Much of the action described here took place before I ever heard of Hunter S. Thompson or Charles Bukowski. While they have certainly influenced my writing style, my chosen lifestyle pre-dated any of their influence on my behavioral activities.
Ever since the first two-leggeds scratched pictures on the walls of caves and later mastered the art of putting words on papyrus, they have fostered the desire to have their stories preserved for the ages. I have enjoyed reading and later writing since I was a kid. Before I ever started formal education my mom encouraged me by reading bedtime stories every night. She would have me follow along by looking at the words as she spoke them. Then she would have me read every other paragraph. I was hooked immediately. I entered Kindergarten with nascent reading skills and by first grade, when I was formally introduced to the introductory primmer, I was able to and did read “Dick and Jane” cover to cover, the day it was handed out. I also liked to have mom make up bed- time stories. She soon employed the same method as she had with introducing me to reading. She would make up a story then have me make up a story. Cowboy shows on TV were big at the time and my Uncle Bill had made me a three-foot-high, brightly painted, two-dimensional cowboy out of some thick plywood to hang my clothes on. This inspired me tell a series of “Towel Rack the Cowboy” stories that mom seemed to enjoy thoroughly. The first full length novel I consumed was an adolescent reader’s version of Tom Sawyer. By that point I could not get enough of the written word.
By age twelve I was going to the local library at least twice a week immersing myself in Mark Twain and Edgar Allen Poe. By the time I entered high school I had started to write short stories. I still have a few of those early efforts and they have held up well over the decades.
Since retirement, I have had the time and desire to immerse myself in writing with vigor and passion resulting in a prodigious number of stories. Some fiction but mostly true- life tales.
My favorite author is Hunter S. Thompson. Many folks are uncomfortable reading his work because they can’t tell which parts are fact and which are “literary license”. I have learned from reading them, that it is more enjoyable, for me, if I do not try to make that distinction. By my reckoning, all writing falls somewhere on a continuum. There is no pure factual account as our perceptions and interpretation of events are filtered through our learned prejudices and expectations. And there is no pure fictional tale as our creations are inevitably littered with bits and globs of autobiographical material. For readers who may be obsessed with this distinction, I have loosely labeled my material as fiction (F) or non-fiction (NF). Take this explanation as a cautionary warning. You are now entering the literary gray zone; they are all a bit of each. That reminds me. I’m also a huge fan of Rod Serling.
Fortunately, I have an extraordinary memory for details of events that happened as long as seventy years ago. I believe that my keen memory of these events is informed by my sense of which situations were important at the time and how the context and details of those situations served to make them so. I call it connecting the dots. This platform is where I will be presenting much of my body of work. It is my hope that family and friends will be frequent readers as well as anyone else who might find my stories interesting and/or entertaining. Your faithful correspondent, Ard the Author.
I am happy to offer my written works on this platform for all to enjoy without the need for renumeration, unless you genuinely desire to make a free will donation. If so, see Pay Pal option at bottom of page. That being said, I do not relinquish the ownership of said works whether you chip in or not. If anyone poaches my work to sell or to publish under their name, they will be targeted by my crack legal team of Smith and Wesson. A high-powered entity that specializes in “out of court” settlements. Capiche?
WARNING! Much of the content of this page may be offensive to many readers. Each tale will be labeled "All ages", Over Eighteen, or XXX.
I Meet The Man. I despise the man. I get inextricably involved with the man.
Mike Graduates The School of Hard Knocks With Highest Honors. Mike heads to the coast for Post Graduate Work.
M Street House. Jean, Jane, Mike, my long- time best buddy Mick, and I, move in together.
Stick Up. Never stiff your drug dealer or your lawyer.
Final Straw. Mike’s shit just keeps getting deeper.
Branching Out. Various, nefarious, intertwining schemes.
Crossing Over Donner’s Pass. It’s all downhill from there.
Graphic Arts Gang Makes Their Move. From preliminary fraud and larceny, to the launch.
Hooter Flees Mexico. Heads to Denver and quenches his thirst with favorite squeeze.
New Directions. Welcome to an unprecedented New Year.
Next Big Thing. Move to the Green House with special new addition.
Poverty Gulch. Thanks to a lot of hard work and some great luck, the dream comes true.
1978 Marriage And Another Birth. First big Gulch Party and Comfort by any other name.
Hooter Moves To The Gulch. He becomes a fully vested and contributing land partner.
