STOLEN IN PARIS: The Lost Chronicles of Young Ernest Hemingway: The Marge Bump Affair

By David Wyant

The Lost Chronicles hits home with the teenage genius search for truth in all of us.

Ernest Hemingway's first wife lost a suitcase full of prized manuscripts on a trip home from Paris. These missing stories were never to be seen again. Who knows what literary classics that suitcase may have contained?

In the imagination of this author have been found those missing memoirs—a series of twelve exciting adventures, with more to come, found by way of "biographic fantasy noir." "The Lost Chronicles of Young Ernest Hemingway" unveil his earliest, most fascinating adventure stories, and monologues read like eaves-dropping while he unloads in his priest's confessional booth.The author imagines what the childhood and teenage life of Ernest Hemingway in Petoskey must have been like.

This stylish series of young adult novels reveals literary merit, fine design, and strong kid-relevance. Filled with unbridled Victorian romance, adventure, betrayal, parent-sibling drama, and tribal temptations tastefully presented like a cathartic, primal glimpse into one, very troubled, sub-conscious.

History comes alive in these historical adventure stories!

"The Lost Chronicles of Young Ernest Hemingway" is indeed the perfect platform on which to expose those early, deeply gnarled roots of America's most analyzed, literary bad boy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: David Wyant
• Release date: Jun 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476417301

David Wyant

David Henry Wyant, M.Ed. was born in Rogers City Michigan, just 60 miles directly east of Petoskey, along Lake Huron. He graduated with honors from RCHS in 1959 during a time when most young Americans strongly felt the need to do what they could to beat Russia into outer space. At seventeen, he drew rocket plans for NASA.A graduate of Concordia Univ. Chicago(BA) and Wayne State Univ. Detroit, MI,(MA), Mr. Wyant taught elementary school for 30 years specializing in Art. He worked on a team which wrote the state Art curriculum for Florida.Author Wyant currently enjoys visits with his daughter, Lisa Luebke (wife of Randall), five grandchildren and one great grandchild who all live nearby in Boyne City, Michigan. Experiencing Petoskey's north woods will never be the same after you read, "The Lost Chronicles of Young Ernest Hemingway." "The Town that Haunted Hemingway"..."Side Door to Heaven for Hemingway"Mr. Wyant's previous books were environmental in nature:"A Compilation of Poems", Landscape painting with words"My Petoskey Stones"(192 pages regional poems) Extolling the natural beauty of Petoskey, MI"The Town that Haunted Hemingway." Extensive research of Hemingway’s youth in Petoskey area."Art Curriculum, State of FL." What every child should know about Art, K-12Mr. Wyant is available for readings of his books, writer's workshops and readings of his unique regional poetry.

Book preview

STOLEN IN PARIS: The Lost Chronicles of Young Ernest Hemingway

Book 2: The Marge Bump Affair

Published by David Henry Wyant at Smashwords

Copyright 2012 David Henry Wyant

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1: Troubled Youth

Chapter 2: The Hiawatha Play

Chapter 3: Courtin'

Chapter 4: The Unpardonable Bump in the Road

Chapter 5: The Apple Zap Gang

Chapter 6: Grace on the High Wheeler

Chapter 7: When Solitude Returned to Skunk Hollow

Chapter 1: Troubled Youth

Born into a fast-changing age I became witness to hard times for Native Americans. Being their friend who hung out with Billy Tabeshaw, Richard Boulton, Billy Gilbert, Billy Mitchell, and of course Prudence Boulton (my first love) I saw first hand the demise of Indian culture.

These were troubling times mainly due to the encroachment of white men determined to clear-cut each and every virgin pine, maple, hemlock, oak, and any other tree suitable for building homes.

Heap big trouble here, Ernie, muttered Billy Tabeshaw.

Just look at the size of this stump, Billy! I countered, trying to read his mind.

Heap big old tree taken out just a few day ago.

Four grown men could stretch out on this stump and have room to play cribbage here, I exclaimed, trying to make light of the dismal sight.

"Lumbermen got'um one of our council trees. Spirits of past elders dwelt in this old tree. Me used to come to this tree for advice not many moons ago.

Billy, that's simply fascinating! How were you able to do that? I inquired.

Not easy for white eyes, Ernie. Must be silent inside to listen to Elder speak. White eyes afraid to go inside to silence mind. Too scary for whites. I sensed Billy had a lesson for me, so he led me deeper into the Walloon forest, deeper than any logging crew had ever penetrated as yet. The pine needles felt good on my bare feet.

Now here Ernie. Look'um at this big one!

Eee-gad! Billy, this is twice the size of that earlier one!

Now sit'um down here with back to tree.

Okay, now what?

Now, Ernie, just become one with the council tree. This tree heap big medicine. Billy now walk up a piece to scout for bear.

Never had I thought it possible for a tree to talk but after the longest time I was able to close my eyes, calm my mind, get past my breakfast of eggs, bacon, and coffee with homemade bread, butter and apple butter, past my last Horatio Alger book, Ragged Dick, past the last argument I had with Mother Grace, past my first fish, past my first love affair with Prudy, then into a place of extreme peace. I wanted to hang out there for awhile and enjoy the calm, but slowly out of the misty blackness came a tall figure in a white robe.

Jesus! was my first impression.

The entity read my thought. He immediately shot back a thought telepathically, Me not Jesus!

Saint Peter?

No, my son, not Saint Peter!

I give up then- who the heck are...

By this time the entity was sitting on my lap, filling my mind with vast amounts of knowledge until I couldn't take in anymore. The tall figure arose.

"There... that's who I am! I am the spirit of All-That-Is. Guardian of all life forms. Due to your curiosity and