

She laughed, and they kissed again.  Their kiss might have moved to the bedroom and to more, but the phone rang.  Sarah broke from Phil, and he grunted.  She loved to talk on the phone.

“Hello?” she said into the receiver.

“Mom, it’s Jack.”

“Hey, honey.  To what do we owe this phone call?”

“Well… I was thinkin’ about swingin’ down your way for a couple of days.  I don’t work tomorrow, or have class.”

She smiled at the thought of seeing her youngest son, even though she’d just seen him a week before.  So much invested in those boys — they were her mark on the world. So far.

“That’s fine.  I just put new sheets on your bed.”

“Got any beer in the fridge?” His voice held that pitch her boys had learned from their father — that inviting, imploring lilt which indicated that they were kidding, but only just a little.  Jack was teasing her about her sometimes fanatic scramble to “stock up” before Phil Jr. made one of his infrequent visits.  Phil Jr. loved his beer, and her refrigerator was usually void of it.  But Jack liked his beer too, and he’d be pleased if there was a six pack waiting for him.

“I’ll get some,” she said.

“Don’t sweat it.  I’ll pick some up on my way in.  Does Dad want anything?”

She looked up at Phil.

“You want anything to drink?”

“I’ve got tea,” he said.

She knew Phil was being coy.  He enjoyed his scotch now and then, but he acted like he didn’t sometimes for her benefit — he figured teetotalling around her made it easier for her to resist “temptation.”  Which was silly — she’d been sober for fifteen years; the temptation wasn’t even there anymore.

“Booze-wise,” she said, smirking.

“Oh… ginger ale, I guess.”

She turned back to the phone.

“Ginger-ale, he says.”

“Done,” Jack said.

“I have some big news, Jack,”  Sarah said suddenly, unable to resist.

“Yeah? What’s that?”

“I’ve decided to run for mayor.”

“What?  Is Kyle Cox steppin’ down finally?”

 She hoped her voice didn’t carry the irritation she felt.

“Nooo… I’m gonna beat him.”

“Well, that’s cool, Mom.  Do  you think you can really do it?”

“With hard work.  You gonna help my campaign?”

“Heh. Much as I can.”

“Great.  When do you think you’ll be here?”

“‘Round seven.”

“Okay.  Your Dad and I may be over at his office when you come in. I’m gonna help him print and collate some forms for the tax commission.  Just let yourself in.”

“Okay.  Bye.”

“Bye.”

Finally, some credits….

The Cast

• Sarah Dobson: Jennie
• Phil Dobson: Jeff Carter
• Jack Dobson: Jonathan Freitag
• Narrator: Will Kenyon

Special thanks (on the technical tip) goes to: Oshine Najarian, Jeff Carter, and Will Levin

See you next time….