Category Archives: creative non-fiction

Enlightenment

Poem from The Spider Lady and Other Short Stories and Poetry

Enlightenment
from The Spider Lady and Other Short Stories and Poetry
by Mark Alberto Yoder Nunez

Enlightenment

I’ve started on a path

A path of knowledge and enlightenment

Having no idea where it will lead

Only knowing that it will never end

But only open doors with more to open

One never reaches a plateau

Where everything is easy

And one has all the answers

And everything goes smoothly

The only goal is more knowledge, more awareness

More consciousness, more Living

The path of knowledge and enlightenment

Is a door that opens on more doors to be opened

There is no knowing where it will lead Only that it will never end

تتعلق سيدة العنكبوت بسائق سيارة أجرة شاب يقابل امرأة أكبر سناً غريبة. إنها مذكرات مظلمة. يهتم شارع ماك آرثر بصبي نشأ في توكسون في الستينيات وصراعه مع الخير والشر. إنها أيضًا مذكرات. الكثير من القصص الخيالية والخيالية. والكثير من الشعر. إلهام جيد لمن يحبون القراءة ويطمحون إلى الكتابة. جيد للشباب والكبار. الأمثال الأصلية والفكاهة.
The Spider Lady se refiere a un joven taxista que conoce a una mujer muy extraña y mayor. Es una memoria oscura. McArthur Street se refiere a un niño que creció en Tucson en los años sesenta y sus luchas con el bien y el mal. Es, también, una memoria. Muchas historias de no ficción y ficción. Y mucha poesía. Buena inspiración para los amantes de la lectura y que aspiran a escribir. Bueno para adultos jóvenes y adultos. Proverbios originales y humor.

mcarthur street: episode two

McArthur Street
Mark Alberto Yoder Nunez

Continued from: https://markalbertoyodernunez.blog/2016/06/06/mcarthur-street-creative-non-fiction-episode-one/

Eventually my brother and I got over the ordeal once the game was done.  Jimmy and John returned to seeming nice again.  To my brother and me at the time it didn’t matter anymore.  We’d made a new friend and got to visit his apple orchard and nice house.  We’d played a game and lost but in the end we were happy.  We’d had fun and it was a good day to us.  I never returned to John’s house but Jimmy and John became the best friends of my brother, Daniel.  My brother and Jimmy returned to John’s house often.  My brother eventually became known for dominating when playing board games.  He read the rules thoroughly before playing any new game and my brothers and sisters and visiting children in our own home were proud of him for his abilities.  I thought of him as the king of playing Monopoly.  He played fairly though.  We had fun trying to beat him.

Once I was standing with Jimmy in his front yard, talking to him.  His little brother, Donnie, ran up to him and started talking to him.  Jimmy started hitting him over the head with a rolled up newspaper.  I watched the expression on Jimmy’s face.  He seemed angry and vicious in the way he looked at his little brother.  Poor Donnie ran away crying.  He ran off with his little brother, Ronnie.  I must admit I did not know what to think.

One Saturday I went with my brother, Jimmy, Jimmy’s mother and Jimmy’s younger brothers to the Tucson public library.  We went into the children’s section to look for books to check out.  I found two books I wanted to read as I usually would at the library.  When Jimmy saw I had two books he asked, “You’re only going to check out two books?”  I noticed then that Jimmy had a big stack of books to check out.  I told him I would only be able to read two books in two weeks otherwise I would have to renew books to be able to finish them.  He took me over to the book shelves and started pulling out books for me to read and stacking them on top of the two books I was holding.  I protested but he would not stop.  I finally got him to stop it when I was holding a stack of seven books.  I was mortified.  Jimmy’s mom seemed to think this was normal.  I only read the two books that I had originally wanted to check out and returned the rest of the books unread.  My brother, Jimmy and Jimmy’s mother would ask me if I wanted to go to the library with them.  They just couldn’t understand why I didn’t want to go to the library with them.

