That one Wild Ghost Town in the West, Out Yonder

Intro:

I have recently been reading a Tale Of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens.

As a writer, I am CONSTANTLY asked what I am writing. People try to take sneak peaks at my journals. people tell other people about my novel ideas before I have the 4th chapter written. people blast the news before I can get published and earn anything off my writings. Sometimes, this causes copyright issues and me having to redo everything from scratch.

The idea came to me, in a new dawning: what if, I could have a weekly installment of one novel, to keep people from putting their noses, fingers, and business in all the rest? It could pique their curiousity, keep them intrigued, give them one answer at a time, and allow me - finally, and for once: to be able to keep on with my work and my writings in one go at it, instead of constantly re writing and re - writing the same chapters and books over from scratch, and not getting much farther than the last, before I deal with public scrutiny, nosiness, gossip and yes, even judgment and rebuke for novels I am attempting to currently write. Everyone has an opinion. But sometimes I wish it was okay to tell people to shut it like the Sheriff in my weekly installments piece can tell a whole town to and get somewhat as successful a cooperation. here, at last is that reality (I hope) to come. Something to satisfy the public, and (maybe?) make me as literally (pun intended) famous and successful as the published author himself.

And who knows? Maybe some of the motives I have for this written piece were the same as his own when writing A Tale Of Two Cities. If we are allowed more than one question in either afterlife (I always have plenty) maybe someone should ask him someday. (Just saying) We could call him the Ghost of Dickens' Past. I will have so much fun playing at puns of historically famous and timeless classics and novels from that time era!

This is totally too much fun.

Just like the late great Charles Dickens - a timeless literary classic of the ages, I am writing a historical novel with both some fictional and non fictional spins, in weekly installments to form a literary classic of my own that (hopefully) will be as timeless as his, though if it does not, I give credit to a literary author worth his reputation in writing. (His personal life owes him less credit and moral applause, but the writings of a superior author are the things he is perhaps more greatly remembered for.)

And in my own life as well, I hope to be remembered for what I could pen, when my own tongue nor livelihood, nor friends' group, nor "support" system, nor finances, nor SOME personal goals, or endeavors could endoweth me as such to success as the great powerful pen which wields in it more power than that of thy sword.

I hath highest hopes that mine readers wouldst enjoy the literary classic of the current century - which hath endeavored to follow the narrative of a nearly 300 year ghost town in its journey of discovery of the once - in - a death-time invasion of their century: living human beings happening upon their beloved, long dead town, equally frightened for their very own once - better lives. navigate the twists and turns of a gambling gunslinger named Clyde, his flamboyant ex - wife, living only in spirit, as an olde-fashioned "trixie" both in the slang terminology and the joy bringing adage of old - to her many male admirers. In her sly cunning annoyance bringing her ex to edge, every day until... (read the story to avoid the spoils...)

You'll meet characters boasting of great, long lived jealousy posed as heroic gestures with lustful motives of their own. Also woven in the pages (and blog posts of this weekly installment) are the despair of revelation and exposed realities they were buried under for 300 years, and a new - age couple, equally lost in love as they are on the road, in a car crash after reckless driving which led them into a reckless adventure through a havoc wreaked ghost town - and the romantic pursuits that entail as BOTH the new and the olde have new lusts and happenings to look at, ponder, and experience for the very first time, since 300 years ago when they died.

Also a common thread woven between the literary classic A Tale of Two Cities, and my piece That One Wild Ghost Town in the West Out Yonder, is the theme of traveling back and forth between two places experiencing the same, similar and differing realities as each other in the same time period. Between France and England, for Charles Dickens, and a wild collide out west of the past and the present, in the same haunted, and perhaps cursed/bewitched ghost town which has lived the same reality every day the last 300 years until the humans' arrival in a car crash into George's General Store. Keep glued for more updates.

Which haunts art the greatest? "To be, or not to be, now that is the question, indeed." Shall the humans haunt the ghosts far more than one could ever imagine, or art thy stereotypes the winners of this haunting jest of the century? Please, dear readers, let thou decide the fates of the characters, your minds, and the dreams that ensue such a ghostly reading - and retelling of the greatest intrusion of the century: That One Wild Ghost Town in the West, Out Yonder!

