What I'd Say To Buddha If I Met Him In The Pub, Short Story Anthology Volume One

By Frank Talaber

Short Story Anthology Volume One:
What I'd Say To Buddha If I Met Him In The Pub

Enter the literary world of Frank Talaber, Canada's Foremost Off-Beat Author
A natural storyteller, whose compelling thoughts are freed from the depths of the heart and the subconscious before being poured onto the page.
Literature written beyond the realms of genre he is known to grab readers; kicking, screaming, laughing or crying, and drag them into his novels.

Reviews From My Novels
The Joining, Book One: The Ainsworth Chronicles
I hate you! My wife, who is off on medical leave, won't get out of the bathroom. Can't put your book down. LOL. Bruce W.
Stillwaters Runs Deep Series Book One: Raven's Lament
It may only be a book to some, but to me it is a beautiful piece of artistry that I have the privilege of enjoying. Greta Olsson
Stillwaters Runs Deep Series Book One: Raven's Lament
"After being stranded twenty kilometers from the nearest road at the tip of Rose Spit, Haida Gwaii, and having to push Frank's spanking new SUV a few kilometers along the beach before the tide came in and we ran out of booze, my first reaction on being asked to write a back cover blurb was, "over my dead body." Some people will do anything to get an endorsement."
Susan Musgrave/Cargo of Orchids/Given
Stillwaters Runs Deep Series Book Two: The Lure
Damn Frank -- this writing is as tactile as a 1955 T-Bird. Very nice descriptions, good dialogue, a thinking man's book but one that can be read entirely for pleasure. Good work.
Michael Arkin, Judicial Indiscretion

• Language: English
• Publisher: Frank Talaber
• Release date: Jan 31, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005108298

Frank Talaber

Author Biography –A natural storyteller, whose compelling thoughts are freed from the depths of the heart and the subconscious before being poured onto the page.Literature written beyond the realms of genre he is known to grab readers; kicking, screaming, laughing or crying and drag them into his novels.Or as he has often said: Write like your soul is on fire and the pencil is your voice screaming.You don’t have to be mad to be a writer, but it sure helps.Writer by Soul.Canada's Foremost Offbeat AuthorEnter the literary worlds of Frank Talaber.My newest Author interview: https://youtu.be/OM3yVBThhYoMy Newest Reviews:Ainsworth Chronicles, Book Two: The Mystery Of Ms. TeakI hate you, I can't put this book down. Every page gets more interesting, suspicious, wondering what is going to happen next. I sit down to only read one more chapter but end up having to read two more, because I need to know what happened in the past. Each chapter keeps you wanting more and now I hate it even more since I can’t get to it before Long weekend coming up. I just read the last six chapters, clinging to every word, every sentence thinking I know what is going to happen next. Oh no, you take me in a completely different direction. Great book.Sandy StrebeStillwaters Runs Deep, Book Two: The LureA spooky beginning drew me in, making me feel part of a scary, 3:00 am crime scene. It turns even more surreal when Charlie, an Indian shaman, appears out of the fog like a bad hallucination. I am of the Seneca-Cayuga and Cherokee tribes, and I'm intrigued by the use of the beliefs and legends of the Canadian tribes to carry forward the characters' actions. The plot has many timelines: Carol, the head detective, has to solve several murder cases: with many twists and turns. There's Shamans, Animal Spirits, and "The Lure" thrown in for good measure. No wonder, Carol wanted to resign! I laughed out loud when Charlie admonished his fellow shamans with a knock-knock joke since it was so unexpected. Yes, this novel is a roller-coaster ride, with the Author cleverly hinting along the way, ending with a roller coaster ride! Read this book. It is different. It's as if Elmore Leonard has risen as a shaman, to guide others to write about Indian lore. This one's a keeper.Nancy BridgemanThe Joining, by Frank Talaber, is a captivating read, set in surroundings that all who have visited Victoria, B.C. Canada can identify with. My visits there will never be the same as my imagination revisits the colorful characters and settings/places portrayed so vividly within this book. A great read!GailStrong of fibre with an elegantly polished finish. Introducing Ms. Teak, the mysterious octogenarian with the double entendre stage name. Discover her hidden past and her penchant for present day danger in this latest chapter chronicling the adventures of Detective Carol Ainsworth. Together they confront Lekwungen, Woden and the Russian Mafia with a little help from a winged protector who "Flies with Butterflies".Fasten your seatbelt as Frank Talaber takes you on a multi-dimensional trek through time where history comes alive to reveal buried secrets and tortured souls. From the stately tea salons of old Victoria to the haunting desolation of British Columbia's rugged West coast waters, The Mystery of Ms. Teak will both entertain and invite you to confront the demons that live within us all.Michael deJongDo not read this book! Seriously, do not read this book - unless you are prepared to deal with a rift on your personal timeline. You will find that this book causes you to postpone activities that you would otherwise be doing.You will be transported into a world of history and mystery, crime and grime, Spirits and other worldly time travel, with the delectable Detective Carol Ainsworth.An amazing tale, which I thoroughly enjoyed.Paddy KopieczekI hate You! My wife who is off on medical leave, won't get out of the bathroom. Can't put your book down. LOL. Bruce W.Just when I was beginning to wonder where the next great Canadian story teller would emerge from, Frank Talaber has written a modern crime mystery with a twist. In “Thunderbird’s Wake” Talaber weaves the richness of Canada’s west coast aboriginal spirituality into the science of modern forensics. CSI comes to Haida Gwaii as the shaman and the detective conduct an investigation that will take them and the reader on a journey to a place where murder, redemption and ancient mysticism intersect.Michael G de Jong, QCMinister of Finance, Government House Leader,Province of British Columbia