The family with the pretty, teenage girl who lived across the street from Jimmy had moved out.  The house wasn’t vacant for long before a new family moved in.  When we came to visit with Jimmy again he pointed to the house across the street which had a medium high, chain link fence around the front yard and told us to watch out for the boy who lived there because he cussed a lot and was very ba-a-d.  Being from Catholic school my brother and I were sensitive to the fact that some public school kids could be very bad.

To be continued.

The Spider Lady concerne un jeune chauffeur de taxi qui rencontre une femme très étrange et plus âgée. C’est un mémoire sombre.

La Spider Lady riguarda un giovane tassista che incontra una donna molto strana e anziana. È un memoir oscuro.

Sammlung von Gedichten und Kurzgeschichten mit Aphorismen und Humor. Illustrationen und Fotografien des Autors. Zu den Sachbüchern gehören Memoiren und das Schreiben von Träumen. Fiktive Geschichten sind, wie der Autor seine Gefühle ausdrückt, indem er Geschichten in seinem Kopf erfindet. Die Schrift spiegelt den amerikanischen Südwesten des Autors wider. Inspirierend für alle Altersgruppen.

La Dama Araña se refiere a un joven taxista que conoce a una mujer muy extraña y mayor. Es una memoria oscura.

Aphorisms on active rain.com including a quote from the spider lady

“-Truly, freeing oneself in one’s own mind is only the first step on a path of freedom.-” 
― Mark Alberto Yoder Nunez, The Spider Lady and Other Short Stories and Poetry

For sale at these fine bookstores:

Denna samling noveller, dikter, aforismer och humor av Mark Alberto Yoder Nunez är tänkt att vara underhållande och inspirerande för alla som älskar god läsning.

Mark Alberto Yoder Nunez의 단편 소설,시, 경구, 유머의 모음집은 좋은 독서를 좋아하는 사람들에게 즐거움과 고무감을주기위한 것입니다.

Spindeldamen handlar om en ung taxichaufför som möter en mycket konstig äldre kvinna. Det är en mörk memoar. McArthur Street berör en pojke som växte upp i Tucson på sextiotalet och hans kämpar med gott och ont.

スパイダーレディは、非常に奇妙な年上の女性に出会う若いタクシー運転手に関するものです。それは暗い回顧録です。マッカーサーストリートは、60年代にツーソンで育った少年と、善と悪との闘いに関するものです。

rate this book on good reads: the spider lady and other short stories and poetry

For sale world wide:

the spider lady: episode three

The Spider Lady
Excerpt

Continued from: https://markalbertoyodernunez.blog/2016/05/12/the-spider-lady-episode-two/

     I didn’t receive this taxi call again.  One night when after I got off work and got home about three in the morning I sat down in my canvas, director’s chair and started sipping on a beer.  I did this when I came home from work just to unwind and think about all the things that happened that day.  I often called taxi driving condensed cream of life.  One night of it was that intense.

     As I thought about all the amazing things I had experienced that day on the job I thought of “the spider lady” as I had come to think of her.  A poem came into my mind.  A very short poem but I felt compelled to write it down.  Perhaps I was on my second beer but my mind in the subdued lighting of my apartment where I was contemplating seemed to be in the darkness of the universe and I wrote down the poem:

                                 She turns herself into a spider

                              And spins a web

I don’t know why I felt compelled to write it in my notebook or why so few words seemed so important to write down.  I sat and my thoughts wandered to other things.

     One night at the end of the taxi swing shift some of the taxi drivers were congregated in the dispatch office to pay their lease money to the company after the bar rush was over.  A young woman cab driver who was known to be a lesbian said something because the conversation had come around to talking about the spider lady.  Other drivers had done deliveries to her, also.  The young woman cab driver’s friend, Janice, was there.  Janice was a friend of hers from college.  They had been on the women’s volleyball team together.  The taxi dispatcher on duty was a lady named Norma, a petite blonde woman who worked the graveyard shift.  She was one of the most skillful and crooked of dispatchers.  The young lesbian woman started talking about the spider lady.

     She said that the woman was a poetess and she was well off because of the sales of her poetry.  She said that her poetry was really weird and that it sold well in the San Francisco area.  She said that she knew about this because some of her friends knew about the woman and her poetry and recognized her name.

