tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-129248692012-02-16T04:21:28.070-08:00<big>An open ended narrative about life in a small town on the border of California and possibility.</big>Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.comBlogger261100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-82780605482282767862012-02-06T19:15:00.000-08:002012-02-06T19:15:07.098-08:00

The next chapter of The Blue Dog Journal is always imminent. Until the next chapter - in this case Part II, chapter 6 - is written and posted, why not start at the beginning with Part I, chapter one (recently revised)? http://bluedogjournal.blogspot.com/2005/05/one.html

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-40298491578522057452012-02-01T20:46:00.000-08:002012-02-01T20:46:55.632-08:00

It was after five when Ginny and Rebecca reached the top of Mt. Tanner (also known as Spirit or Holy Mountain, depending upon whom one asked). They’d left Ginny’s Malibu parked under a great old oak tree at the end of Coulson Road about two miles and an hour or so down the mountain. The trail that began at the end of the road had taken them through a forest of mixed oak and conifers. Now, at the

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-88561875765214495182012-01-26T13:36:00.000-08:002012-01-26T13:36:24.406-08:00

Part II, Chapter 5 will be posted soonish. It is already several hundred words underway. Technical difficulties on the home front may (or may not) delay posting.

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-4083485114306850502012-01-13T22:24:00.000-08:002012-01-13T22:24:25.264-08:00

“Well, that went better than expected…” Ginny clambered into the cab of the big white truck and plopped into the driver’s seat with a sigh. Beside her, Rebecca said, “Oh my god, Ginny, I flirted with him at the café! A couple of days before you came in. I’m not even sure he noticed.” Ginny fished the keys from the pocket of her green army surplus coat; the sleeves had been removed so it was now,

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-37675538198739099782012-01-12T21:34:00.000-08:002012-01-12T21:34:36.347-08:00

Part II, number 4 coming soon!

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-75837731024461950932012-01-09T12:57:00.000-08:002012-01-09T12:57:40.453-08:00

This is the note, pulled directly from his memory, that Gordon found on his door in chapter 3, part I.

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-55202288737411465012011-12-22T19:03:00.000-08:002011-12-22T19:03:55.029-08:00

                  Ginny wished again that there was an easy way to do this. But there wasn’t. Especially for a person such as herself, who tried to live a life that she felt was good, to do the right thing when things needed doing. It was this philosophy of honest living that was responsible for her misery these past few months. She’d woken up one morning and realized that she no longer loved

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-24592206015276937442011-12-07T17:00:00.000-08:002011-12-07T17:00:16.082-08:00

While Ginny ate her lunch (grilled cheese sandwich with fries on the side and, of course, a Coca-Cola), Rebecca cornered Melinda in the kitchen and begged her for information about the customer in booth four, the bright girl with the dark hair and eyes who called herself Ginny, short for Virginia. “You’re acting like you’re in love, little girl,” Mel observed. Rebecca laughed. “I think I might be

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-55461757186544044182011-11-29T14:09:00.000-08:002011-11-29T14:09:03.302-08:00

Blue Dog Journal by George-Rodrigue This product is not associated with my narrative of the same name. Or is it? Many years ago in New Orleans I saw, in a gallery, Rodrigue's art, including I am sure the blue dog pictured above. I did not know the artist's name, or how popular his blue dogs were, until recently. Though I cannot credit Rodrigue's art as a direct influence on my open ended

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-9705651531312473762011-11-21T11:19:00.000-08:002011-11-21T11:19:19.423-08:00

The relationship was serious almost immediately, both Ginny and Rebecca would agree. If it wasn’t quite love at first sight, it was at least love at second sight. Ginny, who’d been unhappy with Gordon for a while, wasn’t actively seeking another lover. Not consciously, at least; and certainly not at The Rolling Bear Café on some off Tuesday afternoon. Rebecca, for her part, thought that she

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-76216747787690636332006-12-06T22:08:00.000-08:002007-12-31T12:06:19.202-08:00

Wiping his just washed hands together, Gordon emerged from The Rolling Bears tidy restroom and saw Melinda gazing out at the street and shaking her head in apparent disbelief.“Did I miss something?” he asked, approaching her where she stood on the customer side of the counter, one hand atop the register.“Some insane woman,” she said, still shaking her head and regarding the street, “just went

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-26222142293886946942006-12-02T12:03:00.000-08:002006-12-02T12:14:55.652-08:00

Distractions, like the months between this post and the last, come and go. The Blue Dog Journal remains.Part eleven coming soon.

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-1147198889217277742006-05-09T11:20:00.000-07:002006-05-09T11:21:29.226-07:00

Part eleven of The Blue Dog Journal is currently under construction.

