UPDATE: Actually, I think I’ll just link it here as I progress, that way it will be updated for anyone interested in following along.
Forgive the typeface and the double-spacing; in this case I DID copy and paste from WinWord and am too lazy to edit the html to take out all the code that makes this what it is. Not too much further along, but as noted in the prior post, I’ve got a PLAN!
Big Tim Dawson was born big. In 1937, he tore his way out at 10 lbs. 7 oz. into a family of four brothers and three sisters and was largely responsible for the sudden appearance of X’s and O’s on the calendar that hung on the pantry door in the kitchen. To the children, his mother would say they meant kisses and hugs, but to her women friends, she’d nod and whisper selective breeding, a term she’d read or heard somewhere and misunderstood, but they knew what she meant. And though Mrs. Dawson wasn’t the very best reader, at math she excelled and nine meant enough, ten pounds was painful, and twenty-eight days were religiously minded.
Tim reached young manhood without ever once lifting an arm against another; rare as most youth are challenged at some point in their childhood. But it wasn’t just his size—always head and shoulders literally above his schoolmates—but his affability and patient manner that granted him the avoidance of the usual black eye or bloody nose sported proudly or in hangdog defeat by at least one boy each day in the rough raggy neighborhood of the backstreets of Okeepa.
The Lost Children: A Charity Anthology
I’d suggest extending the pateince and affability into an image both disturbing and drawing. Just for fun.
Yes, that’s just what he needs, thank you. I just spent about 700 words today rambling about background (and losing the crisp writing as well) to show how nice he was and got totally bored with him, even the little secret he had that led to his death was boring. But at least I got a feel for him before I pull out his real self.