ABCtales and Xdrom.com Collaboration

I'm game! It's sounds intriguing.

Hey Wolfie, I'm intriguing if you're game!

From the journal of Mikael S. Koehler Sept 17, 1951 Snuck out of work early today to so the new Bogart movie, "The African Queen." I took the subway uptown to The Regis. There was no one else in the subway car with me, which was creepy. The girl in the ticket boot was pale and wan; she looked familiar and I tried to make small talk. But she glared at me coldly, "You're gonna miss the coming attractions." The usher acted strangely, too. Instead of bringing me down front where there were plenty of seats still open, he put me in the last row. He whispered earnestly, "It's safer." I was about to change seats, even contemplated leaving the theatre entirely, but the lights went down and the show started. It's a good movie (but I like Bogey in anything) --like Heart of Darkness in reverse; the characters start their journey in darkness and move towards light. I wonder which way I'm headed?

Mrs Catz.... I don't do appraisals. I saw a documentary once, one of those beastly fly-on-the-wall things. Can you imagine, the manager actually met with his staff to discuss their 'feelings' about their job. In forty years I have never met another employee. I am responsible for fifteen workers. I know their names and I know everything about their conduct. I can tell if they are angry or frustrated or sad. I can tell, but I don't care. It is understood that my staff will never meet me, that we will never share an awkward moment of uncomfortable talk at the photocopier, that I will never pull on a green crepe-paper hat at Christmas. I do not call them into my office. I do not reprimand by telephone, I do not leave notes. Four years ago, I sacked someone by making a small adjustment to the position of his bottle of correction fluid. He knew and he left the same day. This boy, this Garson. I added two paperclips to his tray last week, to indicate my displeasure that he had chosen to eat a cheese sandwich at his desk and had dropped thin snippets on the carpet. He seems to have taken no notice whatsoever. For the first time, I have doubt in my managerial abilities. This boy has no concept of what it is to be employed. I want to dismiss him, but I am actually afraid. What if I move his Tippex and he doesn't realise he has been sacked ? If he refuses to move ? Would I have to actually TELL him ?

Thoughts of Donna I don't believe what Garson asked me to do. He's obsessed with all that paper, it unhealthy, it's unclean, why would he want me to go down there? I know I went, well why the hell wouldn't I. I mean this is college, free time, free money and free sex. But it's never free is it. It's us girls who are supposed to attach too much emotion to sex, but god!! can't a bloke just have a one night stand and leave it at that. They throw in all the pathetic emotions and expect me to be grateful! Thank you, you are caring and sensitive and a 90's man... but this is 2001!!! snap out of it! You are a rag to me. I want to discard you. Thats the game, if you start trying to attach you lose. I can't afford to lose. Lest I become that smug little bitch Mary. Squeaky but undoubtably not entirely clean. No-one wipes perfectly every time... it's the little pleasures. What type of bloody game is this anyway. My panties are filed under 'I' 1973. That freaky, freaky boy... he's probably got them at home.

From the journal of Mikael S. Koehler.... 08/08/1951, Wednesday Today's my third week on the job here at the college and I'm still worried about the papers I found in this vault two weeks ago. It's a plot plan that shows notations where an Indian burial ground is located. The layover plan is included and it shows the position of this vault is built exactly over the burial site. I thought that was illegal, but I must be wrong bacause they wouldn't have done it, would they? I wonder if the spirits are upset? My last name is German for a nickname for a bald man and if I don't stop worrying soon, I'm going to be bald or at least gray haired.

Mary So we've got another one - some sucker who's prepared to wade through endless reams of paperwork to help pay his way through uni. This one's quite cute though. Might have to take him out to lunch - if only to warn him about Catz! Today she put a Pritt Stick in my desk drawer. Thing that I can't figure out is why. If she's annoyed she usually messes around with stuff on the desk. Maybe it's a good sign.. or maybe she fancies me. Urgh! The thought of that hair growing out of her mole is enough to put anyone off lunch. Still - s'pose I'd be mardy if I looked like that! No, that's not fair. She must have a softer side somewhere. Reckon she could be one of those women with loads of cats that she feeds fresh salmon to every day. Oooh, there's Garson. Yum. Definitely have to invite him to lunch - maybe to the pub round the corner. Get him to open up a bit...

