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  Davonshire House Publishing

  PO Box 9716

  Augusta, GA 30916

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s vivid imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely a coincidence.

  The Fool Speaks of Love, based on The Negro Speaks of Rivers, is printed and featured with the approval of Mark Peacock,

  © 2015 Olivia Gaines, Cheryl Aaron Corbin

  Copy Editor: Teresa Blackwell

  Cover: koou-graphics

  Olivia Gaines Make Up and Photograph by Latasla Gardner Photography

  ASIN:

  ISBN-13: 978-0692502327

  ISBN-10:0692502327

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means whatsoever. For information address, Davonshire House Publishing, PO Box 9716, Augusta, GA 30916.

  Printed in the United States of America

  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 10 9 8

  First Davonshire House Publishing June2015

  DEDICATION

  For Mark who reminded me of the importance of bringing the words to life with one single wildflower which will forever be pressed between my pages.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To all the fans, friends and supporters of the dream as well as the Facebook community of writers who keep me focused, inspired and moving forward.

  Write On!

  “Easy reading is damn hard writing.”

  - Nathaniel Hawthorne

  I recently had the pleasure of being a student again in a Harlem Renaissance Class where we focused a great deal on the works of Langston Hughes. One of our writing assignments was to create our own version of The Negro Speaks of Rivers. My fellow classmates did a fantastic job with this project, but one of the works spoke to me. Please allow me the honor of introducing you to this very talented young man. Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Mark Peacock.

  The Fool Speaks of Love

  By Mark Peacock

  [email protected]

  Contents

  Chapter 1. But Janie... I love you.

  Chapter 2. Welcome to Bartleby’s...

  Chapter 3. A New Chapter...

  Chapter 4. Character Sketching...

  Chapter 5. Plotting away ...

  Chapter 6. Creating a Dialogue...

  Chapter 7. Revising the Plot...

  Chapter 8. Ship, shape, and scratch that...

  Chapter 9. Throwing in some conflict...

  Chapter 10. Creating the Outline...

  Chapter 11. Adding More Character...

  Chapter 12. The Rising Action...

  Chapter 13. Laying Out the Setting...

  Chapter 14. Adding More Tension...

  Chapter 15. Evolving the Characters...

  Chapter 16. Bonding the Characters...

  Chapter 17. The Game Changer...

  Chapter 18. Breaking Down the Conflict...

  Chapter 19. Getting to that Climax...

  Chapter 20. The Falling Action...

  Chapter 21. The Denouement...

  Bonus Reads

  Bonus Chapters: The Cost to Play

  Chapter 1 -

  Chapter 2-

  -Chapter 3 -

  -Chapter 4-

  Bonus Chapters: Friends with Benefits

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  This is Janie and Ethan, two bookstore owners. Go ahead, turn the page so that we may begin their story.

  Chapter 1. But Janie... I love you.

  Jimmy Earl found a reason six days of the week to come into Janie’s bookstore. Most days, it was simply to sit and stare at the object of his affection. Other days, it was to ask out the entity of his desire, only to be gently let down then sent on his way. It did little good because every day, the silly man came back, his heart upon his sleeve and sad puppy dog eyes that lapped her up like a cool drink of water on a hot autumn evening. He was just one more nuisance on the bookshelf of her life. Jimmy Earl sat as a constant reminder of something else that often needed to be pulled down and dusted off because it was stuck on the back rack of her mind; her love life.

  Love was something Janie Cimoc had neither the time nor any use for; well, not in this life anyway. In this life, the small bookstore she owned supported her family. A rather large family headed by parents who spent too much time cultivating a lucrative plant they rarely sold but found it necessary to sample – daily. Her three brothers helped in and around the shop while her sister worked shifts on the cash register. The one good thing about working with her family, if anyone stole out the register, no one would eat. Every penny earned in the little bookshop either went to put a roof over their heads, food in their bellies, or clothes and shoes on the bodies that lived in the tin-roofed trailer the Cimoc’s called home. Janie didn’t live with her family; she lived in her bookstore.

  The Comic Book was her life. It was also the only place where the insanity of the Cimoc family did not threaten to overrun the small peace of mind she garnered from ownership of the shabby little shop that was given to her by the former owner, Cecil Habersham. Cecil was a gentle giant that spent more time preparing for ComicCon than he did running the business. At 16, Janie started working in the shop to make some money to pay for the things she needed for school. Soon, she found she was buying a couple
of chickens and a sack of potatoes to make sure there was some dinner in the Cimoc house. It bothered her far more than she cared to admit that at the age of 17, she knew more about foreclosure procedures than she should. Her quickly gained knowledge saved them from being tossed on the streets multiple times due to some unforeseen deficiency of monies her parents couldn’t seem to understand.

