Tales from the fringes is a short story collection of fifteen stories.
Tales from the Fringes, Gabe Gott's debut,features fifteen short stories that give glimpses of what it's like to live where no one can expect anything to come easy and happy endings are relative.
"A Hipster Confession" has a twenty-something writer wannabe hanging out, smoking pot in his basement, wondering what the Hell he is doing with these people. In "Greasy", a guy who kind-of looks like John Lennon works at McDonald's and parties, sleeps around, and plays in a band, to no end. In "The Marriage Bed", a newly married man and almost-college-graduate considers the dilemma of having a baby with the love of his life and affording to do so.
Tales from the Fringes originally started as a fiction blog, the domain of which has since become the homepage of the author. In the collection, some of the stories have changed little from their blog original versions ("Retail Hell", "Survival"), and some have undergone heavy transformations ("Bug-bombed", originally titled "The Perfect Victim"). There are also several stories included that are being published for the first time ("A Hipster Confession", "Greasy", "The Marriage Bed", "The Circle", "The Other Side of Cool").
Excerpt
(opening to) "Greasy"
They call me the Eggman. It makes sense on a few levels: not only do I bear a passing resemblance to John Lennon (arguably), but I am also a songwriter who partakes in the use of mind-altering substances. I would like to think that it has more to do with these things; however, it mostly has to do with the fact that I make the most kick-ass eggs anyone at McDonald's has ever eaten.
In the mornings, between 5 and 10:30 a.m. when we switch over to the lunch menu, I am the supreme God of pouring Egg Beaters in a mold, cooking to fluffy, folding over, scrambling, and all while also making the sausage, bacon, Canadian bacon, and steak and sautéed onions at the same time. None of the little old ladies -- retired schoolteachers, bored housewives, and widows -- who also work in the mornings, can keep up with it. For the first couple of hours, I am the youngest person who works there by decades. The other dropouts don't usually come in until later in the morning.
As I work at the grill, my arms moving about on their own, diligently working, amid the grease and liquid egg splatters, I often watch past the front counter, beyond the lobby, through the windows as the pinks and oranges and yellows streak across the sky as the sun rises. I sip on my coffee as I work, standing there, grilling it up like only the Eggman can.
When I get there wearing sunglasses, they assume the worst. I keep to myself, make my eggs, slowly edging into sobriety, attempting to not throw up when the nausea hits me. That association is why I can't eat eggs of any sort. None of the managers care, so long as I get there on time and I do my job, and the old ladies seem oblivious -- although I am sure they are just being polite. They seem to like me either way, so it doesn't matter. Even the lady who is a retired schoolteacher -- she is the type who has eyes on the back of her head, who was surely feared by the legions of 3rd graders.
As I work, I often find myself breaking out into "I am the Eggman, they are the Eggmen, I am the walrus, coo coo ka choo, coo coo ka choo!" -- amid the Johnny Cash and Patsy Cline that the old people who pack the dining room play on the Juke Box every morning as they sip on coffee and complain about the world.
The McDonald's where I work was designed to look like a 1950's diner, and the Juke Box contains mostly the worst music from that era. When I become irritated with hearing the same Johnny Cash song for the seventh time in a row, I find a break and run out into the lobby and play the entire selection of James Brown songs, which are about the only songs I can stand, which also signals to the old people that they have worn out their welcome. They hate James Brown as much as I hate Johnny Cash. While I am stuck there to the end of my shift, they can leave at any time.
Determined to confront the hazy memories of his troubled youth, Oliver Matthews, a retired detective and confirmed bachelor, returns to the picturesque town of Henley-on-Thames for the first time in years.
London: Lashed, Lacerated, Lampooned and Lambasted satirizes 18 popular Jack London novellas with adult content and language and the work is author Jay Dubya's 37th published hardcover/paperback book.
Soldier's Gap is a non-traditional mystery with literary elements. The high school principal is brutally murdered, but Deputy Sheriff Dave Jenkins's search for meaning and love is a much more significant theme.
"Murder isn't usually this fun