     They asked me why I called her the spider lady and I told them the story.  They loved the story and when some of the men cab drivers coming off of their shift walked into the office they told them that I had a great story about the woman that I called the spider lady so I repeated the entire story.  The men cab drivers who had many cab driver stories of their own were impressed.

Continued on:

https://markalbertoyodernunez.blog/2019/08/31/the-spider-lady-final-episode/

website referrers

Thank you to all the websites that have referred to my blog with links!

I hope people will be entertained with my writing! I like to
have fun with literary clichés. I have made literary references
that seem to turn in on themselves about literature and writing
itself. My goal is to inspire imaginations! If I have succeeded
in that then it is an accomplishment.
The Dream, The Spider Lady, McArthur Street, Catholic
School Stories and Liquor Store Stories are works of creative
non-fiction. If you are wondering how The Dream could be
non-fiction it is because it is straight reportage of an actual
dream I had. All the events in my non-fiction stories are true
to the best of my memory. The creativity is in how I tell the
story. The Talisman is a psychological fantasy and The Ghost
Ship is just a great, ghost story!

The Spider Lady and other short stories and poetry is now international

American Author
San Francisco Area

The Spider Lady is concerning a young, taxi driver who meets a very strange, older woman. It is a dark memoir. McArthur Street concerns a boy growing up in Tucson in the sixties and his struggles with good and evil. It is, also, a memoir. Lots of non-fiction and fictional stories. And lots of poetry. Good inspiration for those who love reading and aspire to write. Good for young adults and adults. Original proverbs and humor. These writings are over the course of years and have developed interactively with people as Mark has recited his poetry and even his fictional stories in progress; consequently his listeners have influenced the outcome of his writings in his first book.

The Switchblade

From Catholic School Stories
The Spider Lady and Other Short Stories and Poetry

      In the sixth grade at St. John’s School there was a new boy we had never seen before.  His name was Chango which in Spanish, I was told, means monkey.  He had brown skin, very short, nappy hair and big ears that stuck out noticeably on the sides of his long face.  I could see how he got the nickname.  I never knew what his real name was.  Even the teachers called him Chango.  It seemed to be his preferred name.

     The boys and girls told me that he had been in public school but he kept getting into trouble so his parents sent him to the Catholic school.  They told me that he had flunked a grade so he had been put back one class.  He indeed was taller than the rest of us.

He liked to talk and smiled a lot, I noticed, when I was introduced to him.  In the schoolyard he liked to talk to us boys in his class.  He liked to tell stories and found a receptive audience.  It wasn’t long before he started talking about how he was always shoplifting.  He mentioned stealing pencils, erasers and crayons from a drug store that was across the street from the school.  He kept bragging more and more about all the things he would steal.  It wasn’t long before some of the other boys started to brag about stealing things like pencils from the drug store.  “How many pencils?” Chango interrogated.  The bragging about shoplifting seemed to be increasing.

     At this time some boys I knew in my neighborhood and I were really into comic book heroes.  We talked about being like them and trying to fight crime.  I was disturbed about Chango’s bad influence on the boys at school.  On a Saturday I went into the store with my two friends and asked to speak to the manager of the store.  The man in his short sleeve, white shirt and black tie came and listened to me.  I told him about Chango.  He asked me to describe him.  After I described him the manager said he would be looking out for him.  He thanked me.  My friends and I left the store.  That was about it.  It wasn’t exactly like being a super hero but it was a start.  My friends seemed to be impressed that I wasn’t all talk. 

     It wasn’t long after that Chango started something new.  He was sitting on top of one of the little bicycle racks we had in the schoolyard.  It was under a shady tree next to a wall of the convent.  The boys in my class were gathered in front of him, some to the left and some to the right.  I walked up to see what was going on.  I walked to see up the center of the boys who were on each side with Chango straight ahead of me on his seat.  Chango was telling the boys stories when he pulled out a switchblade.  He held it up and pressed the button.  The double edged blade shot out from the side and locked into place with a click.  This was no ordinary switchblade.  I could tell that the blade was long enough for this knife to be considered an illegal, deadly weapon.  Chango wielded the knife and passed it over to his other hand.  He was brandishing the knife while telling his stories of how tough it is in public school.  I watched for awhile and walked away.

