In the most recent Picayune, I told the story of my car problems in Middle-of-Nowhere, Ohio and the not-so-friendly farmer who let me use his phone. It was after ten p.m. when the tow truck showed up. After some basic trouble-shooting, he dragged my car to the outskirts of Finley, where he had a shop.
This particular tow-truck was a lucky break because this guy liked the challenge of fixing cars. Despite it being long-past closing hours on a Friday night, he pushed my Ford Fiesta into the service bay and popped the hood. He had a friend drop by, and drank beer while they poked around, investigating this engine they’d never worked on.
The Ford Fiesta was built in Brazil and was Ford’s el-cheapo, el-economico entry in their vehicle lineup. Watching these guys poke around the engine compartment reminded me of watching my father poke around cars. Also, I appreciated the know-how required to do things with an engine. I did the basics back then: oil change, tune ups, filter swaps. I didn’t do any carburetor work — I’d seen the mess and the time it took too many times already in my life, and didn’t want to become an addict.
After almost an hour, they realized a thing was loose on the engine. It’s was a gear that drove the distributor, and the threads had been sheared off the gadget. This being Finley, and the car being from Brazil, they sure as hell didn’t have a spare part on the shelf.
They pushed the car out of the service bay, locked up, and pointed me at the motel down the street.
The motel was classic Americana: a single building that looked like a re-purposed chicken coop, near the road, with parking in front of each door. Inside was a bed, a television, a toilet, and the unmistakable smell of moldy carpeting. Try as they might, no amount of artificial wood paneling or water-stained drop ceilings could overcome that smell of moldy carpeting.
There was also a phone, and I used my calling card (a thing that helped you place long-distance calls in the pre-cell-phone era) to call my father. The next day, he made the drive from Cleveland with a U-Haul trailer and dragged my car back to his house. He then sold me the next best crappy car in the back yard, a Ford LTD coupe.
On Sunday, I drove to my apartment in Columbus to check my mail, do laundry, and drive north to Detroit that night. Sigh.
I was indebted to my father for his rescue mission, but, looking back, I wish I hadn’t been so enamored with old, crappy cars (a bad habit I learned from the old man). I’d bought that Fiesta for about fifteen hundred bucks (on advice from family) and then bought this other, older crappier car for about fifteen hundred bucks. My car troubles would continue for years until I finally allowed myself to buy something with a warranty.
Despite an engineering degree in computers, I was still pretty much an idiot back then. My friends in real life who read the Picayune are likely nodding along at this. My early 20s will never be known as my genius years.
We need help in life to survive. There are life lessons we need to learn, and sometimes we need help when stranded in the middle of nowhere.
I could go on and on about my not-so-great choices back then, but I won’t. Instead, I’ll try to weave them into stories and keep moving forward.
Meanwhile, at My Writing Desk…
I have processed the feedback I got on my current work in progress, a psychological thriller. Welp, it’s pretty much a total rewrite.
I’d fallen into some common traps, didn’t make certain things clear enough, and based the whole crux of the story on a gimmick. Not that there’s anything wrong with any of that, but my goal is to entertain folks who love to read, and the novel I wrote wasn’t good enough.
On the bright side, I enjoy writing novels, so once I get into the story (again) it’ll be fun. At the moment it feels like I sat on a porcupine and I’m pulling quills out of my hind end.
A better metaphor is probably broken hearts. I broke my heart with that novel, and the best way to fix it is to fall in love with the next story I’m going to write.
Upcoming Books and Stuff
Fantastic Read! Hadick’s narrative voice is relatable and funny, as are his characters. This one is definitely worth the read!
Maybe You’d Like
I’m in a group promo this month called: Crime to Die For. This is an opportunity to judge some books by its cover and see if there’s something you’d like to read.
All these books have something to do with crime. Thus the title: Crime to Die For.
Also death.
Death, like taxes, is inevitable. Filling out your taxes does not make for an interesting read, so that’s why we talk about death so much.
Recommended Reading
Next Picayune
I’ll be back in two weeks with more stories and more books. If you can’t wait until then, you can check out my publishing website, ParkSideBooks.net.
Thanks for reading the Mickey Picayune…
All the best,
–mickey