We've All Got Issues
Cover of new work of fiction by Thomas Dresser
We've All Got Issues is now available through Amazon.com
Published February, 2021
Only $14.95.
The marriage between Jack and Margo was on a downward spiral. Within the first few pages, Jack loses his job and Margo takes up with a young stud and their world spins out of control. A cast of awe-uninspiring characters parade through their lives, bouncing off one another like bumper cars at an amusement park.
This rollicking tale maintains a fast pace throughout, with sharp turns at every juncture. You will have to hold onto your hat at the unusual situations which befall the stars of this befuddled family.
http://www.booksamillion.com/p/Weve-All-Got-Issues/Thomas-Dresser/9781631110337
Order your copy today. Only $14.95 plus tax and shipping from Amazon. You'll be amused and amazed by this humorous take on the pitfalls and pratfalls of modern life.
This book is now available on-line through Amazon. Order your copy today.
Published February, 2021
Only $14.95.
The marriage between Jack and Margo was on a downward spiral. Within the first few pages, Jack loses his job and Margo takes up with a young stud and their world spins out of control. A cast of awe-uninspiring characters parade through their lives, bouncing off one another like bumper cars at an amusement park.
This rollicking tale maintains a fast pace throughout, with sharp turns at every juncture. You will have to hold onto your hat at the unusual situations which befall the stars of this befuddled family.
http://www.booksamillion.com/p/Weve-All-Got-Issues/Thomas-Dresser/9781631110337
Order your copy today. Only $14.95 plus tax and shipping from Amazon. You'll be amused and amazed by this humorous take on the pitfalls and pratfalls of modern life.
This book is now available on-line through Amazon. Order your copy today.
For a preview of the book, check out chapter one:
We’ve All Got Issues
Chapter One
Reggie’s wasn’t usually this busy. Both clerks were tied up with a line of customers. Margo headed to the back of the store, reached to the top shelf for her Dominican Rum, then walked to the longer line with the younger clerk, whose blond hair spilled across his forehead.
His smile widened as he caught sight of her. The line inched along. His muscles strained against his faded purple Reggie’s t-shirt. Slowly, the customers moved forward. Margo smiled as she reached the counter. His manner was quick as he rang in the order, bagged her bottle, and smiled at her. She put the bills in his hand and felt a thrill run up her arm.
“Unbelievable,” he said. “I was just thinking about you.”
“Feeling’s mutual.” Margo smiled. “That, and I needed more rum.”
Their fingers touched lightly as he handed her change. “Can you come over tonight?” she whispered.
The man behind Margo coughed. She ignored him, and kept her eye on the clerk’s friendly face.
“I’d love to.”
She felt herself blush, as she turned from the counter, bag in hand. Casually, she fluffed her auburn hair as she glanced back, smiled, gave a little wave, then headed for the door. She walked across the parking lot and opened the car door, tucked the brown bag beside the seat and slipped behind the wheel, the smile still on her lips. She glanced back at Reggie’s, started the car and eased out of her parking space. Cars poured along Route 28. The drivers wore expressions of annoyance or boredom. Finally there was a break. Margo stepped on the gas and cut into the line of cars.
“Mother, watch it.” Carly’s magazine slid off her lap.
Margo swerved back into her lane. “I had to go or I’d be here all day.”
“Patience, Mom.”
“Whatever.” The traffic slowed, then sped up. Margo glanced across at the passenger seat. “I’m thinking about going away.” “Away? Like a weekend up in Boston when you shop till you drop?”
“Just away,” said Margo. “I have to be by myself.”
“You’re always by yourself.”
“This time it’s different,” said Margo.
“Are you planning to run off with that hunk in the liquor store?”
Margo’s cheeks warmed. “That’s none of your business.”
The Indian summer afternoon was warm. Traffic was stop and go out of town. The Neon’s air conditioner was broken.
Margo wiped her brow. “Something’s going on with your father.” She slowed to let a compact car go by, then fell in behind. “Like what, he’s got a gall bladder problem or something?” Carly studied a pair of sunglasses, a stylish bling in her copy of Seventeen.
“He had a heart murmur years ago. Maybe it flared up.”
“You never told me he had anything like that.”
They slowed for a traffic light by Walmart. Waves of heat rose from the pavement. “Your father keeps his problems to himself. That’s part of the problem.”
“What’s the other part?”
“He never listens to me. You know, a woman has issues.” When the light changed, Margo started with a jerk.
“Calm down, Mom. What do you expect? He’s a guy. He can’t read your mind.”
The breeze from the open windows ruffled Margo’s shoulder-length light brown hair. She drove with one hand on the wheel and glanced over at Carly from time to time. They passed a strip mall, with a laundromat and barber shop, then single-family homes predominated. As they rode out of the town, the road wound by farmer’s fields and wooded lots.