I'm going to break the rules and try a chapter beginning.... The Vault By Rag on the Moon/Shantar Chapter One The Wait. High over the middle Eastern tip of England drifted lazy cottony cumulous clouds. Not enough wind to help them make up their minds Donna thought as she basked in the sunlight slanting through the now empty arched window of Fountains Abbey. One of the churches of Norwich, just off the coast, the ruins came up out of the North wall of St. Bartholomew's Hospital and College. The sun felt good on her face, her shoulders, the heat through her blouse on her breasts. Her alien body close enough to human, Donna sat on the steps of the church tower, taking in the mildly warm English day of blue sky and brisk air. I wonder if Kantar looks for Earth Donna thought as she looked at the sky where her home planet Kaysil would be. She thought of the Soldev sands, the faintly blue water of the bay, lying with Kantar in the sands below the cliffs at the oceans edge. Light tangy moisture from the sea gave a small taste of coolness to the hot desert air of Kaysil. Donna sat on the still cool ancient stones thinking of the two of them lying together under the white sunscreen so the intense light from two suns would not burn them, at the edge of the Kaysa desert , on that holiday. A chance that the two of them had some time together between assignments, both home from alien worlds. Now here I am on Earth, how long will this take? Donna thought. She stretched her strong athletic body, shook her blond hair, stood up. The days in the vault searching, now waiting for Garson to find the secret as foretold caused her body to go towards hibernation, this in her genetics from the long past when her race hid from the sun in caves, waiting for food, waiting for the hot desert to cool so they could hunt in the purple dusk. A light gray pigeon landed close by, pecking lightly at the grass, hunting out specks of food. Donna felt the heat in her chest, the passion of the hunt, her need to run wild over the desert sands suddenly flashing brightly through her. With a sure deftness she dropped the cigarette, taking the startled pigeon up with a graceful, quick ballet. She held the bird close to her, cooing softly to it in Kantish. The pigeon sat quiet in her hands entranced. Donna gave the wondering bird to the sky, reaching up, hands to the sun. The still entranced bird flew up, then around and back, perching where it could watch this curious girl. Donna looked around, realizing she could have been seen. She knew she had to hide the power of her body while here. She had already risked running naked on the cool British sands by Caister. Not the same as the hot sands of her home. How could Garson be related to her race? How could anyone with Kantish blood not feel the need to run wildly over the hot sands, feel the heat of their passion? Garson seemed to shun the coolness of the vault too she mused, as she made her way back to the hidden doorway to the vault in the wall between the ruins of the church and the college. Garson sat in the for England, hot sun, looking at the plaque on the stone pillar. St. Bartholomew's Hospital and College - Founded By John Rahere, A. D. 1123 in raised golden letters on the bronze plate shone back in the sun. He could feel the heat off the brown metal. The heat feels so good Garson thought knowing he would soon be in the depths of the vault. Since meeting Donna he felt the coolness more, her intense calmness such a contrast. Garson opened his eyes. A young girl, blond, had set his tray down, leaving him a quick smile. He looked after her, slightly startled when thinking of Donna then opening his eyes to another blond girl. Something about Donna had seemingly opened a door in his mind. Garson sat lost as he made ready to eat his lunch at the college cafe, out in the sun. The cottony clouds were fading, the hot air over East Anglia taking them out to sea.

I would like very much to get my poem published email me and tell me what you think Friends Friends always stick by each other in times of joy and times of pain they are never ashamed of what they do or say they help you when your down they're always around they help you when your low even when being low doesn't show weather your fat,skinny, tall or short friends are there while others walk

from the diary of Mikael S. Koehler Thursday, March 12, 1987 Attire necktie (brown; knotted too short) pants (gray, twill; small tear near lower left cuff, see March 5, 1987 Grievences, inconsequential) shirts dress (white, long sleeve; brand - polo) under (white, sleeveless; brand - hanes) shoes (standard; brown, loafters; minor scuffs still pending attention) socks (black; fleur de lis pattern; slight pilling of fabric from age) undergarment (white/blue stripes, boxer shorts; brand - hanes) Breakfast beverages coffee (small) juice (orange) eggs toast (buttered; crumbs - see Grievences, inconsequential) Expenses decreasing - none increasing band-aids (see also Grievences, inconsequential) lunch (rising cost in cafeteria; complaint letter drafted though unmailed; see January 4, 1987 Grievences, substantial) Grievences inconsequential crumbs from toast (inside newspaper; see also Grievences, inconsequential November 11, 1984, January 23, 24, and 30, 1985, April 3, 1986, May 21, 1986, December 25-27, 29, and 31 1986, February 18, 1987, and March 2, 1987) paper cut (left index finger; forth in two weeks; see also Expenses, increasing - band-aids) puddle, west 23rd street (location unchanged; size greatly reduced; see also February 24, 1987 and March 10, 1987) radio (no decent new material since May of 1982; possible cause for decline in moral fiber of younger students; further inspection warrented) substantial Beverly Katz mention of Lauderfield Incident (see January 4, 1987 Grievences, substantial) odor breath (coffee, bitter; no sugar; memo seemingly ignored) office correction fluid (possible damage to brain cells still unclear) plants (plastic, dusty) perfume (brand still unknown; samples from Mall inconclusive; magazine test pending) Tammy Gianelli (see Thoughts, troublesome - impure, Tammy Gianelli) Hours - standard; 9 AM in; 5 PM out Lunch beverages - coffee (large) sandwich (standard; tuna salad; crust, removed) Thoughts mundane dislike for career (see Appendix 3, Retirement Options) memories early morning in Berlin (young child, nostalgic; simple daydream; veracity questionable - possibly imagined) Nora Openburg (standard; see Appendix 1, Nora Openburg) troublesome counseling, possible need for (see Grievences, substantial - Beverly Katz, mention of Lauderfield Incident) impure blasphemy apparent failure to cease welling letcherous temptations (see Thoughts, troublesome - impure, Tammy Gianelli) possible exception for God's omnipresence within Vault walls possible shielding from Divine Grace amongst the stacks and papers of Vault Nora Openburg (see Thoughts, mundane - memories, see also Appendix 1, Nora Openburg) Tammy Gianelli caught staring at low neck line again (see February 8, 1987 Grievences, substantial - Beveryly Katz; see also January 4, 1987 Grievences, substantial - Lauderfield Incident) daydream regarding improper relationship (see Thoughts, troublesome - counseling)

