Dream Scape

#Writemotivation Check-In

2012-03-06T18:47:00.001-05:00

I had plans to get to this sooner, but it seems life had other plans for me. I actually intended to write this post yesterday, but I ended up having a massive writing purge. So, after another busy day, here I am, typing up this post.

#Writemotivation month has started, I've been cheering as many as I can, and I have been cheered on very well so far. To those of you who are reading this and gave me #writemotivation (especially yesterday), THANK YOU! I would've stopped at 6,400 words if I hadn't gotten the push to go for more. So, getting into the first full week of March, my goals are few, and relatively simple, but something I really want to accomplish.

1. Finish first draft of current WiP
2. Apply critiques from KT Hanna to short story White Haze
3. Get back to shelved WiP

Working on the current WiP has been tough, even with taking notes, plotting and rethinking details. The story is extremely complex with characters, details to remember, parts to keep in line, knowing what to reveal at certain points, and even dialogue. But this is the case for any novel, and going through the labor pains is really more an exercise of learning. And working on a novel, along with revising one, is extremely humbling because it makes me remember that it hasn't even been a year since I made the decision to make writing a career.

I'm proud to say those down moments where I think the current WiP isn't as good as I thought and causes me to bog down, don't effect as much as they use to. I just remember: You're writing a novel, this isn't easy, you're going to have struggles, getting through it will make you a better writer.

The only way to be a better writer is to constantly write and read. Working through the low points are the times where you're challenged to rise to a new level. Of course, there's also revision. That's a different beast altogether, one that can seriously kick my butt if I'm not paying attention, but what I learn is priceless.

Determination, Vigilance, and hard work will reward in the end!

How's the writing coming along for you?

Here's some #writemotivation for ya! :D

J.G.A.

Breaking Down Writing

2012-02-27T18:57:00.000-05:00

I've been so busy, and I'm so tired, but I'm gonna punch out this blog post because if I don't now, I probably won't blog for the entire week. I'm trying to keep up with my Google reader, but time hasn't allowed.

All things considered, work, college, writing in two separate projects, and picking a future college to transfer to, I've been contemplating how writing is done as of late during the in between times.

What is writing? I ask this in a sense of whether there is a right or wrong way to do it. Many people who write say they don't know what they're doing, Stephen King says creative writing can't be taught, that what is learned in writing is learned through reading. I've recently read reviews that tear apart JK Rowling's style and say she doesn't have an ounce of talent. I even read that she, "writes like a twelve year old wishes they could". There are millions of Twilight fans who love the books and say they're fantastic, yet there are just as many that say the writing is horrible. Many people love the Hunger Games, yet I couldn't get myself into the story because of the weird past/present writing style.

Is there really a proper way to write something?

There is a certain order in which a story is told. But when it comes to how a story is told, how do we know what we're talking about? How do we know we're doing it right? A key thing I've been told often about writing is show don't tell. Yet when I read Vince Flynn, all he did was tell. I hated him for it, it made his book boring and aggravating, yet he's a bestseller.

There are several forms of writing out there that's extremely generic. Michael Scott is one who comes to mind. He wrote The Alchemyst (along with several other books connected to it). The characters were interesting, so was the use of historical figures and magic, but the standard writing really bothered me (plus his obsessive use of 'that'. Grrrrr).

I plot, I write, I day dream, and yet, there are times where I write my story and think "this sucks, it won't work, I'm losing my edge". But what is that edge? As far as I'm concerned, there are writers out there who are far worse than me and they are making decent money doing what they're doing. Maybe I'm being conceited, but I've read enough crap to know I stand a chance in the industry.

We all go through a period where we feel we can't hack it. A point in our writing where we feel we should give up because we think (for whatever reason) that we won't be able to write the piece the way we want to. Don't give into the voice telling you this. Chances are your story is much better than you're giving it credit for, chances are your story is actually quite good. A real writer can pick him or herself up after they feel down because they want to keep writing, because they don't know what else they'd do it they didn't. If paltry writers like Vince Flynn can do it, there's no doubt you can. One thing to remember about writing, it's all subjective. If you happen to publish a story you think is below your own ability, you may find people will love what you've published.

So sit down and write. Tell yourself to shut up when you begin to doubt. Don't worry about how you write, as long as you're telling a good story, who cares?

Keep Writing

J.G.A.