     The next day was the same in the schoolyard.  Chango was on his seat on the bicycle rack with his audience of boys from my class.  He was brandishing the switchblade knife.  He was telling his public school stories.  He was getting a feeling of power from his display.  Once again I walked away.      I had held switchblade knives in my hands myself.  Some Mexican boys who were neighbors had brought them into my back yard.  They told me that these knives were legal because their blades were less than three inches.   People bought these knives in Mexico and brought them over the border in Nogales.

     There are two kinds of switchblade knives.  One kind has a blade that shoots straight out from the handle when the button is pressed.  The other swivels out at lightning speed from the side when the button is pressed.  There is a spring inside that makes the blades shoot out so fast.  With both kinds of knives there is a familiar clicking sound when the blade locks into place.  Even with a blade that is over three inches if it is only sharp on one side it is not illegal, I was told.  It is the knives that are razor sharp on both sides that are considered to be dangerous, concealed weapons.  I had held all of these kinds of knives in my hands and pressed the buttons.  I knew the feeling of the lightning fast response and the clicking of the blades into place. 

     Chango’s was the first switchblade I had seen that was illegal.  I made up my mind that I would not allow this in my school.      The next day when the other boys were in the schoolyard I walked into the principal’s office.  I had never been in the principal’s office before.  I walked in out of the hot, Tucson sun.  There was a middle aged woman with a round face behind a desk who asked if she could help me.  I said that I wanted to talk to the principal.  Before she could ask me what it was concerning the principal looked out from her office door and told the lady to send me in.  I noticed that the front office where the lady was and the office where the principal sat at her desk were very tiny and there were piles of papers and folders everywhere. The principal, Sister Ynez, in her white habit asked me what it was about.

     I started telling her about Chango.  I told her about how he bragged about shoplifting and had gotten the other boys to start bragging about it, too.  She listened intently, looking thoughtful with her little, gold, wire rimmed glasses.  I told her that he was bringing a switchblade knife to school and showing it to the other boys.  She asked where he kept the switchblade knife.  I said, “In his pocket”.  The principal thanked me for coming in and telling her.  I walked out of the cluttered little offices into the bright sunlight of the schoolyard.  I could tell that the lady in the front office had been listening as she made busy with her paperwork.  

     It was the middle of the morning in class at St. John’s school.  All the students were looking down at their desks working on their assignment.  The principal appeared at the open, front door in her white habit.  At her side was a tall, athletic looking, young man who was dressed in a dark suit with a tie.  I knew what was coming.  The principal commanded, “We want to see Chango!”  Everyone was silent.  I sat up straight in my desk.  All the students were looking down at their desks.  Even the teacher, a pretty, young lay woman with brown hair, looked down and then she looked up from her desk just a little bit.       I looked at Chango.  I was sitting in the same row, a few desks behind him.  He had been looking straight down at his desk.  With his head still down he looked around to his right.  Then he looked around to his left.  I could see his eyes moving this way and that.  He lifted himself slowly from his desk as if he had a heavy weight on his soul and mind.  When he came to be standing he looked around himself and at the students in the class.  His mouth was pursed.  All the while his head was bowed.  He sluggishly started walking forward.  He turned from the aisle.  He walked to the right, past the teacher’s desk, toward the principal and the young man in the suit who were waiting for him at the door.  The three of them turned from the door and walked away with Chango in the center.

     I looked at the boys and girls in my class.  They had been looking down at their desks the entire time.  They continued to look down as if afraid to even look to the side.  I went back to doing my school work.  We never saw Chango again. 

One of the three Roberts in my class started bringing a switchblade knife to school.  It had a blade that was less than three inches so it was legal.  He sat in Chango’s place on the bike rack brandishing the knife and talking like the way Chango had.  I watched him and walked away.  He did this about three times and then stopped.  He was one of the Roberts whose family owned a ranch in Tucson.  Everything returned to normal at school.  Chango had been in with gangs.  I probably saved his life.

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