From the journal of Mikael S. Koehler.... Monday, September 14, 1951 Being at home now makes me feel better, though only a little. The papers were on the seat next to me and I felt like I was stealing the crown jewels by the way my heart was pounding. Even to the point of expecting a cop to stop me and ask to search the car. Yes, I’m paranoid, and the feeling only gets worse the longer I’m in the vault. But, you know what they say about the act of being paranoid not necessarily meaning that you have nothing to worry about. But, this piece of evidence is what’s either going to get me fired, or worse if somebody really cares enough to get nasty about it. College president and one trustee overwrote the objection by another trustee that the burial site may be a problem. Right there on the memo. Why do people write interoffice memos that are so incriminating? You’d think they’d just talk about it over beer at the county club. Keeping a secret has never been my strong suit. But, this time, maybe…

Is the 5th character, The Journal of Mikael S. Koehler ? I would like to try an outline. I remember a prop vault at a college I did theater in. the small door that you walked through was a metal covered door. It would close by itself with a slam without any predictability. If you did not have the key you would be locked in the huge prop room upstairs without any way out other than to open the main bay doors that were above the audience section in the smaller theater. The walls were too thick to hear through. I was thinking of the vault in the end of " Raiders of the Lost Ark" that went on endlessly. A Gormenghast kind of vault. I like the premise. I know Donna is not what she seems. Wasn't she called "Dirty Donna" by the agency????

Garson's Monologue A French Poetry Class must have been displaced because of the perpetual renovations to one of the old buildings. It was a small class, maybe four or five. All, including the prof, were women. They used an obscure room of one of the lower levels for about four meetings last spring. Anyway, why they chose this place is a mystery to me. In the class was a girl, dark-haired and sad looking. When I passed by their class I would sort of look at her, not leering like a predator, but more like curious. She looked at me too and I swear it was like we were recognizing each other. The looks became more and more serious and searching and I think I was falling in love with her. She liked me too; I could tell. I started thinking about reincarnation, past lives-- and I wanted to talk to her about why we were so connected. It was the best month of my life since I started working here. The pointlessness lessened. I felt excited to come to work, especially on the Thursday of their class. Then, it was over. I suppose the class found a more suitable and poetic location. But I was not done. I went to the administrative office and looked up the class. Then I went and stood outside the building waiting for her to come out. I had my speech prepared about our connection, our past lives. I had so much to say. I never saw her again. Late spring was cold. I remember pulling my jacket up around my face while I was waiting in the rain. I still think about her; anything to keep my mind off this place.

i have poems of own to tell but not sure who to tell please help

Look through the two web sites, WWW.forwriters.com and ABCTales.com. There are poetry sections in both. There are some poetry sites. I would be leery of a few. 1st. what is the subject field of your poetry? How long are they? You can save your poems a text only files for cut/paste into browsers etc. You need to explore uploading to make sure you have that down as you can take your wonderful poem to the Net and lose it in the transfer. I was on Poetry.com and was not super happy with them I did not check with them for some time. I found that my poem was on the site even though I had not registered. They have people enter the contests by mail. Then they post the work on thier site and leave it there to build up content on thier site. Ist. have your work organised as text files on disk so you can transfer. Study the site and the uploading section so the wechanic is out of the way. Then look at the site for where your work fits....

I like the "style" or voicing of your entry/writing. Voicing and style can be hard to do....Building all a charcters traits...lot of work...Write on!