Beyond the Periphery
A MIXED BAG OF SHORT STORIES LOOSELY BASED ON THE FRAILTIES OF THE HUMAN MIND
by
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If you’re not Irish, you probably won’t acknowledge my existence. I can’t say I blame you. Nobody sees me, therefore I’m not here. I’m the result of a Leprechaun mating with a Gremlin. I live in the dark catacombs of Steve’s conscience. Through my powers of subliminal messaging, I admit to strongly influencing whom and what Steve writes about, where he travels, what he studies (human nature, mainly). I don’t, however, have the power to suggest who he befriends—which leads directly to those whom indirectly become fictitious characters in—novel form. I hate to admit it, but I had little to do with his outlandish imagination. His wee little Irish mother provided that. I objected to him going to college or any form of writing school. I thought schooling would destroy what nature provided. Meanwhile, his English Lit teacher urged Steve on to college to further hone his natural story-telling abilities. Which road did Steve travel? By Hairy—deceitful, mischievous, misnomered, yet Hairy. If you’re not Irish, you probably won’t acknowledge my existence. I can’t say I blame you. Nobody sees me, therefore I’m not here. I’m the result of a Leprechaun mating with a Gremlin. I live in the dark catacombs of Steve’s conscience. Through my powers of subliminal messaging, I admit to strongly influencing whom and what Steve writes about, where he travels, what he studies (human nature, mainly). I don’t, however, have the power to suggest who he befriends—which leads directly to those whom indirectly become fictitious characters in—novel form. I hate to admit it, but I had little to do with his outlandish imagination. His wee little Irish mother provided that. I was responsible for his refusal to enter into the world of higher learning. His English Lit teacher urged him to go and hone his natural story-telling abilities. Which road did Steve travel?
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About the Book
As is the case for snowflakes, no two human flakes are quite the same. Succeeding accounts herein exemplify these notions. Brief episodes lead the unwary from the intriguingly rebald into fables of sex, murder, human mutilation, inanity, and insanity. Yes, echoes of Stephen King’s macabre style manifest when least expected.
About the Author
Steve has been around a few blocks and many countries. He’s seen some unusual things. He’s put a few of those singularly abnormal sights and envisionments into a book of fictitious short stories. He was himself, raised under atypical circumstances: born in a Model T Ford, raised near, and schooled on a reservation. Taught to observe life’s little intricacies by his very superstitious Irish mother—herself a storyteller noted for truths stretched fiddle-string tight. Steve is a writer gifted to extraordinary visions—likely passed on by both his mother and his Native American brothers, sisters, and teachers—also, the amazing aboriginals in Australia— the Maoris of New Zealand.