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Patrick
Writing, typing, scribbling and bibbling...
Interests
Reading novels, writing, fly fishing, jazz guitar, luthiery,
Books
I'm on a Cormack McCarthy binge right now (Blood Meridian is my fave so far...). Frankenstein and Heart of Darkness rocked my world as a wee lad. Tony Morrison, Ernest Hemingway, Ray Bradbury had more influence as I got older. My all-time-fave is Samuel Beckett... an acquired taste, like drinking gasoline.
Movies
Lord of the Rings, No Country For Old Men, Blade Runner, Reservoir Dogs, Taxi Driver, A Street Car Named Desire, Glass Menagerie, Dancer in the Dark, Shipping News, American Beauty, Lawrence of Arabia... the list goes on. I liked Ian Holm better as King Lear than as Bilbo. Speaking of which, where is the section here for theater? David Mamet plays, Sam Sheppard, Harold Pinter, and the lord of darkness, Samuel Beckett.
Television
Yes Minister, Star Trek, Rumpole of the Bailey... I like just about any BBC mini-series with Dame Judy Dench in it.
About Me
Rather than describe myself, here's a super-short story:
Tantalus is Born Again.
by Patrick Stefurak
Something happened to me a while ago, and at first I didn’t want to tell you about it, but I just can’t seem to get the thing out of my head. I was down in the corner of this hellhole, staring amazedly at an insolent fool in a baptismal font. On one side of the basin was an overhanging fig tree, and on the other was a shower over which some joker had posted a sign that read: “Tartarus Pool. All bathers must rinse before entering.” The wall had been covered with sheaves of reeds and a painting by Piero della Francesca that I didn’t remember having been there in the past.
I watched in amazement as the miscreant climbed out of the water drier than Moses exiting the Red Sea and bare-assed as though he’d expected to get wet. You’d think that after all these years he would have known better. Some people.
“What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?” I shouted at him.
He just ignored me while pursuing a tantalizing leaf that skittered across the floor on a hot breeze. He trapped the animated vegetation under his foot and then used it to cover himself.
“Get back in the water,” I commanded, “you know you’re not allowed out of the pool.” The recent wave of Christian immigrants had been a bad influence on the boy.
“I’m not listening to you any more,” he retorted. “I don’t know why I ever did. And what are you going to do about it? Throw a lightning-bolt at me? Look around, old man. This isn’t Mount Olympus.” He turned and gestured towards the water, adding “I hope you like the renovations I’ve had done to the pool. I’m going for a kind or Jordan River vibe.”
I felt like knocking that stupid smirk off of his face.
“You look pathetic wearing that filthy rag. It’s not a Holy Relic, you know,” he jeered over his shoulder as he began to walk away.
I pulled the shroud tighter around my shoulders, even though I was sweating. I thought it looked divine, like the kind of thing one could wear to church on Easter Sunday. Apparently I was going to have to do something before things got completely out of hand.
I started after him; he ran.
I couldn’t catch the malefactor. I’m not as fast as I used to be.
Then he laughed at me.
Christ, I’m getting tired of being disobeyed.
Goal
To write a great 21st century novel.
Professional Experience
Novelist
January 2002 - Present
Comments
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