Reinventing Mike Lake by R.W. Jones Read Free Book Online Page A

surroundings, or that I just generally missed it, but I started seeking out part-time writing jobs again.  For most of my marriage I made a living taking in all kinds of freelance jobs.  When I was much younger I fancied myself a Hunter S. Thompson, always wanting to be part of the story, but there weren’t many opportunities for me to do that.  Instead I settled for becoming a semi-professional biography writer, usually writing a famous person’s entire story in 1,000 words or less.
                  Through the years there have been many jobs.  One of the big (see: financially rewarding) jobs I had was writing a biography on every president in the history of the United States, again in 1,000 words or less.  The stories were to be given to an editor of an 8th grade history book, and then they would put the information I gave them in the context of the textbook.  You had to be incredibly unbiased and neutral in your writing.  It helped to have a grip on American history, but really anyone with a competent internet search function, and an 8th grade writing ability, could have done the job.
                  I also worked for various magazines, ranging from news, sports, and, even once, professional wrestling.  For a while in college I had gotten into the habit of just applying for any job I could, trying to earn enough money to buy an engagement ring.  A wrestling magazine, much to my surprise, asked me if I would rank the order of WrestleMania events from worst to first.  I had been a bit of a wrestling fan in my youth, but at the time of the writing and since then, I hadn’t watched wrestling in years.  So, I watched every WrestleMania and sought out the opinions of people who I knew that watched wrestling.  It was interesting watching over 60 hours of wrestling, but at the end I felt like I had a pretty good grip on it.  For the record, I picked WrestleMania V as the best.  The backlash was strong. 
                  As the years passed during my college and young adult years, my desire to write a novel grew stronger.  Snapping back to a haze of reality on my uncle’s deck, I decided that’s what I would do then, only I would use a computer and not a pizza box.  I had tried many times before to write a novel, but usually after a few thousand words I would think it was awful, and quit.  Then after a few more months I would try again, then rinse and repeat.  Another false start.
                  In the year of my mourning, I began to get the strong urge to write again, especially the last few weeks when I decided I was going to hit the road for an adventure of my own.  From time to time I wrote short stories of imaginary adventures and a character similar to me took shape.  I didn’t think they were that good, but I shared some with my friends and family, and they seemed to be well received, but then again they didn’t want to hurt the already fragile feelings of someone they cared about.
                  Most asked me if I had done the things the characters had done in the story, and almost always the answer was no.  I know it wasn’t their intention to make me feel upset with that question, but it always reminded me that for the last year, and in a lot of ways long before that, I hadn’t done much of anything that would be considered an adventure.  Those innocent questions ultimately helped lead me on this journey.
                  My wife always made more money than me.  When she died I was left with what we had already had, plus a very substantial check from the insurance company.  We always agreed with each other that if one of us were to die, we’d want the other to live relatively worry free.  My wife and I didn’t live exactly frugally, but we never bought things we didn’t need, we didn’t eat out much, preferring dinner with my family, who loved to cook, and we saved quite a bit.  I was lucky enough to have a wife