#Writemotivation Month Around the Bend

2012-02-20T11:21:00.001-05:00

#Writemotivation is just around the corner and I'm very excited about it. But Jacob, you say, what's with the hash tag and no space between the words? Well, it's something used on twitter where fellow writers cheer each other in writing. Because, you know, everyone needs encouragement. I mean really, name a writer that doesn't feel doubt and question the entire purpose of even writing the story altogether? #Writemotivation is a great way to help elevate that pesky doubter residing within.

KT Hanna is the one to put this into action. On January, she started up the first #writemotivation campaign where participants came up with doable goals and worked towards achieving them. This campaign is by no means a race, but rather a method of holding yourself accountable to the goals you say you'll do, and put that damned procrastinator in its place.

Go to this post at KT Hanna's blog and learn about signing up. I promise you, it won't be something you'll regret. Take action and get some goals done, there will even be rewards if you achieve your own goals. And who doesn't want to be more productive in writing? With work, school, kids, and life getting in the way of what you want to do most, wouldn't it make sense to get set some goals set for accomplishment?

#Writemotivation to all!

J.G.A.

I've Been Tagged!

2012-02-16T13:44:00.001-05:00

There's a question bug running a muck in the blogs and I've been bitten! :D Vicki Orians, Elizabeth Twist, and Misha Gericke have all tagged me with questions to answer. So here they are.

1. What two characters would you like to see battle each other?
I had this debate with my buddy the other day. Terminator vs. Rambo.

2. Who is your greatest inspiration?
Stephen King. I love his ability to produce books at the rate he does, and just the overall good guy he is.

3. If you could change places with any book character, who would it be and why?
This will probably sound rather generic but I'd trade places with Harry Potter. I'd love to be able to fly on a broom, be able to use magic, and to just live in a fantasy world. What an eye opening experience that would be.

4. Sum up your current WiP in one sentence.
Oh my... A story about broken friendship, love, drugs, secrets, the future, idealism, and how happenings ran away from in the past catch up in the end.

5. Are you a plot-driven writer or a character-driven writer?
Character driven

6. What is your biggest fear?
To be stranded in the middle of the ocean. Ever seen Open Water?

7. When you walk into a book store, where do you go first?
Don't usually go to bookstores actually. But I tend to hang around the fantasy and sci-fi area when I do.

8. Cats or dogs?
Cats

9. You've just been placed in the Witness Protection Program. What's your alias?
Formunda Muballs

10. Would you rather live in outer space or under the sea? Why?
Under the sea. Ever played Bioshock? It would be such a surreal experience. Plus, I have this feeling that if people were to live in space, we would gradually lose our humanity. At least if I'm under water, I'm still on the planet.

11. If you HAD to lose one of your senses, which one would you choose to live without?
The ability to smell. I couldn't handle not being able to see, taste, touch, or hear.

Set 2

1. Do you believe in fate?

Not really, I believe there is certain way things are meant to go, but I also believe we are makers of our own lives. However, in no way, do I believe that we are condemned to live out a certain lifestyle because it has been all "preplanned" in the grand scheme of things.

2. How the heck do you write and have a life?

Good question. Determination I suppose.

3. If you were in a written story, which character trope would you most likely have followed?

The trope of the overly sensitive guy with slight issues in showing/expressing his emotions. The guy who could never make the first move on girls.

4. Sweet or Savory?

Sweet

5. What's your big dream?

To become a writer and do it for a living.

6. Fondest memory?

Probably the all expenses paid week vacation to Disney World when I was seven or so. That was soooooo much fun.

7. What's your biggest wish? (world peace does not count)

That people will get some common sense and understanding and allow equality for all and accept others despite their differences.

8. Would you rather have an exciting life and be alone or find the great love of your life and live a relatively normal one?

Both are extremely interesting and tempting. But I would rather meet the love of my life and live a normal life. Having an adventurous life would be great, but I get that when I write.

9. Have you ever done something, only to realize a half a second later that you made a mistake?

Sure, quite a few times as of late too. But it's how we learn. I'm doing what I can to be a better person from it.

10. Did you try to go back and fix it, or did you follow through?

I've followed through a few times, but the method leaves people slighted. It's always better to mend, it shows people you care.

11. Do you edit while writing or after the draft is done?

With my current novel, I tried to edit while I was going (as in review last written segment then writing), but it doubles the amount of time on the story and distracts me to the developing plot. Gotta do it after I'm done with the first draft.

