Todays MC Spotlight is on author, Marvin D. Wilson. I have only been acquainted with Marvin and his character, Owen Fiddler for a short while, but I find them both to be very interesting. Marvin his on tour with his new novel, and Morphological Confetti is one of the stops. Well, without further ado, here is Owen Fiddler; Let us know what you think.
Do you like it? Do you want it? Well, if you had it would you flaunt it? Well it's yours. Check it out:
A Pivotal Segue
(
An excerpt from Owen Fiddler, chapter fourteen)
Cake and ice cream did nothing to satiate someone like Owen, so he pulled over into a truck stop on the way home and went into the greasy spoon, looking to buy a cheeseburger and some fries. The smell of frying burgers, bacon and eggs and all things cholesterol and unhealthy warmed his attitude a tiny bit. He plunked himself into a booth and scanned the well-worn plastic-coated menu for a burger of his liking. Decision made, he looked around for some service. Where the Hell is someone to take my order? Service sucks in this dive. Minutes later an unconcerned gum-chewing waitress sauntered over, took his order and strolled away. He lit a smoke while cussing her under his breath for her tardiness and fell into a dismal mood.
Cigarette tasted nasty. He snuffed it out amongst the dozens of other butts in the ashtray. Dim lights, cheap plastic checkerboard table coverings, the sights and sounds surrounding him: the working class indebted proletariat, his colleagues in misery … it all cast a gloom over him. He took a swallow of the tap water his waitress had brought him. Tasted worse than it smelled, which was bad enough already.
“Would you like some coffee, sir?” A kid with a steaming pot in one hand and a tray of cups in the other had a pleasant smile on his face that Owen wished he could wipe off.
“Sure … can’t be any worse than the water. Pour me a cup.”
Kid’s smile widened in discomfort at the snide remark; he sat a cup in front of Owen, filled it and hurried away.
Coffee was worse than the water. Tasted like liquid cardboard. Owen began loading it up with cream and sugar in an attempt to build something remotely drinkable. His mood was turning more sour than the acrid java he had just wasted a dollar fifty on.
He was broke, broken down, and had no hopes of a bright future. Living in a slum-grade apartment. Driving a used car that costs more money in repairs every month than a brand new car payment. Such bad credit I can’t even get a loan to buy a new car, or a house, or anything. He collapsed on the diner table and cradled his aching head with his hands as he shifted his butt back and forth. The cracked naugahyde-covered seat of the wooden bench creaked in rhythm to his emotional discord.
He felt a light thump on the shoulder and heard a deep baritone voice, “You all right, there, fellow?”
Owen looked up to see a mountain of a man, over seven feet tall, had to weigh three hundred fifty pounds with no fat. Dressed in fishermen’s gear, he sported a short stubble-beard on his giant bald head. The coal-black-eyed gargantuan repeated, “You okay, man?”
“Whuuu, uhh, I mean … yeah, I’m fine, sure, ah …”
“Ya don’t look like it. Mind if I sit down?”
Owen didn’t know how to react. He felt no fear or danger, the man was not of an immediate threatening demeanor, yet he sensed an untoward presence that he couldn’t explain. This man exuded a hubris that would intimidate kings of nations. It was unnatural and arresting. Owen’s first thought, his gut thought, was to tell the man to go away. Instead, his curiosity got hold of him. Why would this stranger pause to take an interest in me?
“Ah, yeah … sure. Have a seat. What’s up?”
The man planted his enormous frame into the red fake-leather booth seat across from Owen. A loud wood-moaning sound warned of certain imminent structural failure. He settled himself from side to side for comfort. More sounds of boards in pain. He fixed his eyes on Owen, leaned in, extended his mammoth paw and said, “The name’s Seiffer. Louis Seiffer. And yours?”
Owen put out his hand, grimaced under the pressure of Louis’ grip and managed to squeak out, “Owen Fiddler.” He pulled his hand back, relieved, “You hungry? Want to join me, Louis?”
“No, just ate, thanks, and you can call me Lou. I couldn’t help but notice you were a bit distraught. Perhaps it’s none of my business, but if you want to tell me what the problem is, it’s possible I can be of some help.”
Now this is just a bit much. I mean, a complete stranger concerned about me and my problems, and he wants to help if possible? Please! Still, the strange man had a look of sincerity about him, he wasn’t showing the least bit of impropriety in his face or body language, so Owen asked the obvious, “Look, I don’t know you; you don’t know me. What’s this all about? I mean, why do you take an interest in a complete stranger’s problems?”
Lou Seiffer just chuckled, took a short breath and said, “You’re right, I don’t know you personally and you have every right to be skeptical of my unsolicited concern. The truth is I don’t have any deep interest in your personal problems, whatever they may be. You see, I am a businessman. I have many businesses, but one of them is making loans. And I have learned from many years of doing business that in nearly every case, the look I saw on your face earlier is the look of someone who is in need of money. Therefore, I thought I would stop in on you and see if we can’t make a deal. Maybe I can help you out.”
“What kind of deal?”
