Thanks for the comments. There is a story here, but it is still in development. I have posted some snippets on here to see the level of interest. I know it needs work and not much has happened, but hope that some day something will happen to these folks and to good old Stanley.
Young Adult / Julian (Version Two)
Julian
Julian wasn’t his real name. His parents called him Stanley, and he was not unlike any other Stanley. In fact, the name Stanley fit him like the tailored Italian suit he longed to don in his publicity stills. For now he had to settle for a pair of dark brown corduroy pants that nearly caught fire when his pudgy legs rubbed together, and a striped polyester shirt that was a hand-down, from his sister no less.
He wasn’t fat by any means. He might be called “portly” perhaps, or even “chunky”, neither of which were flattering, but they didn’t carry the weight of the word “fat”. His Aunt Lois called him “husky”, which he tolerated when she came around, primarily because Aunt Lois was the same aunt that gave him $5.00 for every “A” he got on his report card. Stanley didn’t get many “A’s”. I guess you could say the price of tolerance was cheap.
Even though he didn’t do all too well in school, I always considered him a smart kid. He certainly was quick-witted, which was probably better than smart in our town. Nobody was quite sure what “smart” got you here, and the teachers weren’t exactly peddling “smart” either. As far as I could tell, “smart” was the difference between pumping gas, and working the register. The smart guys worked the register and the dumb asses pumped gas. Call it our own little version of the caste system.
I remember the last time Richie called Stanley “fat”. Richie approached Stanley, and in his typically smug and vicious manner asked, “Still think those songs you write are going to get you laid fat boy?” Richie wasn’t big or even particularly tough; he was just a garden variety asshole, if you will. Accordingly, if it was his nature, Stanley probably could have given Richie the ass kicking he deserved. Instead, Stanley told Richie in no uncertain terms, “At least I am not ugly. You can fix fat, but you can’t fix ugly.” To be honest, Stanley was right, and I think even Richie knew it. Richie was ugly, and to this day, I am still convinced that that may explain why he was such an asshole.
In any event, I chose to indulge Stanley, and thus I too called him Julian. The funny thing is that copping the name Julian displayed a true lack of creativity in my mind. I guess it was Stanley-esque to choose the name Julian, and the whole point of dropping the name Stanley is to get the “Stanley” out of your system, or at least that is what I thought. One thing is for sure, it betrayed the wit I had seen Stanley display so many times before, or did it? I guess it was sleek, and it did not sound like a particularly “fat” name. How many “fat” Julians do you know?
Maybe it was Stanley who was onto something, and maybe the rest of us should have been pumping his gas.
======
It is safe to say that Stanley was the only “Julian” in the small town where we lived in Indiana. The truth is that parents in Century Pointe (pop. 1847) just didn’t name their children “Julian”. They named their children Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, and yes, they even named their children Stanley after the biblical names had been sufficiently robbed of their spiritual significance. However, there sure as hell weren’t any boys named Julian, and that is the way Stanley liked it.
The real Julian sang for a band named the Strokes. He had a fancy last name too, or at least I thought so. Casablancas sounded fancy to me. In fact it was so fancy that Stanley decided not to adopt it as his surname. However, Stanley had to do something, because Julian Wellman was not any more saleable than his real name, Stanley Wellman, or so Stanley thought, and I guess I had to agree with him.
Century Pointe’s Julian did not sing at all, but that didn’t slow him down at all. He carried a tattered old spiral notebook around with him at all times with the words “Song Book” scribbled on the bright red cover in black permanent ink. If you caught a glimpse of Stanley’s notebook, you couldn’t help but see the words “Song Book” scribbled thereon, and that is the way Stanley wanted it to be.
I am certain that Stanley had read somewhere that a true budding lyrical genius had his songbook with him at all times. One could never be certain when inspiration would strike and in Century Pointe, inspiration was all around us. Who wouldn’t want to hear songs about life in Century Pointe, where kids turn to drugs out of boredom rather than curiosity?
Luckily, the drug of choice seemed to be weed, and not the medicinal kind, as if it differs in any way from the kind you could buy in the alley behind the school. In any event, the vibe was mellow, and other than folks like Ritchie, there wasn’t much bullying about town. However, I guess you get my point about pumping gas. Besides working at the movie theater, there weren’t many other jobs that were quite so perfectly suited for the potheads of Century Pointe.
Stanley did not write songs about drugs. I am not sure he used them. He never struck me as bored, and well, he did not seem curious either. Furthermore, Stanley read somewhere that one should only write about what they know. I guess that is why I am writing about Stanley.
I am not sure that many folks knew just what it was that Stanley wrote about. He carried his songbook around like an extra appendage, and as far as I knew, no one had caught a glimpse of its contents. I guess that it never hurt to shroud yourself in a bit of mystery, especially in a town like Century Pointe, where each of its 1847 inhabitants seemed to know everyone else’s business.
Thus, everyone knew that Jenny Taylor was scheduled to have here third abortion in the span of just two years. Likewise, everyone knew that her mother fancied married men. I guess Jenny learned the trait promiscuity from her mother. They say the fruit never falls far from the tree.
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FrakKevin reviewed Version 2 -
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gymchik104 reviewed Version 2 -
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”...and a striped polyester shirt that was a hand-down, from his sister no less.”
Maybe think about rephrasing? This is a good story. You spent most of this piece telling background on his name and it was interesting and i read it. This piece was slightly poetic and witty. I would like to read more.
Happy writing!
JD
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Mario007 reviewed Version 2 -
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lyfe255754 reviewed Version 2 -
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JEDoherty reviewed Version 2 -
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chicklitrules reviewed Version 2 -
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THis is a rather poignant tale; in most classes of every school in the world you will find a misfit, and Stanley/Julian seemed to be just that. I loved your descriptions and I have no problem picturing your main character, it seemed to flow really well.
rsaioxkreual reviewed Version 2 -
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catclaws reviewed Version 2 -
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Lunsford reviewed Version 2 -
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Your writing is excellent, but the story was a bit lacking. A heavy-set boy named Stanely who’d rather be called Julian, who carried a songbook. There was a mention of the town and weed, but unless I just missed it, that was it. I will say that your writing flows better than most of the writing I have seen, including my own. I am as serious as I can be. You have a lot of talent. Get a good story and I have no doubt you’ll get published. I’m an excelent story-teller, but I’m not a good writer.
unusualgirl0 reviewed Version 2 -
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This is very good writing. However, I found this wasn’t a story, more of a well done (if I bit rambling) essay. It’s backstory. Also, the narrator seems chill and relaxed, so saying “Stanley did not write songs about drugs. I am not sure he used” instead of using contractions seems odd. This is well written, but plotless and actionless. More like the backstory you write about a character before you actually write. Keep writing, though, you’re very talented!
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Version 2
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