Set 3

1. What are you reading?
Reading two books: Hitler: A Study in Tyranny and The Green Mile

2. What is your favourite creative activity that is not writing?

Spending time with my friends.

3. Where or how do you get your best ideas?
My best ideas simply come to me, and they don't leave. Most times, I'm so picky about how I present the idea I rewrite it in two, three, sometimes four different variations of similar stories.

4. If you could magically and painlessly change one thing about your mind or body, what would it be, if anything?
I'd choose not to be quite so hairy.

5. What's the scariest movie, story, novel, or scene you can recall?
Movie: The Ring -- Novel: The Exorcist -- Story: 1922 (From Full Dark No Stars)

6. What's the weirdest thing you believe?
That's a rather subject question, If it's something we believe, it's something we usually don't find to be weird to us, even if it is to others. Don't have an answer for this one.

7. Super strength or super intelligence?
Intelligence is strength. Super intelligence.

8. You're granted the ability to become invisible. Where do you go and what do you do? (Bonus question: are you wearing clothes? I mean, what about YOUR becoming invisible makes your clothes invisible too? This has always bothered me.)
First, I probably wouldn't have clothes, I hope it's summer. There are so many places I would go and do. But I think on a basic level, I'd just wander around, seeing the people I know and watching them how they go about their day (I like to people watch). And then pick on others for fun.

9. What one change do you think would have the most positive impact on the world as a whole?
Acceptance.

10. What is the crappiest advice you've ever been given?
I had texted a girl I knew from high school and when she didn't reply, a former co-worker and told me: "Say you heard from someone she had contracted some kind of STD." It was in a small town by the way.

11. What's your favourite song right now?
I'm really digging Xtal by Aphex Twin right now.

Here are my taggers:

KT Hanna
Jamie Dement (LadyJai)
Michael Haynes
Andrew at Lost Realms
Misha Gericke
Eileen Wiedbrauk
Angeline Trevena
Grumpy Bulldog
The Writing Nut
James at his blog Uglie

And here are my questions:

1.) What is one author you can't refuse?
2.) Do you listen to music while writing or prefer silence?
3.) To you, what is the hardest thing about writing?
4.) What is something that happened in your childhood that influenced your writing today?
5.) Movie night: Comedy, Sci-Fi, Romance, or Horror?
6.) What is your biggest pet peeve?
7.) Favorite Season?
8.) What was the first book you simply could not put down?
9.) If could time travel (without the ability to influence the past), what time period would you visit?
10.) Would you live on the moon or Mars if ever given a chance? Why or why not?
11.) What is the biggest thing that scares you?

Valentine's Day Post

2012-02-14T11:25:00.003-05:00

I told myself I wouldn't post a special blog for today, but it seems I'm too weak to resist the urge. I don't have a girlfriend. In fact, I haven't had a relationship in my life. I'm not interested in dating someone just for the sake of dating. Of course, there have been those who I have liked, but I suppose I never really liked them as much as I thought I did if I'm still single. But that's all right. It's all been working out how it's suppose to. Lately, I've learned some things about myself and those around me. This may sound sappy, but I'm waiting until I feel I can give the proper love to the one I really want to pursue. In short, I'm looking for the one. I think it's a cheesy sentiment, but I can't help it. I'm a big softy at heart.

Below is a piece appropriate for the "holiday". It's extremely melodramatic and emotional, but at the time I wrote it, it was entirely honest. I still think the piece carries some power, and eventually I hope to channel that ability into a story idea. Anyway, enjoy the piece. And Happy Valentine's day!

**************************************************************

Two People at a Table

We’re sitting across from eachother.

I wonder what you think as I lookinto your brown eyes. I wonder what you feel when you look into mine. For along time have I felt the feelings that swell inside me. For a long time have Idealt with the emotions that toss and turn like the ocean during a storm. I wantto say how I long to be with you, to hold you, to hold your hand, and to kissyou. I want to say I want you to be mine, but I’m afraid to.

I tell youI care for you. I tell you I’m here for you. I tell you I trust you. You tellme you appreciate my honesty, and that you trust me, “quite a bit.” Yet I wonderif we are getting anywhere. What I am feeling when I see you? Am I relishing inwishful thinking? Or am I following my heart in what feels like truecompanionship? I don’t know what to believe, you’re so difficult togauge.