Lou raised his left hand in a stop signal with a slight downward turn of the head, then looked back up and insisted with arms open and palms up, “First of all, am I right? Is it money you need?”
Owen paused and reflected for a moment on the nature of his woes. Yeah, that is all I need; it’s money for sure. A few thousand bucks and I could get right back on my feet again. He said, “So, what’s in it for you?”
“I make my money on interest. Okay, look … here’s the deal. I will give you ten thousand dollars cash, today, right now. Use it however you want. None of my concern. In return, I will expect you to repay me the amount of fifteen thousand dollars on the fifth anniversary of this date. Use the money wisely, that shouldn’t be a problem. So how about it; we got a deal?”
Owen pondered the proposition for a while. I’ve never used money wisely before at anytime in my life. Jewel always handled the money management because I was such a dumbbell at it. Why should I think I’ll suddenly be able to do it now? Then again, ten grand is much more than I need. I can invest some of the money and easily come up with $15K in five years. Yeah, I can do this.
“Okay Lou, we got a deal.”
They shook on it.
“Here ya go, doll, enjoy,” said the overweight, fake-blonde and phony-friendly waitress. Her smacking-mouthed face wore a cheesy smile with winks. She bent over and picked up another ketchup-stain on her wrinkled outfit while plunking Owen’s greasy fare onto the table. “Getcha anything else, honey?”
Owen checked to make sure there was a bottle of hot sauce on the table. “Ah, no, looks like I got everything I need. This’ll be fine, thanks.”
“Name’s Jane, just holler if ya need me.”
“Okay, thanks.”
She turned and walked away. “No problem, sweetie.”
Owen looked up at Louis as if to ask, but Lou intercepted the unspoken with, “Go ‘head, eat up, Owen, I’m in no rush.” Owen hunkered down his junk. After he swallowed the last bite, he stood up, walked over to the cashier and paid the bill. Feeling about two-thirds the height of his strange benefactor, Owen accompanied him to the exit door.
Leaving the smells and sounds of the grease and nearly deceased behind them, they walked out into the petroleum-flavored atmosphere of a star-lit asphalt evening. Accompanied by the chorus of rattling diesel engines, they made their way over to Lou Seiffer’s big rig. Lou pulled out a satchel from behind the driver’s seat, extracted a fat envelope and counted out ten thousand dollars in one hundred dollar bills. He handed the stack of cash over to Owen. Owen felt something uncomfortable turn in his gut. He dismissed the warning signal, took the money and parked the bundle in the pocket of his jacket. He shook hands with and again thanked the man. As he turned to walk away, he felt another thump on his shoulder. He turned back to look up and face this bizarre Mr. Louis Seiffer. An augural feeling came over him as the man spoke.
“Owen, I’m not one who believes in written contracts. I believe a person’s word should be their honor. Strong as an oak tree. Call me old-fashioned, but I am also one who believes people should repay their debts. You agree?”
“Yes sir, yes I do,” Owen lied. He knew he had scarcely ever kept his word about anything his entire life.
“Good. Then we understand each other.” Lou handed Owen a slip of paper and said, “I travel a lot, so we won’t be seeing much of each other, if at all. Here’s an address you can send payments to if you wish. It’s all up to you. If not paid up in advance, I will expect to see you here exactly five years from this day and at this hour, with the balance still owed or the full payment. I am trusting you, a complete stranger. Make good on your commitment and there can be more where this came from. Renege and there will be Hell to pay. Are we clear?”
Owen at this point was filled with apprehension, but he wasn’t about to get all wimpy now. I’m not lettin’ go of this money. This is a gift too good to be true, the answer to all my troubles. He put his game face on and said, “Yes sir, and again thank you so much. I appreciate this. I won’t let you down.”
“I should certainly hope not, Owen Fiddler. Best of luck to you until we meet again.” The Brobdingnagian climbed into his cab and began to rumble out onto the highway.
It wasn’t so much the words. The way in which Lou Seiffer said them that caused the angst in Owen’s belly.
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Bio:Marvin D Wilson is a family man, married for thirty two years with three 
grown children and five grandchildren. He is a self-described “Maverick non-religious dogma-free spiritualist Zen Christian.” He resides in central Michigan and is a full time writer as well as a young adult mentor at his church, Shiloh’s Lighthouse Ministries, where he also is the CFO for the ministry and runs a free food pantry and free clothing distribution center.
Marvin likes to write fiction novels. He enjoys delivering spiritual messages in books that are humorous, oftentimes irreverent, always engaging and thought-provoking, sometimes sexy and even ribald, through the spinning of an entertaining tale.
Marvin likes to hear from his readers! Feel free to email him at:
marvwilson2010@gmail.comHis very popular blog, Free Spirit, is at:
http://inspiritandtruths.blogspot.com/Marvin’s Myspace is at:
http://www.myspace.com/Paize_FiddlerOwen Fiddler’s Myspace is at:
http://www.myspace.com/owenfiddlerThe official Owen Fiddler book website is:
http://www.owenfiddler.com/
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Eunice Best
