The Adventures of Bob Juan Casanova

(For those of you who have been awesome enough to have been reading this 4 part blog all month, the end is here. For those new here, please reads the first three parts of the story before reading any further on this installment. If you like what you've read, please leave comments and share with your friends. Thanks.) I arrived back at my San Francisco home around 1 PM and immediately went to work.  I opened the attaché case and pulled out the hefty thousand some page manuscript from within.  The title page alone took me by surprise:                 The Greatest Adventure                 by Anderson Peter Hart                 I put the title page aside and was again surprised to read the dedication on the next page:     ...

(If you missed parts 1 and 2, read them first and then enjoy this installment.) It was a nearly two hour car ride from San Francisco to the Grande-Hart Estate, which was located in a remote area of the Napa Valley; surrounded by miles of open space and vineyards for as far as the eye could see.  I paid close attention through the entire trip, in case this was some kidnapping scheme and I had to escape and find my way back home.  My skeptical fears about this whole thing rode with me all the way from San Fran, but as the limousine drove past the open iron-gates and up a long stone driveway toward the main entrance, I found a new feeling, one of sudden but undeniable familiarity and comfort, overcome me.                 It was as though I had been there before.                 The fact that Hart—my actual last name—was next to...

(What follows is part 2 of a short story I'm sharing piece meal in this blog. If you missed part 1, you can easily find it here on my blog and get caught up. Enjoy.)                 It was 6 A.M. the morning after my not so successful, but highly memorable book reading, when I next looked closely at the brown attaché case and the strange business card again.  I had placed them both on the coffee table, and then promptly forgot about them all night.  Most of my thoughts had been about Helen, and the unavoidable next time I’d have to talk to her again about getting my stuff back from her apartment.  It was not a phone call I was looking forward to.  I knew for damn sure that she’d want me to apologize to her profusely before she’d even listen to me, and not just for standing her up for lunch either, but for each and every other offense I’d ever caused her; real or imagined.  She might even try to guilt me into gettin...

In four installments, I'm going to share a short story I wrote a couple years ago for a friend of mine. I tried to get it published, but it was rejected by every writing contest and fiction magazine I submitted it to. Even still, I like it very much, and I hope you'll like it too. Enjoy.... Eliza Grand Part 1: “…and now our peoples shall know peace,” I read from my novel in a slightly higher register; trying to sound something like the character—a female Gnome named Glendora—might sound.  “The War of the Dragon Gods is over.  We can all return home to our families and rebuild our shattered homes.”                 I continued reading, now with the deep baritone of Percy the Wizard.  “Indeed we can Glendora, but for how long will peace last in our magical, yet diverse world that has seen war and crisis far too often in my long lifetimes?”          ...