: Hunter Caplan
: The Whispers of a Wandering Wordsmith: An Odyssey of Love, Loss, Fortitude An Anthology
: BookBaby
: 9798350971194
: The Whispers of a Wandering Wordsmith: An Odyssey of Love, Loss, Fortitude
: 1
: CHF 10.50
:
: Erzählende Literatur
: English
: 524
: kein Kopierschutz
: PC/MAC/eReader/Tablet
: ePUB
Venture into the captivating world of The Whispers of a Wandering Wordsmith: An Odyssey of Love, Loss, Fortitude, and Hope, a spellbinding anthology marking the debut of Hunter Caplan, an emerging talent in literary fiction. This collection, encompassing eight years of Caplan's insightful and evocative storytelling, features twenty-five short stories that delve into the core of the human experience. Each tale in this anthology is a masterful blend of love, grief, self-discovery, and philosophical reflection. Caplan's skillful narration transforms the ordinary into the extraordinary, imbuing everyday moments with profound significance. His vivid characters and their journeys resonate with authenticity and emotional depth, drawing readers into their worlds of triumphs and trials. Set against a diverse array of settings-from serene rural landscapes to bustling urban environments-these stories explore the full spectrum of human emotion. Recurring themes of hope and resilience serve as guiding lights, illuminating the path through the narrative's darker moments. Drawing inspiration from his personal experiences and keen observations, Caplan infuses each story with a sense of realism and depth. His debut collection is a testament to his dedication to the craft of writing and his ability to engage and move readers. An early reviewer praises Caplan's debut as 'a triumph, with each story shining brightly with originality and emotional resonance.' More than a mere collection of stories, this anthology takes readers on a profound journey through the intricacies of the human soul. Caplan expertly balances philosophical inquiry with emotional intensity, showcasing his ability to navigate complex themes with finesse. Each narrative is a testament to the enduring power of storytelling, offering a profound reflection on what it means to be human.

Hunter Caplan is a young man whose lifelong interests and passions compelled a wide spectrum of developed skillsets, from the very creative to the seriously scientific. Innovative writing has been Caplan's constant savior. Since he was young, a plethora of stories, derived from his experiences and observations in the school of life, have spilled from his imagination, and he has found great solace and joy in the art of putting his thoughts to paper. During his years at Muhlenberg College, where he received his Bachelor of Science in Chemistry and distinguished himself through significant scholarly contributions, he also minored in English literature. As he neared graduation, he was putting the finishing touches on a compilation of stories he had amassed over the prior eight years. Today, while pursuing his PhD in Analytical Chemistry at The University of Texas at Austin, Caplan has published his first anthology, The Whispers of a Wandering Wordsmith. The twists and surprises in Caplan's writing allude to, and evoke, emotion. The eclectic nature of the stories is the result of a thought process that dances between the right and left hemispheres of the author's brain. Readers find the diversity of the stories fascinating.
THE GREAT PLAIN
Watching her body being lowered into the ground, haunted me for years. The thought of bugs, beetles, and worms crawling all over her casket disturbed me greatly. She was my everything, I loved her like I loved no one else. My wife, my friend, my whole world. I wanted her to be cremated and placed into a ceramic urn covered with violet flowers and green trees, but she wanted a traditional burial. While she was getting chemotherapy, I tried to ask her how she wanted to be remembered. I asked her what she wanted me to tell our two-year-old daughter when she was older. My wife exclaimed, “Tell her that the world is a nasty fucking place.” That wasn’t her. That was not the woman I married. An impostor lurked in her lifeless carcass as it descended into its final resting place. The disease ravaged not only her body but her mind. Watching her deteriorate right before my eyes was painful. My body ached with sadness, my loins tender, and my mind crippled. I did not know what I would do without her. My number one priority was to be a father to our child, but I would have no partner. Nobody to help me navigate the process of parenthood. A daughter without her mother is tragic, and I was not sure if I was ready to resume the role of being a sole parent to my child. I wanted to escape, find a way out of this sudden entrapment that I found myself in. There was no end in sight, and that alone scared the hell out of me.
Ding dong, ding dong; the red ice cream truck strolled down the street. My daughter was sleeping, and my stomach was growling like a rabid dog, so I decided to treat myself to Rocky Road ice cream. As I left my house, I realized I had forgotten my glasses inside, but I was confident that I could walk twelve feet to the ice cream truck. As I walked closer and closer, I began to hear moaning and screams in my head. I thought my daughter had awakened at first, but the screams I heard were nothing like a child’s scream. The ice cream truck began to shake and quiver and turn into an ugly brown color. Before my eyes, the van crumbled and disintegrated into the ground beneath me. I turned around to run into my house, but nothing was there. The only thing I could see was miles and miles of infertile forest, similar to a vast plain. The screaming turned into laughter, evil laughter. I could not take it anymore; I collapsed to the ground, screaming and shaking, begging for help and relief from this paralyzing nightmare. The next thing I remember was waking up and seeing an ambulance and police car. The lights and sirens hurt my head. The paramedic and officer asked me what had happened to me. I told them I went out for ice cream and had a terrifying vision. The officer then said in a judgmental tone, “Sir, are you aware that you left your two-year-old daughter alone in your house for six hours?” I told the officer that I stepped outside and walked not even twelve feet to an ice cream truck, and then the whole world collapsed before me. The officer then told me, “Your neighbors called us and said that you had been outside, crying on the ground for six hours. They were concerned you were hurt or that something had happened to your child. Child endangerment is a felony, sir, and if you cannot provide for your daughter, then I would have no choice but to call child protective services. Now, I will ask you this once: can you take care of your child, or do I need to commit you to the psych ward?” I explained to the officer that this was all a misunderstanding and I was perfectly fine. I went inside to find my daughter being cradled by a deputy officer. I expressed my gratitude and took her from him. Sitting in the rocking chair, I could not stop thinking about what I had just witnessed. At this point, I was scared beyond anything you could imagine.
Do you ever look at somebody and know that they are sad? I would look at myself in the mirror and only see a shell of a person. Every day I went to sleep hoping that life would be different the next morning. Maybe my wife would be back, my daughter would still be a baby, and I would be happy again. Occasionally, I wished that I would never wake up. How selfish of me. I could not leave my daughter alone. My sister, mother, and father all died way back. My wife was adopted, and her adopted father had passed a few years ago. It seemed logical that I would be the next one to go. Today was a special day for my daughter: it was her sixth birthday. Today was not the day for my usual pity party when I would sit on the ground crying, hoping that somebody would just kill me. Nobody in the world cared about me or loved me. My daughter was too young to love me. She didn’t even know what love was. I needed to be there for her and give her all I had. Without her, I would have no reason to live or push through this life. Maybe my wife was right; the world was a nasty fucking place.
I decided to hold my daughter’s birthday party at an indoor arcade. I invited all her friends from school. It had been four years since my wife’s passing, and I had yet to tell my daughter about her mother. She never even asked; she thought she did not have a mommy. I could not even console myself regarding my grief; how could I tell my child if I could not even tell myself? I felt empty inside, like a hollow tree. I would dream of my wife; she was so beautiful. As a child, I worried I would never find “the one,” but the moment I met her,