Tuesday, February 21, 2006

Finished short story from earlier
Start of "skeleton" creative writing storyThere was once a young man who wanted to win the State Amateur. He was from a little backwoods town in the northwestern part of Tennessee. He played his golf at the town's only golf course, a little beaten up track that could barely stay in business. His job allowed him to play a good amount, and he was good. Very good.However, he never played with anyone. On rare occasions he would play with his closest friend, another young man who was a decent golfer. He stopped playing with this friend because the man told everyone how superb his game was, and people began to pester him to play with them.The young man liked solitude, and often played early in the mornings or late at night. Once a group of about ten men showed up and started following him. After hitting two more shots, he briskly walked off of the course. No one saw him for a month afterwards.
When he came back, it was on a busy Saturday morning. He casually asked the starter if there were any groups he could join, and was told he could join a threesome. Word spread from the pro shop to town, and soon there were two dozen people following his group around the golf course.
They couldn’t believe what they saw. The young man was struggling mightily. The swing that was rumored to be so flawless, so powerful, was spraying shots all over the course. The crowd murmured after every poor shot, and the young man’s jaw tightened. The crowd eventually dissipated, sure that the young man was vastly overrated.
Before the young man left the course, he picked up a piece of paper lying on the desk inside the pro shop. He stared at it for a moment, considering, and then filled it out. “Joe,” he said, “Can you send this off for me? And keep it quiet…at least for now.”
The young man kept showing up every Saturday and playing with any group he was assigned to. People, curious about him, kept showing up to watch. He played better than the first time he let people watch, but still seemed unable to find his rhythm. “He’s a decent player,” people said, “but he could never keep up with the big boys down there in Memphis and Nashville.”
The young man kept up this routine for another few weeks, until one Saturday he failed to show up. “I guess he likes telling people he shot 4 under par by himself more than he likes shooting eighty while he’s playing with somebody,” one man remarked, forgetting that the young man never talked to anyone.
One hundred miles to the east, just outside of Nashville, the young man stood on the 13th tee of one of the state’s most prestigious golf courses. He was playing his first match of the State Amateur. He had made it into the match play portion of the tournament by squeaking into the last spot in the stroke play qualifying round. As he stepped up to his ball on the thirteenth tee, already 2 holes down to his opponent, he felt the tension drain from his body. He looked down the fairway, making a note to avoid the bunkers on the left side. The people watching became a blur to him, and he didn’t seem to hear the roar that went up after he drove his tee ball nearly to the green on the 365 yard hole.
Three days later, the sports page of the Memphis Times read, “Jim Reed, who suffers from diagnosed Social Anxiety Disorder, defeated Bob Hurley on the 34th green yesterday in the State Amateur final….

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