We didn’talways get along. We weren’t always friends. I remember when we were herebefore, talking as we are now, and I remembered you stormed out on me. Ithought the feelings I had about you were mutual, that you were just a friend.But when you walked out, I realized, you were more than that. I buried thosefeelings. I told myself I didn’t care, I told myself you weren’t the one, Itold myself you weren’t my friend, I even told myself you weren’t a goodperson. I was lying.

Then wereconciled. We made amends. You had a problem and wouldn’t tell me. But I toredown the wall you had built. You opened up to me. I saw the joy that liedwithin, the harmony, the sweetness, the girl that I knew was there from themoment we met.

That was some time ago.

Here weare, sitting at a table across from one another. We’ve talked for hours. The sunhas vanished from the sky. The restaurant is empty save for us. And yet, Istill wonder if you feel the way I do. If you think about me the way I thinkabout you. If you only knew the pain I go through everyday because of myfeelings for you.

How do Itell you I want to be yours? How do I say you’re everything to me? How do I sayyou’re so embedded in my thoughts I sometimes can’t think straight. Thatsometimes I can’t even remember what I’m doing at the grocery store becauseevery time I look at another, I see you. Life, once made of color, has turnedto shades of gray. When you enter, you shine with a luminescence that can’t bematched. No one else matters but you. I look at my phone when we’re apart,hoping I’ll get something, a text, a call. I try to limit how much I talk toyou online because I don’t want to push.

If you only knew…

Give meyour hand. Let me feel the touch that may never come. Let me be the man who cancare for you. Let me be the man who loves you. Let me be the one you can leanon. I want you to hold me when the world gets rough. I want you to tell methings will be okay. I long for your voice to be next to mine, I long to smellyour hair while we lie in bed.

Thisturbulence kills me. It slices me open and makes me weak. My mind has beencompromised. I’ve given up ever feeling normal again. I’ve realize what afoolish dance love is, but all I want to do is learn. Let me tell you how Ifeel. Tell me you feel the same. I want to know, because not knowing ispoisoning my heart.

We’re sittingacross from each other…

Where I Began -- Origins Blogfest

2012-02-13T17:51:00.002-05:00

Today is the Origins BlogFest day. I happened to stumble across this in KT Hanna's blog post. The blog event is co-hosted by DL Hammons, Katie Mills, Alex J. Cavanaugh, and Andrew MacNish.

Participants are supposed to have blogs posted today telling about where they started and where their unique beginning in writing started. I found this particular "fest" interesting for many reasons, so here I go. :)

Before I get started. A big HELLO! to all the new followers. Thank you all to those who have stopped by to leave a comment. It's nice to see regular traffic in the refurnished blog. I look forward to reading all y'all's blogs. :D

I didn't grow up reading a lot. In fact, reading was something that had to be forced upon me (at least to a certain extent). I loved to be read to however. My mother always read me Dr. Seuss (Oh the Places You'll Go, Green Eggs and Ham, The Cat in the Hat), a lot of little critter, Stellaluna, and several dinosaur books. The dinosaur books were short stories with illustrations about the lives of different types of dinosaurs. Those captured my wild imagination by force.

However, when it came to reading on my own, that was another story. My influences as a child were movies, and lots of them. The ones that made the biggest impact were the original Star Wars trilogy, The NeverEnding Story, a plethora of Godzilla flicks, and pretty much all the old classics from Disney (Fantasia, Fox and the Hound, Bambi, 101 Dalmatians, Pinocchio, The Jungle Book, The Rescuers, The Rescuers Down Under, Oliver and Company, and a little later, The Santa Clause. As an outside influence (of Disney that is) was All Dogs go to Heaven, Jurassic Park and The Lost World. Last but certainly not least, all the Earnest movies, especially Earnest Scared Stupid. My head was always in the clouds.

I didn't write when I was little. I drew. Much like an old style animator would draw out a scene frame by frame, I filled out notebooks of stick figure dinosaurs going through a day which told a story. I even drew a Velociraptor on the inside of my Mom's grey van with a marker (she was livid!). If you could've seen how many 70 page notebooks I filled out by my pictorial narratives, you could tell I had a knack for story telling. I used to go outside, pretending to be a dinosaur while narrating a story aloud as I acted like a T-Rex stalking its prey. There was a period where I got into Arthur, you know, the aardvark that wore the big black round glasses? I used to draw him and write story underneath the pictures. So you could say I was on my way. After I got tired of Arthur, I moved back to dinosaurs, but instead put them in clothes and had them act like school kids (I wanted to be a paleontologist when I kid in case you were curious).

