I self published through Amazon and it was fun, although I am hoping to go through a publishing house for my next book, and it did fairly well in its first month. A few years later not so much.

It's a flawed piece to say the least. I adapted a screenplay I had written when I was seventeen and it certainly shows. I feel I have grown as a story teller since then, like pancakes the first one is always a mess.

The screenplay started as Customer Service before coming Super Mart then I turned it into a novella. It was inspired by my time as an employee at a big box store with elements from all over pop culture getting into the mix. And indeed those are obvious.

All the characters were based on people I knew, though through the pop culture filter of my mind.

It’s juvenile, funny, romantic, idiotic and just well…basic. But I was and am proud to have a published physical book out in the world.

If interested here's the link for it:

https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B0939M9RBD?fbclid=PAZXh0bgNhZW0CMTEAAaaECwBGh0az7Kds9JvWjtGhyGEsBLNJ92FpRFkB24JGxY8mkKzbJ9kV664_aem_JVToqhUXF4yWAejC2omkKg

Many thanks,

Rob

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I sit slumped in my favourite arm chair. Two fingers of my favourite rye whiskey in my left hand, a cigarette burning between the fingers of my right, Mr. Ted sits beside my ashtray. The room is dark except for the TV, itself nothing but a cheap commercial for a local car yard.

Its sound is but a droll dial tone to me.

My thoughts drift back through our life together. Our private jokes, our stolen glances, and the purposeful accidental touching of our fingers and hands. My best friend. My one great love.

We met on a warm February day in 1990. You don’t remember; how could you? You were only a few days old. I was four, I remember it well. My mother led me to your room. It was painted in god awful ‘90s pink. My mother told your mother that you were beautiful. I didn’t see it, I thought you looked like a potato with arms and legs. I had a teddy bear for you, Mr. Ted, the bear that went everywhere with you, I placed him on your crib and with the help of my mother I kissed you on the forehead and you laughed at me. Something that you will always do, laugh at me.

I would continue to see you every weekend. I was very protective of you, warning people to be careful with you and if they hurt you, I’d hurt them. They’d laugh, I meant it. I remember that Christmas when you were six and I was ten we went into the garage and played “You show me yours, I’ll show you mine.” And your father caught us. He gave us a talking to and explained that only boys and girls who are married can do that. It was that day I promised to marry you.

Our first kiss happened at Hank Thompson’s house, remember? We were playing spin the bottle. You were thirteen, I was seventeen. It was your first kiss. We protested of course, “best friends don’t make out.” In the end we gave in. I like to think deep down we both wanted too. We wouldn’t kiss again for five more years.

I was heartbroken that day of September 2003 when your family moved away. We never lost touch though, did we? E-mail and real letters, I loved your hand writing, and MSN chat.

I’ll never forget that night you forgot about the web cam while we talked and you began to undress. I hadn’t seen you naked since Christmas ’96. You hit the floor so hard I swore you’d plummet to China.

I remember the day well.

I haven’t forgotten a moment. April 12th 2008. It rained hard that day; poured down. I stood in it awaiting the arrival of your family at the new home on Hunter Drive. When your car pulled up all I could hear was my heart pounding; I swear it was going to burst out of my chest like in a sci-fi horror film. You leapt from the car before it had even stopped. You ran to me as fast as you could and when you reached me you wrapped your arms around me so hard and fast they made loud smacks on the wet leather of my jacket. At that moment you kissed me so hard, so deeply, I could live in that moment forever. I felt a lump in your jacket; I reached inside and pulled out Mr. Ted. You looked at me and smiled your eyes red from tears. At the moment we promised to never leave each other again. And we didn’t.

You joined me at University where you studied art and photography, the visual stuff. You and that great eye for detail of yours. I was finishing up my journalism degree with a minor in creative writing. We lived in a small flat across from a dingy blues bar. At night we’d sit on the front porch, you always wore one of my t-shirts and no pants, and we’d smoke cigarettes and listen to the tunes emanating from across the street. We’d talk about the future, you’d laugh at my dreams of being the next Hunter Thompson, marrying you and both of us being successful in our chosen careers. I promised that when you graduated we’ll marry, remember? We then shared another kiss.

Our wedding day was a small affair. I remember you saying you weren’t into big and flashy. It was your family, my family and a few friends. You were so beautiful, like nothing I had ever seen outside of ridiculous romantic fantasies. Mr. Ted held out rings, remember? To this day I remember the smile on your lips and the tears in your eyes when you said I do. I remember that you couldn’t contain your excitement with the kiss and you grabbed the back of my head and yanked me in hard. I think you gave me whiplash. That night we drank, we danced, we celebrated, and we made love as husband and wife. Mr. Ted watched from the chair that night.

My mind drifts back to the TV, the car yard commercial long gone, the cigarette has burnt out, the rye remains untouched.

I place my cigarette in my ashtray and pick up Mr. Ted. 29 years he’s been in our lives, he shared every adventure with us, the Short Round to our Indiana and Willie. I run my thumb over his balding fraying fur. My eyes sting, I need sleep.

Tomorrow is coming.

Tomorrow I kiss my best friend one more time.

Tomorrow I kiss my best friend one last time.

Tomorrow I bury you.

My one great love.

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