  Her parents, Edward and Alice Cimoc, were, well...hippies. The small plot of land on which the trailer they owned stood, grew many of the vegetables the family ate. The few egg laying chickens they possessed provided fresh eggs, but in a very hard year, a cold snap came through suddenly, and all the birds were frozen to death. This also lay the ground work for the shortage of funds that never seemed to re-accumulate. Each day was a struggle. Even more so for Janie.

  As the eldest of five, she often would forgo meals to make sure her brothers and sisters had enough to eat so their little brains could fully develop. Most days, Mr. Habersham understood her hunger and would bring an extra plate of food to the store. She ate well at least three days out of the week. The older she became, the more Mr. Habersham traveled. Six years ago, after leaving HeroesCon, he fell in love with a woman who role played as the Warrior Princess, complete with full costume. Cecil returned to his little shop, called his attorney, and signed everything over to Janie.

  Janie stood on the stoop of The Comic Book watching Cecil drive away with all of his costumes, gaming gear, and notepads boxed away in the back of his Dodge Ram on his way to Denver. As much as he had taught her in five years about the business, he still had not taught her bookkeeping. That part of the daily operations was a sore spot. It was still unclear how to balance the books, but somehow, Janie had managed to keep her head above water for six years.

  Her first year, she succeeded in obtaining a local graphic designer to teach a workshop at the store. It was such a success that the used book section that occupied way too much floor space was dismantled to make room for other special projects and classes in the shop. The bookshelves were moved and left a great deal of open space that now was well lit to reveal many years of dirt and grime and that weird smell which would not go away. Ironically, she always thought the smell was Mr. Habersham, but he had been gone six months, and the funk didn’t seem to dissipate. Janie and her brother Holden employed some elbow grease to clear away the dirty old tiles from the filth-ridden floor and added some air fresheners and plants to help filter the air. The sale of the old books brought in enough cash to buy some discounted tiles from the local home repair store. Holden, who was younger than Janie by two years, was a pretty handy type of guy and very good with his hands. He was also a very visual learner, so with the aid of a couple of online videos, he managed to lay the tile better than a professional. Holden also had a keen sense of observation and a bit of an affliction with OCD, which greatly helped. Janie loved how beautiful ideas could form when given the right motivation, and Holden was inspired to do more. Enlisting the help of their younger brother Jem, he set to work on repairing the rundown house the family called home.

  As her sister Meg got older, she too wanted to earn a few dollars and learn how to be more self-sufficient. Janie handed Meg a book on accounting and investing, and within a year, the business was in the black. A few more tables were added to the rear of the store for when the local Dungeons and Dragons groups met. The idea went over well. Johnny, the youngest brother, was big into anime. He suggested that on Saturday afternoons he and his friends could use the back tables to play Yu-gi-O. Janie had no idea what that was, but Meg suggested charging the kids $5 a piece to enter the gaming area to make a few extra bucks. Holden built in shelves to hold board games for Thursday night gaming. Johnny suggested Holden also build a tabletop for miniatures for gamers on Friday nights. Before her eyes, and with the assistance of some very detailed videos, Holden recreated Middle Earth on a six foot banquet table.

  Every Wednesday through Saturday evening, parents knew where to find their geeky young children. It was a safe environment for the kids to hang out, and the few bucks Janie charged was paid with pleasure by parents who often donated cookies or snacks for Friday and Saturday game play. The Mayor even came in one Saturday and donated $100 for prizes for tournament winners.

  Yes, Janie’s comic book store was loved by the community. So was Janie. She was especially loved by Jimmy Earl. He was still in the shop, sitting at the table, one hand above it, the other under it. She paid him no mind, but Holden did.

  He yelled at the odd little man, “Jimmy Earl, get your crap and get outta here right now. Go on! Git!”

  As he scuttled past Janie, Jimmy Earl tried to rub against her backside, but Holden was faster. “If I see you anywhere near my sister, I am going to put my fist in your face!”

  Jimmy Earl was highly upset. “Janie! How can you allow him to speak to me this way? Especially after everything we are to each other!”

  The responsive expression which covered her face answered Holden’s question. This man was nothing more than a perverted nuisance. “Jimmy Earl, don’t make me call the Sheriff!”