When I was in middle school (12-14) I wrote a couple short stories. The first one I wrote, which had a laminated cover and back, was called Rocko's Halloween which was basically a fan fiction of the characters from Rocko's Modern Life. I was one of the few kids in my class to have actually written a story and was kind of a big deal at the time. After that I wrote a story that was kind of a spin off from Jaws, and was called Unseen. The story revolved around a mysterious entity in the shores of Hawaii making people disappear. I never described the thing attacking the residents (rather than a large black mass in the water), and the story was completely bloodless. Prior to writing, I had this vision of people swimming, surfing, playing in the water and just getting sucked under and vanishing. The deception of the story was that all the authorities of the small island thought it was a Great White Shark. The ending was very much like the movie that inspired me until the shark itself, which was charging the boat with its huge mouth open to take a monster bite out of the boat, was pulled under much like the victims had been. The MCs then realized that what had been around the shores wasn't a shark. The entity left the shores of Hawaii in the end, still unknown...

I think I wrote a couple other short stories around that time, but I don't remember them. Remember, even though I was writing, I still wasn't reading. The last story I think I had read was in elementary school before I moved to Indiana, and it was called A House with a Clock in its Walls. A wonderfully creepy kids book if I do say so myself. I read that aloud to my mom.

High school was a dead period. I didn't read, I didn't write. At least until my senior year, when I wasn't getting harassed as much. I wrote several horror-ish short stories. Lochness monster, Nosferatu, and then a Paranormal thriller loosely inspired from the movie The Boogey Man I called The Night. I thought this was where my calling would be. I had the most fun with horror, and enjoyed trying to scare people. I think it was because I was easily scared but was also fascinated by horror at the same time.

All my stories were seriously flawed and weak in the end (but I made progress with The Night, I read it during this past summer and really enjoyed certain elements). It wasn't until I was out of high school that I wrote my first story with a more focused mindset. The story, Reunion, was about four high school buddies getting back together after twenty or so years and one of them was a hit man. It was supposed to be thriller and I spent a month writing the story which reached fifty pages single spaced.

I hit a dead spot where I didn't write for three years. Then I decided to start writing a story I got from listening to an artist I enjoyed. The story was called Crystal Depths, a futuristic sci-fi about ancient machines being discovered at the deepest part of the ocean (Mariana Trench). I think I got ten pages written before I realized I needed to read to get the story the way I wanted. So I picked up a book by Peter Benchley called White Shark and just devoured it. The story was so tightly written and simple, that even a guy who hadn't read anything in fours years could get a quick grasp of the story and enjoy it.

I kept writing my novel (gradually gaining length), and then picked up a book I tried reading in high school but quit. I had loved the movie and figured it couldn't hurt to try reading it again. Want to know what it was?

Reading this book changed everything. It was like taking the next step in not only reading, but my writing as well. Between this book and White Shark I had read a non-fiction and a couple The X-Files books, but this was the novel that made me love Stephen King and get a taste in the true depth of writing.

Of course, with a slight understanding of a deeper concept in story telling, my writing stagnated and sometimes couldn't get anymore than one or two pages written a day. I even contemplated giving up, but I never did. I got the story finished at well over 100,000 words, taking about six months to complete.

After that, I realized writing was something I wanted to pursue as a career. And here am I now. Typing away on a laptop and thinking about my current novel. I'll wrap this up, I really need to get some homework done.

What's your origin? When did you realize you loved writing and wanted to pursue the pipe dream?

Keep Writing

J.G.A

Character Writing and Genre Writing

2012-02-11T14:07:00.000-05:00

Okay, things have been a little busy lately. College, work, reforming the writing club. And along with all that, rewriting a story that's turning out to be something completely different from the original draft. However, I'm okay with this, I always like when my characters dance to a different tune than I expect them too. Which brings me to my current blog post.