Book preview

Frank_Talaber_ebook.jpg

Photo By SueB Photography

Digital ISBNs

EPUB: 978-1-7775269-1-7

Print ISBN: 978-1-7770928-7-0

Amazon Print ISBN

Copyright 2021 by Frank Talaber

Cover art by: Miblart

All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

Frank Talaber, Writer by Soul.

A natural storyteller, whose compelling thoughts are freed from the depths of the heart and the subconscious before being poured onto the page.

Literature written beyond the realms of genre he is known to grab readers; kicking, screaming, laughing or crying and drag them into his novels.

Enter the literary world of Frank Talaber.

Foreword

For those of you who are new to my books, welcome! What kept you? No, seriously, thank you for buying, or obtaining somehow, my latest muse’ collection of stories. I hope you enjoy meeting these characters as much as I did creating them. If you are not familiar with any of my other novels, check out the afterward. But for now, let’s get this new party started, shall we?

Dedication

To the one true muse in my life, my gypsy-heart mother, Judy. Bless her free-spirited, madly funny and different way of looking at life. She raised seven kids between nickels, hugs, discipline and lots of love, on her own. I was blessed to be one of the souls she accepted to look after and love on this earth.

I will always remember her telling me that, after her first child (my elder sister) died of pneumonia, and then at the same age I got pneumonia too, she got on her knees and prayed to God let him live and if he does, give me as many children as You want.

Later she said, In hindsight, I should have gave him a number.

Table of Contents

Foreword

Pack Light – And Don’t Feed The Aliens

One of my earliest stories, created 1990. Will give you a sense of my bizarre humor.

Unfulfilled Yearnings

Published in Into the Labyrinth: a worship of writers 1995

Rabid Weasels Are Eating My Sneakers

April 2012 (Original Title) The Majestic Crane, Third place in The Times and Golden Ears Writers’ Group Contest

Retitled: Rabid Weasels Are Eating My Sneakers, Ariel Chart Journal/ Dec 2018

Azrael’s Whispers

Original title: Doors Were Closing, Cyclamen and Swords.com July 2012

Short-Listed London Magazine Dec 2013

Red Toque’s Canadian Tales of The Heart, third place, 2015

Top Ten, When Words Collide, Short Story contest, Aug, 2019

A Lion Prowls Tonight

Cinnamon Hearts by the Vedder

Sylvia’s Sun-catchers

Published as A SunCatcher’s Tears, in Rejected Manuscripts, September 14th, 2020.

Ozzy’s Lottery

A Guitar Cries Into The Night

March 2009, The New Writer Short Story Contest, Commendation, Finished in top 20 out of 600 entries.

Published in The New Writer magazine Sept/Oct 2009 Issue #98, Editor: Suzanne Ruthven, Office: Box 60, Cranbrook, ISSN# 1363-1667

Oct 2010, In final 250 of 1400 entries. New Millenium Writings.

Nov 2010, published in New Writer Magazine, England

The Fires of Leigh Tor

Embroidered Ghosts

March 2008, Global Short Story Contest, letter of merit

Sept 2008, Mere Literary Festival, runner-up, letter of merit

Cellulose Musings

This short story is mentioned in many of my talks, as it is pretty well how I learned the creative writing process.

Kentucky Blue Mountain Chickens

Kelsey’s Bar and Grill: Purveyors Of Fine Spirits

(This short story I blended with another short story to form the basis for my novel, The Lure. Book Two in the Stillwaters Runs Deep Series)

Ponce de Leon Was Such A Bloody Idiot

Sept 2012, short listed Global short stories

Published in Massacre Magazine Issue Two March 2014

Teasers:

Stillwaters Runs Deep Series, Book One:

Raven’s Lament

My third published novel, by BWL Publishing, 2015, now independently published.

