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

Sunday, April 02, 2006

Harry throws a wrench or two

Harry gave his head a shake. He was on the road again, with Betsy firmly under control and heading home for Christmas, nothing mattered now except the warmth of his … but wait, look! Betsy’s high beams screamed out at him. Caught in their light is a maiden in distress! She is tied to the top of a tree like a Christmas angel and under the tree a grinch-like figure is flinging flames at the foot of the fir! Horrors! Yes, it is Dr. Maybe! He is going to torch Sophia! Harry leans on his 500-decibel horn and throws on the Jake brake. The protests of Betsy’s pistons, as the Jake brake retards, thrusts cracks in the icy air like the hips of a thousand arthritic cows!




Dr. Maybe shrieks, clutches his head, and staggers into the forest primeval (yuk), his tattered eardrums blowin’ in the wind.






With the accuracy of an eagle at 10,000 feet, Harry hurls the wheel wrenches at Sophia’s bonds. Saturated with her sweet sweat, the icy air has frozen them as brittle as brides’ biscuits. The ropes shatter like crystal. Sophia falls splat onto the snowy road inches from Harry, as he fiddles with his Beclovent inhaler!

To be Continued...
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