harryhero

Harry Hero is a collaborative family writing project. He began as typing practice for author #6 in the mid-seventies. Authors M, 1, 4, 5, 7, spontaneously and sarcastically contributed until Harry took on a life and momentum of his own. He was reborn as a Christmas project in the early nineties and again as a web project in the new millennium. Once more Harry has risen from near tragic and certain literary deaths to live again as blog practice. Bulwer-Lytton judges take note.

About Me

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It seems I have suffered and survived a few insults and injuries to my cranium, thus my memory does not lend itself to one seamless life I could call my own. Instead, my life seems to be one dim episode after another documented by a random and rather odd conglomeration of assorted biographers who, for some bizarre reason, seem compelled to document my trials as if I were a remarkable hero. Heroism can take many forms. Perhaps it is finding fresh strawberries in November for the Manhattan socialite's crepes as she breaks her fast. Perhaps it is found in a multitude of skills, lucky breaks and death defying feats. It may be true that piloting my faithful rig, Betsy, through the Canadian Rockies is not for the weak of spirit, mind or body; I claim no special talents other than devoted love and endless hope. Love of a good truck, a good cup coffee and a good adventure. Hope of self-actualization and...Sophie? If you desire a chronological –not necessarily logical- plotline begin reading at the January 26 2006 post - The Not So Constant Gardener - and follow subsequent postings to present day.

Blog Archive

Thursday, February 23, 2006

Harry clenches his fist.

“Ah, here we are” and turned the Miata down a hill toward a green coulee. “You were going to Writing-On-Stone Park weren’t you? There’s not much else down this road.” And Harry’s nimble mind supplied him with a cover just like that.

“Yeah, and you know, I have to confess, I don’t know why.” She looked at him, with a faint look of curiosity. Or was it amusement? Harry couldn’t tell. He plunged on with his story.

“I was hiking in the back country, back there, and lost all my gear. No tent, no food, no clothes, no gear.”

“I have enough for two,” she purred. “You can use my stuff, if you like. Except I don’t have any boots that you could use. But perhaps you prefer to hike in cowboy boots.”

“Well it’s good for the snakes” he said, lamely. Was she toying with him? There was something about this girl, something…dangerous? Maybe. Harry clenched his left fist surreptitiously.





To be continued...
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