Remember when I wrote there were two different types of writers? The one who does, and the other who talks? Within the realm of a writer who does, there are two types of writers in that. I once read an article about how some writers plot out everything before they write and others who simply go with the flow. A good example of the latter is Stephen King. Several times has he mentioned some of his stories were built from a single question. What if? Cujo was a story like this, Bag of Bones as well, The Running Man too (as Richard Bachman). There are others, but I can't remember them off the top of my head. But he said the stories built from the what if? turn out to be some of the best works he's done.

As I expose myself to more writers, I'm coming to see the two prominent styles coming through. I personally know a writer who has to have everything written out in detail before she begins. She has to know everything about her characters, has to know what the underlying message is, has to know what the ending will be. So by the time she sits down to write her new story, the only thing she is doing is filling in the blanks. I always referred to it as the "filler" of the story. Very rarely, she told me, does a story get away from what she originally intended. I found her style extremely interesting because it is the exact opposite of what I do.

But to put this in a broader scale, let's think of a genre. We'll go with fantasy, just cause it's cool. :)

A fantasy writer will sit down and plan out what he/she is going to write. Genres have a formula, a way stories are written so they can adhere to the genre. These writers tend to plot out much more so they know what is going to happen in their fantasy plot line. This makes me think of the Harry Potter series. The stories are fantastic, but anybody who's anybody can tell the stories are formulaic (with the exception of Deathly Hallows). Usually, characters of a genre writer will not stand out as much as a character writer.

Denis Lehane, Stephen King, and William Peter Blatty are three writers I enjoy a lot because their stories revolve around the characters. Blatty rarely describes how his characters look, the voice of his characters paint a picture for how they appear. King has said: "I come up with an idea. I develop characters for the story, put them in a situation and see how they come out of it." Lehane said in an interview, "When I come up with an idea, I usually know something in the beginning, something that would happen in the middle, a what could happen at the end." The exception for Lehane was Shutter Island. Character writers tend to not plot as much, because it's more about playing the characters, becoming them as they write and then reacting to a situation when it arrives.

There is plotting all around of course. I do it myself. I usually want to know who the characters are, the plot, and the general direction I'm going when I write. But how I get there is the fun of writing.

So dear reader, how do you write? Do you "wing it"? Or do you plot everything out?

Keep Writing.

J.G.A.

I'll Follow Your Voice

2012-02-02T20:06:00.000-05:00

The air was cool. The sun was a burning orange heatless fireball in the pale blue sky. Jason walked in the woods, a sea of brown surrounding him as he breathed out white vapor clouds. Wearing rubber boots, he made his walking in a creak, letting his mind wander. Going on walks was common for him, something he enjoyed doing. But as the evening progressed, and the sun descended behind a row of naked trees and the air grew colder, Jason stopped.

Something was calling from far away.

The sound was coming from somewhere behind. He tuned an ear to it. Strange, he thought, what could be making such a sound? Ahead of him was the sound of water flowing through a damned up area. A singular bird chirped above him. He could hear himself breathing, feel his own heartbeat. But the sound continued. It was high, and drawn out. The call dropped a few pitches, making the sound only more foreign to his ears. He gazed at the long running creak before him; flat, brown, and a clear view ahead. Jason had been walking through a different area of the woods, taking a route he hadn't before taken.

When the call carried to his ears, he turned around to the sound. There, floating over the flat stretch of creak he had previous walked through was a being cloaked in black. Jason let out a yip of surprise, backpedaled and tripped over his feet, tumbling into the creak. Ice cold water flowed into the seat of his pants, his heart racing, his breath quick, but when he looked to area he saw the cloaked being. It was gone.

Elsewhere...

A young woman, Krystal, is sitting by her mother as she lies in her death bed. Her illness has gotten the best of her. Krystal's mother has become frail, weak, and incoherent. Her skin has a yellow tint and clings to her skin like old leather. Krystal's eyes are swollen and puffy, she's been crying. Her mother has been silent all day, sleeping peacefully. But now she stirs, raising a bony hand as Krystal raises her head and stands.
"Momma?" she says.
The mother gestures for Krystal to come closer, her purple lips moving silently. Heart beating as if she has just run a marathon, Krystal leans in. Her mother's voice comes out in a wavering croak.
"Do you see?"
Krystal looks curiously at her mother, blinking.
The mother raises her bony hand again, and this time Krystal realizes she is pointing at something. She follows her hand and looks at a corner in the room. More bemused, she turns to her mother, brow furrowed.
"I don't see anything Mama."
Her mother takes in a long rattling breath and lets it out slowly. "An..." she gasps. "An angel darling."
Krystal's eyes shoot back to the corner. Suddenly she does feel something, something watching her and her mother, and it is waiting. The lights flicker, and she can see a pale light lingering in the corner, hovering. The air grows cool, and Krystal's skin breaks out in gooseflesh. She absently rubs her arms. The light fades and cool air blows over Krystal's face, making her instinctively close her eyes. She waits until the cool air passes, and when it finally does, she slowly opens her eyes. The air is warming again. When she turns to her mother, her head is laying to the side, eyes open, mouth slightly agape, not breathing.