Dec 2002, New Zealand Writers contest, opening page to novel, under title, Haida Windsong, runner-up

January 2000, under title, Haida Windsong, Chapters Novel Contest, semi-finals 48/50points

2006, Under title, Windsong, First Runner-up in Booklands Literary Aid Contest

Stillwaters Runs Deep Series, Book Two:

The Lure

Oct 2011, under title, Shaman’s Lure, in top ten finalists

Jan 2012, under Title, Shaman’s Lure, in Third place in Brighid’s Books Contest

Published by MuseItUp Publishing,2015, under the title, Shaman’s Lure, then published by BWL Publishing, 2017 under the title, Vancouver’s Spirits, now independently published.

Afterword

Frank’s Bio

Foreword

‘Canada’s Foremost Offbeat Author’. My moniker, my branding. It just seems to fit, as most my stories are indeed offbeat, with twisty endings. You never know where I might take you.

Whilst most writers will just strive to write that novel, the one that is apparently in all of us, I interrupted my novel-writing self to switch to short stories (sometimes). Many were either contest winners, or at least short-listed, or published. Some were written to enter unique, challenging contests; yes, I do enjoy having my muse challenged.

Some of my earlier works wax rather lyrically with romantic tastes. The romance genres appealed to me, only to realize that woman rarely read romance written by males.

That hit home when I went to my first romance convention in Calgary. I arrived late, and the main speaker had already started. I ran up to the check-in desk, out of breath and sweating a bit, and gave my name. The one girl looked down the list of over two hundred authors and the other nudged her. He’s the other guy registered. True story.

Some wonder why I have written a (so far) three volume urban fantasy series based on a Haida Shaman and oral legends of the BC First Nations. It was the voices. In the Victoria Provincial Museum. Quietly contemplating the many totems in the dark, quiet room, some from Haida Gwaii, I swore they were talking to me. I’m not crazy (honest) and I’ve never heard them before or since, so for those of medical minds don’t call the doctors. Not yet, anyway!

The cutting down of the Golden Spruce in 1997 awoke one of those voices. A white man, ironically in protest of logging, cuts down a rare tree. A tree venerated by the Haida people. My pencil began to fill pages with words and later ‘Raven’s Lament’ was born.

Tom Patterson, a First Nations person of high artistic ability, told me they were a very oral culture and still look for those with the muse to hear them and tell their story. Perhaps that was the message coming from the totems? Who knows?

A fair few of my short stories morphed into novels. I originally entered a writing contest by the Vancouver Sun, where you had to write a new chapter every week based on the one published by another author the week before. I loved that challenge. Starting with their first chapter, writers wrote their version of the second. One was chosen, and then you wrote the third to follow the second. If you get my drift. (Keep up at the back, there!). I got an award for entering every week of the contest and a couple of times was the runner up. I wrote a scene based on the opening where a detective was on stake out in Stanley Park, in Vancouver. I wrote the appearance of a crazy shaman into that scene where he knows what has happened and vanishes leaving our female detective Carol Ainsworth wondering what just happened only he left clues as to the fact he knew what he was talking about. This scene morphed into a short story, ‘A Guitar Cries In The Night’ that has been published several times and it along with another short story, ‘Kelsey’s Bar and Grill’ became the basis for ‘The Lure: Book Two in the Stillwaters Runs Deep Series’. It is still my favorite novel I’ve written blending the mythos of Pauline Johnson, an evil transformer succubus witch, The Lure, which is based on First Nations legend of a witch transformed into a rock in Stanley Park. Along with the idea, based on modern urban mythology that you go out drinking, not remember a thing, but your friends say you did some crazy stuff. This happens in a pub beside Stanley Park, where spirits hang out and take over your body until you sober up. Think about that for a moment. What if one of those was a Hell’s Angels type of spirit that has come back for revenge against the club that murdered him and his family? I’ve included the first chapter of both novels as teasers. You wonder why? Didn’t I mention I’m a little offbeat?

So on with the stories.

Pack Light –

And Don’t Feed The Aliens

My shadow, projected from a lamp beside me, fills the far wall, and me with unease. What is happening to me?

It is late and I am alone as for the last hour a weird procession of uncontrolled, jumbled memories flood my mind.

My chubby cheeks flood with remembrance of Jim Turner’s betrayal. Stealing my girlfriend; hands grip the chair in rage. Teeth grind until my jaws ache. Sally, my first love. I wanted to kill the bastard at the time. The memory fades, funny now, I can’t even remember her last name.

Except for a brief jab of pain in my head I don’t recall anything unusual happening to me.

Images of a jungle paradise, Hawaii, spring to life. Exotic fragrances of Lei flowers, mixing with humid air flood the senses as my wife Gail and I step off the airplane. That night, as surf crashed gently in the moonlight, we made love on the beach. My back tinges in rawness, her mounting me on the sand. Eternal memories of us holding each other after gazing into each other’s eyes and the stars blinking back in embarrassment at our lewdness.