Hooter’s Best. Good home, good friends, good job, sweet ride, and good speed. What could possibly go wrong?
My Hooter Is Crazier Than Your Hooter
All Gave Some. Some Gave All.
My protracted stress and significant hassles resulting from my dealing with the threat of conscription by the Selective Service, while they seemed huge to me, where infinitesimal compared to what folks who where actually involved in the conflict experienced. Fifty-seven thousand, two hundred and seventy-nine American service members lost their lives. Another three hundred thousand Americans were wounded. Thousands more returned home with PTSD and/or serious disabilities caused by exposure to the agent orange defoliant used by the US. It is estimated that between two hundred thousand and two hundred fifty thousand South Vietnamese soldiers died along with two million civilians. I deeply mourn all of those casualties.
I was never anti-war. I was fervently “anti-Viet Nam” war. It wasn’t just because I was in the cross hairs of the Selective Service. I believed that it was an unjust war that the US had no business getting involved in. I was absolutely not anti US service members. Hell, several of my best friends served and came back suffering from the experience. If I would have witnessed someone spitting on a Viet Nam vet in uniform, I would have punched the spitter in the face. Many of the anti- Viet Nam war protests I took part in were led by Viet Nam vets.
This story and the one following are for adults without delicate sensibilities ONLY, and contains references to sex, drugs, and violence.
A man on the other side of the world immolates himself. I take notice.
I earn the nickname “Rebel Without A Cause” by teacher. I finally find a girlfriend.
I register for the draft, get accepted to the most liberal college in the state, and attend my first protest.
A missed period and a communique from the local draft board.
Near death experience leads to a gut wrenching change of course.
Spiraling down, down, down......
Just When We’re Finally Pickin The Tall Cotton. I Cause Things To Go Sideways
This story is for adults without delicate sensibilities ONLY, and contains references to sex and violence.
My manipulative hippie, then gay, then Christian, rinse and repeat buddy, from back in the day.
Non-Fiction Over 18
Fictionalized tale based on a real-life character and events. He never lost his cool, even when a gun was pointed at him. Fiction All ages
Tranquil hitch-hiking trip in the north woods quickly turns enchanting then alarming. Non-Fiction, All Ages
Honored to spend the day with indicted co- conspirator of the takeover of Wounded Knee and co-founder of the American Indian Movement, Carter Camp, drinking beer and smoking pot.
Non-Fiction, Over 18
Prodigal cat Pooper returns to cabin in the woods causing this author to soon freak out. Non-Fiction, All Ages
An observant Catholic, a lapsed Jew, and a disavowed Protestant share a room. Two of them team up to bully the other. Non-Fiction, Over 18..
Author wonders how he ever had that level of energy and stamina. Now I remember. Non-Fiction, Over 18
A frequent marijuana customer loses her shit on some good shit. Non-Fiction, Over 18
Tale of adversity, survival, and unconventional family bonds.
Fiction, Over 18
Navigating spiritual and physical landscapes: Non-Fiction, All Ages
How hanging out with a hot young friend made me feel toothless and out to pasture. Non-Fiction, X Rated
But she would never admit it.
In a fantasy city above the artic circle an unexpected perspective emerges of a father’s deepening dementia.
Fiction, All Ages
Sometimes not making a decision becomes the decision itself. Non-Fiction, All Ages
Violent tale of settling an old and devastating debt. Fiction, X Rated
A comely Southern Belle with a unique psychic talent. Fiction, All Ages
A damaged soul re-invents herself while uplifting those around her. Fiction, Over 18
Peace and solitude can sometimes come with a large price tag.
Fiction, Over 18
A long period of sobriety comes to a messy conclusion.
Non-Fiction, All Ages
Questionable choices result in titillating circumstances.
Fiction, X-Rated
Very gross and often hilarious tale of the craziest dude I ever knew before I met Hooter (See the My Hooter Is Crazier memoir on this website). Non-Fiction, X-Rated
Early morning drinking at The Beach Ball Bar and a plan for a finite future. Fiction, Over 18
A couple of post adolescent low-lifes make their big play.
Fiction, Over 18
Fun with Uncle Jeffro and Siva. Not so much for Rikki and Marmaduke.
Non-Fiction, X-Rated
Hans, Me, and a couple of proper Jamaican ladies stroll the beach at Negril after dark.
Non-Fiction, All ages
All comments and questions that I do not regard as hate mail or harassment will receive a response within 48 hours.
Sincerely, Ard
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