“Why are you telling me all this?” asked Carly.
“I have to get it off my chest,” said Margo.
“In case,” said Carly, “you really do leave Daddy?”
Margo eyed her, then turned back to the road. “He’s such a loser.”
“Mom, I’m still in school. Give me a break and keep your feelings locked up a couple more years.”
“Leaving your father is not something I take lightly.”
“I’m glad Daddy’s worth a little thought.”
“Your father only thinks about himself.”
“Who do you think about?”
***
We’ve All Got Issues
Chapter One
Reggie’s wasn’t usually this busy. Both clerks were tied up with a line of customers. Margo headed to the back of the store, reached to the top shelf for her Dominican Rum, then walked to the longer line with the younger clerk, whose blond hair spilled across his forehead.
His smile widened as he caught sight of her. The line inched along. His muscles strained against his faded purple Reggie’s t-shirt. Slowly, the customers moved forward. Margo smiled as she reached the counter. His manner was quick as he rang in the order, bagged her bottle, and smiled at her. She put the bills in his hand and felt a thrill run up her arm.
“Unbelievable,” he said. “I was just thinking about you.”
“Feeling’s mutual.” Margo smiled. “That, and I needed more rum.”
Their fingers touched lightly as he handed her change. “Can you come over tonight?” she whispered.
The man behind Margo coughed. She ignored him, and kept her eye on the clerk’s friendly face.
“I’d love to.”
She felt herself blush, as she turned from the counter, bag in hand. Casually, she fluffed her auburn hair as she glanced back, smiled, gave a little wave, then headed for the door. She walked across the parking lot and opened the car door, tucked the brown bag beside the seat and slipped behind the wheel, the smile still on her lips. She glanced back at Reggie’s, started the car and eased out of her parking space. Cars poured along Route 28. The drivers wore expressions of annoyance or boredom. Finally there was a break. Margo stepped on the gas and cut into the line of cars.
“Mother, watch it.” Carly’s magazine slid off her lap.
Margo swerved back into her lane. “I had to go or I’d be here all day.”
“Patience, Mom.”
“Whatever.” The traffic slowed, then sped up. Margo glanced across at the passenger seat. “I’m thinking about going away.” “Away? Like a weekend up in Boston when you shop till you drop?”
“Just away,” said Margo. “I have to be by myself.”
“You’re always by yourself.”
“This time it’s different,” said Margo.
“Are you planning to run off with that hunk in the liquor store?”
Margo’s cheeks warmed. “That’s none of your business.”
The Indian summer afternoon was warm. Traffic was stop and go out of town. The Neon’s air conditioner was broken.
Margo wiped her brow. “Something’s going on with your father.” She slowed to let a compact car go by, then fell in behind. “Like what, he’s got a gall bladder problem or something?” Carly studied a pair of sunglasses, a stylish bling in her copy of Seventeen.
“He had a heart murmur years ago. Maybe it flared up.”
“You never told me he had anything like that.”
They slowed for a traffic light by Walmart. Waves of heat rose from the pavement. “Your father keeps his problems to himself. That’s part of the problem.”
“What’s the other part?”
“He never listens to me. You know, a woman has issues.” When the light changed, Margo started with a jerk.
“Calm down, Mom. What do you expect? He’s a guy. He can’t read your mind.”
The breeze from the open windows ruffled Margo’s shoulder-length light brown hair. She drove with one hand on the wheel and glanced over at Carly from time to time. They passed a strip mall, with a laundromat and barber shop, then single-family homes predominated. As they rode out of the town, the road wound by farmer’s fields and wooded lots.
“Why are you telling me all this?” asked Carly.
“I have to get it off my chest,” said Margo.
“In case,” said Carly, “you really do leave Daddy?”
Margo eyed her, then turned back to the road. “He’s such a loser.”
“Mom, I’m still in school. Give me a break and keep your feelings locked up a couple more years.”
“Leaving your father is not something I take lightly.”
“I’m glad Daddy’s worth a little thought.”
“Your father only thinks about himself.”
“Who do you think about?”
***
Amazon.com. Books. Thomas Dresser. We've All Got Issues.
Back-Story : I wrote We've All Got Issues in 2003 as a participant in John Hough's fiction-writing workshop in West Tisbury, Massachusetts. Each week we brought in our work and shared it with the group. John would read one piece aloud and we would critique it. I found the group immensely gratifying in that it was constructive and supportive, but also allowed me to learn from others.
From the experience garnered in this writing group I went on to write non-fiction Vineyard histories for The History Press, of Charleston, South Carolina.
My first love, and biggest challenge, is writing fiction.
From the experience garnered in this writing group I went on to write non-fiction Vineyard histories for The History Press, of Charleston, South Carolina.
My first love, and biggest challenge, is writing fiction.