Flickering of the TV draws me back. My head throbs as the scent of oily hot-buttered popcorn fills the air.

Something is dreadfully wrong. Memories, my first Saturday matinee, sitting on the cold gymnasium floor watching Tarzan dangling from a vine on the large screen. The giddiness, the awe of seeing a world unknown the…

A subtle shift. I felt something just then move.

Left leg kicks out, my head swings to the right and eyes begin to blink spasmodically. What the hell is going on, a seizure. Was I going mental? My legs begin to do the French Jig I learned in high school.

I’ve heard people’s lives flash before their eyes in moments before death, but they certainly didn’t do the jig.

Words spew out of my mouth, not of my own violation.

See. See Jane. See Tom and Jane play. See Tom use condoms for water balloons. See Jane pregnant.

What was happening? The weird realization, was it possible something was in my head? But what?

I tried to holler, stop it, but had no access to my vocal cords. Something was blocking me from using my voice. I decided the only thing to do is to relax and let go as arms twitched and words, sentences, in no coherent sense, sprang free. It was as if something was trying to learn my vocabulary.

Suddenly the rapid fire succession of phrases ended and from inside my head a voice spoke.

Good evening, human called Joe Dancing.

What the…

Please be not afraid, harm none I mean.

What I hadn’t expected was an alien presence stuck inside my head, one that hadn’t caught all of my vocabulary nuances, sounding like a poor man’s Yoda.

Many cautioned me to stay away from this sector of the quadrant.

What is this, some kind of bizarre stunt? I don’t understand. You mean others, as in races, know of Earth? I was conversing with an alien thingamajig in my head while the last news played on TV. If I was watching something stranger, like The Late, Late show with James Corden, I could understand.

Don’t ask me why, perhaps because I wasn’t about to die or have a Grand Mal Seizure and have to live the rest of my life strapped into a wheelchair, but this began to seem suddenly utterly ridiculous.

I cringed, hoping it wasn’t about to say something insipid like, ET phone home.

Ah, begin to understand your lingo. They say bad-ass construction blocked my usual holiday route. Real sicko pervs live on this world. Nice place you have here, human called Joe Dancing. I like the wallpaper, could use more plants to detox the air though. If this world quarantined, do they mean your kind, human called Joe Dancing.

My kind? How the hell do I know? I’m just a salesman for Trans-Advertising. We do bus ads, billboards and I’m having a conversation with an alien in my head. Who’s the weird one here? Shouldn’t you be talking to the big-wigs? The Prime Minister, the Pope or the commissioner of Hockey? Oh, and can the human called crap, it’s just Joe.

Status unknown of these bigwigs as you call them, It’s-Just-Joe. I meant to detour to see the Hemo-globes of Antares. Great place, rotten food I’m told. Excitement I crave, so somehow I ended up here. Rest I, later we speak. Learning your complex language has tired me.

Just like that it was asleep, or, hopefully gone. I had an alien sleeping in my head. Christ, I knew eating kiwi flambé with shrimp salad was a bad idea. Alien indeed! Hadn’t I read recently in National Enquirer that certain foods mixed in the right combinations can produce hallucinogenic effects?

Weak from my earlier contortions I got up and waddled over to the fridge. I patted my stomach. Gail would occasionally harass me to do jogging or aerobics.

Damn, just the thought of working out made me hungry. After all, she did say she liked me overweight, cherubic-looking. Which was good since I’d long ago told her I’d never have muscles tighter than hemorrhoids on a weasel’s ass.

Stoned on kiwi and shrimp, I wonder what National Enquirer would pay to… nah, better to keep this to myself. Might need a little pick-me-up some day.

Back in the office the next day, after a big meeting with one of our top clients. The alien had popped into the client’s head and found out what he wanted most from our services.

Candace, my secretary came in behind me, looking tired. How’d the meeting go?

It went fantastically. You okay? You look rather pale, I asked as my alien friend popped out of my head into hers and back again. As I found out earlier, they had the ability to dive into heads, back and forth. Some kind of perverse thrill they got when dealing with other species.

I was up late with a sick relative.

She spent the night with her boyfriend, it told me. Do all humans require the use of thin leather straps and battery operated devices when copulating?

Candace? I’d never have thought.

As she bent over to retrieve her shoes I noticed the tight confines of her dress slide up over her hips and what looked like slight bruising; whip marks? God, if only that was me. Crap I hope he hadn’t read my mind just then.

Candace turned around, let her writing pad fall, and began to unbutton her blouse.

Ah lady! This really isn’t the place for this sort of thing.

I can’t stop myself, Joe. It’s as if I’m possessed. She continued to unbutton the blouse. Yup, he’d read my mind alright and I knew he liked to cause trouble. I did the only thing I could think of and left the room as her black lace bra