  “You can call anybody you like, Holden Cimoc, but that is not going to change my feelings. Janie,” he said. “I love you. I ain’t afraid to confess my yearning for you. Your golden hair. Those sweet lips...your perky bosom...you are my...”

  He never got to finish the sentence. Holden pushed him out of the shop and locked the door. “Janie, if that creep comes back in here, I am going to beat his ass, then call the cops. Stop allowing him through the door. He may get up his courage when none of us are around and try something.”

  Janie only smiled as she patted her brother on the back. “Well, if that is the case, I am safe. You guys are always around.”

  That was also part of the problem. She had no romantic life because her family was always in the middle of everything. Each time a guy tried to spend some time and get close, either a brother or a sister would poke their heads into the conversation. “Things will only change when you make a change, Janie girl,” her mom would always tell her.

  Right now, she was going to change a pillowcase and stick her face in it. “Thanks, Holden,” she told her brother as she locked the door behind him. She switched off the lights and made a slow climb up the stairs to the apartment over the shop. It wasn’t much, but with some handiwork from Jem and Holden, it was far better than she could have hoped.

  Dinner tonight was leftover spaghetti that Meg had brought her from home, along with a side salad. It was food, nothing fancy, but to her it was a feast.

  “For this meal, I give thanks,” she said. It was a ritual she never allowed to pass. In her mind, nothing scars a child worse than hunger. Janie had spent many a night going to bed hungry. Each meal she ate was a blessing. More blessings were about to come her way as well, in means and manners it would take her a lifetime to comprehend.

  Chapter 2. Welcome to Bartleby’s...

  Ethan Strom entered the bookstore through the back door; the same way he did each morning. The leather crossbody bag slung across his mid-section was the first thing he dropped on the counter as he washed his hands and prepared the first pot of coffee. It was the last Monday of the month. Tonight was the meeting of the romance book club.

  Tomorrow, it was the young adult book club meeting. This was followed on Wednesday with the non-fiction book club, the Thursday thriller readers, and the Friday mainstream fiction clubs. The monthly book clubs at Bartleby’s were a joy to host as well as a serious revenue generator. Ethan knew how many members were in each book club, which made ordering inventory a breeze. He only needed to stay two months ahead of the readers, which kept him three months ahead of the bankers. His bookstore was a gem in the mid-sized college town of Venture, Georgia.

  Henry Strom, his father, moved to Venture when he and his sister were only kids. His sister Tallulah was only older by three years and now one of the town’s two pediatricians. Like most things in Venture, there were two of everything, one white and the other not whi
te. It didn’t bother Ethan much; he really loved Venture. So did Henry.

  The initial job offered to the Reverend Doctor Strom was to take over a small ministry at the Greater Mount Zion Baptist Church. Initially, Henry was told the congregation was topping out at nearly 100 parishioners. Well, that was the number on the roster for the church members; the number of bodies in the pews was actually ten. Three of them, Pastor Strom was certain, showed up to have a new place to nap. It wouldn’t have been so insulting if those three members of the congregation didn’t snore. Yet, the reverend took it in stride.

  “Son, with perseverance, determination, and a plan, a vision can come to life,” he told Ethan.

  Ethan used these same words to open Bartleby’s after he graduated college. At 24 years old, he was a small business owner. If fate had been kind, he would have preferred to attend graduate school and become a librarian; instead, he fell in love with his bookstore and began developing his vision. The shelves were stocked with the works of famous writers, but he had a story in his head that would not go away. During quiet moments in the bookstore, he took time to ponder over words that eventually formed into a paragraph. The paragraphs became chapters, and slowly a rough draft of a novel was born. The only problem with the story was that Ethan hated it.

  The novel was pretty much symbolic of his life and the bookstore: shiny and everything perfectly aligned for the public. The reality, which slapped him across the head twice a day, was the sameness that threatened to consume his sanity. The novel was flat and lacking any standout characterization. Also, like his life. The truth, like a classic novel, was filled with foils, too much structure, and choked by the mundane. Ethan Strom knew his life was strangling him with mundanity.

  His vision for the bookstore was to have something out of the norm. For the most part, he had succeeded. His store was the only shop in town that served Artesian coffees rarely found in a town this far south or of this size. Gourmet coffees like Palheta’s Bouquet or Sumatran Gayo were rotated in the shop and the locals loved it. They also loved Ethan. He had a quiet confidence that was never imposing or impeding. He treated everyone the same, whether he liked them or not.