Elsewhere...

Night settled into a small house within a cul-de-sac. Everything was peaceful, not a single thing stirred. The house was dark, and so was the little neighborhood. Inside the master bedroom, Jamie and Matt Harris lay in bed together. Jamie was sleeping sound, but Matt is awake, his eyes are wide open. He had another horribly vivid dream. They have been plaguing him for the past week, and they have started to disturb him. But his concern over what he has been seeing was interrupted by crying.

Matt sat up.

Why was there crying? They didn't have a baby. Matt sat in the darkness, listening intently. Jamie breathed deeply beside her, the house creaked occasionally, and in the far side of the house...crying. Hesitantly, Matt threw the covers back, put on his slippers and robe, and exited the bedroom.

As he entered the living room, he realized the sound was closer, louder. He peered to the closed door leading to the basement. Sliding his feet across the white carpet, he approached the door and placed an ear against it. The crying was definitely coming from behind. Matt took a step back and grasped the doorknob, it was freezing, and pulled the door open. Pale moonlight illuminated the basement blue as it beamed through the only basement window. In front of the freezer where he and his wife store extra food and such, there was a dark mass before it. Matt squinted. The crying stopped, and Matt felt a surge of panic swell through him. He shut the door quickly.

Flashlight, he thought, I need a flashlight. There was one sitting atop the fridge in the kitchen. It was just around the corner. If he could just...

But he doesn't. The sudden panic he felt has faded and a different feeling washed over him. Embarrassment. Taking a deep breath to steady his heart, he opened the door again and peered down the stairs. The black mass was right in front of the door, shapeless arms rising into the air. Matt screamed and slammed the door.

*****

Okay, I think I've had my fun. I had an interesting walk and thought I'd share some of the things going through my mind at the time. But this does bring something up that has been on my mind lately. The paranormal. I think it's safe to say ghosts are something we all are interested in collectively. Of course, there are those who don't believe ghosts, spirits, and haunting. Nevertheless, the attraction remains.

Why?

Life is an interesting little show. I tend to think there is a lot more going on than some of us are willing to believe. People establish rules to their life so they can live in the reality they surround themselves in. When something comes along (death in family, family member, stray dog, anything) we adjust to it. However, it disrupts the things we were planning to do, or are used to doing. A family member showing up usually isn't a bad thing (unless we're talking in-laws), but we all have a routine we want to get back to so we get on with our lives.

However, when we have something interrupt our lives and routine that we don't understand, it creates fear. Fear is a irrational thought, however it is apart of our basic emotion set as human beings. When fear takes over, everything around us his magnified, the mind can't process thought like it would if the person wasn't scared. And if fear lingers long enough, it can erode the mind. But, when fear is alleviated, we look back at the moment where the fear was induced and two possible results happen.

We try to remove it from our minds.
We remember the event to be worse than it actually was.

The point I'm trying to get at here is when our lives are bothered by something that scares us, like a ghost or spirit, it becomes hard for us to believe what we are seeing, even if we are terrified and the entity is presenting itself. For those who believe in such phenomenon, they might be less terrified and are not only willing to accept what they see, but also curious about why they are seeing what they are seeing.

I think this why there is such a overall interest in the paranormal. It's that hint that something greater is going on, and we are getting glimpses of it. That ever wondering question of what happens after death driving us to chase ghosts and try to communicate with them.

Personally, I think ghosts, hauntings, and other such occurrences are real. I've had my fair share of strange events and there is something going on in this world that is beyond my understanding. Perhaps, our beliefs influence what we see. I'm not religious, but I'm definitely a spiritual person.

So, dear reader, what do you think? You think there's merit in ghosts? Do you believe a place can be haunted by a soul that cannot, or will not leave this world?