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-1141004612575718602006-02-26T17:37:00.000-08:002006-02-26T17:51:37.953-08:00

The Rolling Bear Café served, Gordon was sure, the finest pancakes in California. Possibly, the best in all of North America. The entire western hemisphere, perhaps. It was this enthusiasm which led him more Saturdays than not to the popular café on the respective corners of Bonner Ave. and Pineyoak Street – even these past few weeks, even though it was this very place where Ginny and Rebecca had

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-1137885957160327412006-01-21T15:22:00.000-08:002006-02-26T17:45:06.873-08:00

Part ten of The Blue Dog Journal is currently under construction.In the meantime, please enjoy a sampling of links found while conducting a random search on Google using the key words vampires and fungus:"Cannibal" fungus helps treat skin diseases, including psoriasisBioarcheological and Biocultural Evidence for the New England Vampire Folk BeliefPLANTS OF THE RAINFOREST50's and 60's Horror

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-1133074215844769662005-11-26T22:49:00.000-08:002006-01-21T15:27:24.280-08:00

Returning indoors, Gordon debated a moment climbing back into bed or venturing forward into the day. Realizing that he was wide awake after the incident with Rebecca, he decided on the latter. After showering and sliding into the t-shirt and worn blue jeans that Ginny had once referred to as his “slacker uniform”, he headed to the kitchen – where he found Darby hunched over the table reading a

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-1129964373172113472005-10-21T23:25:00.000-07:002005-10-21T23:59:33.180-07:00

I don't write on a deadline. Which is why I am typing and you are reading this Editorial Note rather than part nine. I know the lack of new material here at The Blue Dog Journal is a bitter disappointment for my many and varied readers (all -400,012 of you) but I think you will agree that quality trumps quantity in original fiction as it does in game shows.And one thing you can certainly bet on,

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-1128063523048961932005-09-29T23:17:00.000-07:002005-10-24T14:56:37.850-07:00

Just as Gordon was shaking his head and turning indoors, Rebecca was clambering, bloodied and more than a little frustrated into Ginny’s black Chevy Malibu (1980).“’Becca’ baby!” Ginny exclaimed from the driver’s seat. “What happened?” she frowned to see Rebecca’s torn knees and skinned palms.Rebecca thumped into the passenger seat and pulled the door closed with a slam. She glanced at Ginny,

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-1126634017312003612005-09-13T10:53:00.000-07:002005-10-10T21:06:09.053-07:00

At the sound of the alarm, Gordon started awake, leapt out of bed and stood swaying drowsily a moment in the thin light of the new day. Reaching down to the bedside table, he grabbed the small clock and silenced it mid-beep. Glancing at the face, he realized (without quite realizing it) that something was wrong.Turning his gaze to the window before him, he saw the backyard bathed in the crisp and

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-1123993048120383622005-08-13T20:33:00.000-07:002005-08-14T12:22:21.870-07:00

Part seven of The Blue Dog Journal (BDJ) is currently conjuring itself into form in that largely unexplored wilderness known as the back of my mind. I will remind readers that BDJ is very much a work in progress. The narrative goes from my head, to the notebook, and into this space with only Microsoft Word, and a keen if lazy editorial eye, between.Verite! - Blue Dog Journal Cover -The cover, of

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-1122402080674977292005-07-26T11:16:00.000-07:002005-07-30T22:12:37.590-07:00

To sleepTo sleepI have promises to keepIn DreamlandThese lines presented themselves to Gordon as he lay in bed, his body and mind already submerging in the pre-dream substance of alpha-theta stage consciousness.He cursed himself, mildly, the next day for not being strong enough to rouse himself from near sleep and write them down; for they were lost, at that time, in the far fields of sleep and

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-1121494646984695662005-07-14T19:15:00.000-07:002005-07-15T23:29:06.700-07:00

Turtle Rock crouched in the shape of its namesake at the edge of what passed for the backyard of 61 Euclid Street, an unkempt and overgrown dash of grass surrounded by tangled thickets of shrubbery; reached from the house by three weathered concrete steps which tumbled from the back door.Gordon found himself stumbling from the bottom most of these steps and cursing briefly in the dark. The light

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-1119655845131615412005-06-24T16:30:00.000-07:002005-07-06T00:41:43.143-07:00

Upstairs, in the closet, Gordon reached for the light. The space was large and full of corners, but as soon as it was illumined by the bulb at its center his eye fell upon the object of his search: a small, indeterminate bundle upon the top shelf. This seemed to him odd. Not very long before ("4 ½ weeks." the small, quiet voice in his mind piped up, "She's been gone 4 ½ weeks."), he had stood in

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-1118382301044581132005-06-09T22:27:00.000-07:002005-06-12T16:53:51.900-07:00

The evening had deepened as Gordon stood delayed at the register. The sky, a lustrous indigo punctuated by stars, unfolded above him as he exited at last The Corner Store. Darby's beer hung from his left hand; his right fished for the house key in his pocket. Who knows, he mused, maybe I'll have some need to know what graham crackers are made of before the night is through. After all, anything is

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-1117320830308574732005-05-28T15:51:00.000-07:002005-06-09T23:38:13.980-07:00

In hindsight, many years later, Gordon realized that the old lady at The Corner Store had been an agent of fate. At this particular moment, however, he mistook her for just another annoyance in a day full of them."And you're sure no dolphins were victimized?" This was the third time she had asked this question. She gazed up at the cashier with gray and vaguely expectant eyes.Behind the counter,

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12924869.post-1116739664526211572005-05-21T21:43:00.003-07:002012-01-05T12:21:12.368-08:00

It was a day like any other, which is to say it was like all the rest. Dull and flat and interminable, it extended weeks into the past, an uninterrupted line of gray static. No, thought Gordon, counting down the days beneath the long limbed and golden ladies of July, more like a pile or a mountain. Yes, a mountain of days dull as stone piling atop his shoulders. Heavy. Suffocating. Precarious.

Richard Codyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09836071864882271852noreply@blogger.com0