And now, without further ado: I shall introduce thee to The Great Gamble of a Gunslinger named Clyde and exit (somewhat) out of my Olde English dialect:

THE GREAT GAMBLE OF A GUNSLINGER NAMED CLYDE

February 16, 2022

*** Weekly Installment # 1: ***

The sun went down on an un-even horizon of Tumbleweeds, a few dry 4-leaf clovers, and some brown, bedraggled heather bushes.

The rest of the world was silent for a few hours. And then, the moon came out in full.

And with it --the town's citizens of long, long ago.

yep. You read that right. A literal ghost town.

"Whoo!" Yoo-hoo! Clyde, would you like an Apple Pie?"

"I can't eat anything anymore! you know that, woman!" His gaze turned a bit, fixating on the despised apple pie, then back at her, too beautiful to look away from for too long. So what's all the commotion with this here apple pie?"

"Oh, I know you can't eat anymore! I just do it to annoy the heck out of you anyways.. and to make your gambling gunslinging habits go awry."

"And this is why I'm divorced!", he raged.

"I am a single man, right?"

He scratched his head in the pondering of this question.

"Almost three hundred years dead can do that to your memory" he murmured to himself.

"Yet you remembered that", quipped a bystander.

"Oh, Shut it!"

And Bang! his gamble on his shooting habits were at it again! His gun fired off in the annoyance's direction. Clyde the Gamble of a Gunslinger got his nickname, as well as his reputation, honestly.

The commenter, annoyed to death (pun intended) at the fly-off-the-handle habits of Clyde, shot back and killed him.

Cheers surrounded the unfolding scene.

"For one" his heroic speech started. "You WERE married to Mz. Apple pie over there."

Chuckles resounded at the emphasis on the word were. Like Clyde really deserved her anyway,.

"And Two" he held up a second finger on his one hand, gun still at the ready in the other, finger still at the trigger.

"You ARE divorced and single because you're a horrible, angry, rotten no good drunk, frequently violent with the Mrs." - he shot Mz. Apple pie a champion smile and sly wink "and the other women folk - he added, to save himself of forgetting why he was making this speech anyway before losing himself in a star-crossed lovers' soliloquy and speaking only to the one his heart desired, and forgetting the audience completely surrounding the scene of an already lost heart and life lying on the ground.

"And you antagonize others by gambling gunslings at the sight or sound of the slightest annoyance. Besides, Every woman on earth deserves better 'n the likes of you, anyway."

"Three:" he cleared his throat for one final heroic manly finish. "You started this fight; now, I shall finish it with honor.

Bang! BANG! The second shot rang lounder than the first, echoing over the country side for final effect.

"Just to be sure you're doubly dead!"

He hated that bastard. Plus, he had HIS woman cornered. Mz. Apple was his, as far as he was concerned. Man, did saving her make him feel good.

He puffed his chest out with pride.

"I hate to inform you, but..." a voice from the spectators announced. "He'll be back again tomorrow, Adam"

"Oh, I know, I know!" A clearly exasperated Adam cried in response.

"And why is that?" Benjamin probed for his grasp of true understanding of the matter at hand - perhaps 300 years too late.

"His ghost will come to haunt me in my dreams while I make love to his ex - wife over there, to -- to erm, I mean, Mz. Apple pie over there."

Brainiac Benjamin's eyes rolled as the subject of Sheriff Adam's affections' cheeks blossomed into a bright, red - delicious apple colour, far contrasting from her beautiful and quite fetching ghastly greyish - white and ghostly normal appearance.

"The reward of my conquest awaits me. excuse me, fine fellows."

Adam cleared his throat and walked towards the long awaited prize of his dreams and affections.

"G'day Adam."

Clearly Sheriff Adam was still as one - track minded as before he died and the 300 years that passed every day since the town's doom. Completely oblivious, but still, steady and focused. He'd give him that.

Benjamin shook his head. "Well, that went well." All sarcasm, no merit.

"Now, what are you trying to do, ruin it?"

"Aren't y'all going to tell him we're all ...erm... ghosts yet?" Benjamin addressed the now fully gathered crowd.

"Nope" All toothy grinned Thom. Clearly, still relishing in the daily defeat of Gunslinger Clyde. "He keeps our town in order and free from devils like him every night!"

"Right" A man in his mid - 40s said.

"Aye, aye."

"Here, Here" Came resounding agreements from the crowd.

"Yeah. Right." Murmured Benjamin sarcastically. "Every Night for the last three hundred years. Which isn't normal at all. He deserves to know, if it isn't too late to tell him by now."

"HMMM."

*** ***

Wait for more, and the next week's installment of the adventure out west.