Leave the light on.

J.G.A.

#Writemotivation and 2,000 a Day

2012-01-30T19:23:00.000-05:00

Well, #writemotivation month is winding down. Can't say I've accomplished all of my goals, I didn't finish the second look through my novel (or the first). Everyone has a muse when it comes to writing. When I think about my muse, I think of a great quote I heard from a video game (when I actually played them): "Hurry now! My muse is fickle bitch with very short attention span!" As much as I try to tame my muse and focus myself on one writing project, I always tend to jump from one to the other. I guess it's just how I function creatively.

However, even though I did not finish my novel (but I will!), I did wrap up two short stories and took a great step in getting three others wrapped up as well. These are pieces I wrote last summer that have been sitting around for a while. Since I only have my material to review right now, I've been doing the best I can to get the writing out of the way so I can start on a fresh slate.

There are some things I've learned from #writemotivation, and here are some.

1.) KT is really, really cool. :D
2.) Writing is very spiritual event for me as a person.
3.) All of my short stories have followed a theme and has made me realize some things about myself.
4.) I have a much better understanding of how a story is put together, and how details are essential.
5.) Helping others in their writing is a great way of understanding your own writing.

The #writemotivation month was been wonderful. It's been great to cheer others on and to have been cheered. I've connected with new people and really enjoyed getting to know them. :)

Okay, before I go I want to briefly share with you something I do when I write. Take what you want from it. It may help you, it may not. It's just something I do and I find it interesting.

I am currently in the process of rewriting a novella called Treasure Keeper. I wrote the original in June and wrote the piece in about two weeks. I flew my the seat of my pants. I felt great after finishing it and thoroughly enjoyed writing it. However, towards the end of the summer, I looked over the piece and wondered: "What the hell was I thinking?" Don't get me wrong, the piece wasn't bad, but it wasn't anywhere near as good as I had perceived. I looked over, making mundane changes and whatnot, and I couldn't help but feel the story was lacking something. However, despite my best efforts to figure it out, I couldn't.

I shelved it.

I took it down at the beginning of December. I got about halfway through the second chapter before I shelved it again and went on to work on my novel. When I went on my mission to finish up my shorter pieces, and I took this story out again, I realized the problem. Like the story I sent to KT to review, White Haze, the tone was wrong. Of course there were elements I liked, like the female lead character, and the interesting antagonist. I realized the story needed a reboot.

With the core of the story in mind, I started writing out details for a new format around the concept. After four total pages of notes, I understood that not only was the original draft a repeat of what I had written about several times before (lost loved ones), but also the secondary characters were completely uninteresting. What I have on my hands now is more of a metaphorical coming of age story.

I really am trying to get this story right this time. So, everyday I sit down to write, I try to accomplish two things. First, I look over what I have written, cleaning up and trimming down sentences and such (less is more). And second, focus on trying to get a good 2,000 words written. If I feel I can't accomplish this, I will not write and look over my notes and ask myself a slew of questions.

What am I hung up on?
What can I do to make this part work?
What can I do with the lead character to make her point of view more interesting for the story?
How can I put the desires, feelings, and goals into the story without telling?
And finally: How can I write the next passage in a way that feels solid and contains meaning?

These are questions I usually ask before I go to sleep at night. I read for a couple hours, then close my book and just lay in bed, letting my mind wander. Whenever a certain idea comes to mind, and I feel it is worthy enough to work for the story, I write it down in my "idea book". I do this now because I realized when looking over House in the Hills, there was so much written that was just nothing. It was filler. I would literally have passages of about 3,000+ words that dragged the story and told nothing. Writing down notes and constantly putting my mind to thoughts on the current story helps me write passages that are clear, tight, and to the point. And if I can't accomplish these things by thinking them over during the night, a long walk in the woods always does some good.

Brainstorming is key. I use to think I could just let loose and go by whatever comes to me, which sometimes I do, but most often than not, having a plan of attack is a way of getting the message through in the writing. As I have most currently learned, get to the point and let the message itself be the power of what you have written. Don't get carried away with a bunch of wordiness because you feel it dresses up what you have.

How did everyone else do for the #writemotviation month? Did you learn anything? Did you accomplish some of your goals?

Keep Writing.

J.G.A.

For Everything Writing is Worth

2012-01-23T12:04:00.000-05:00

Right now, it is 8:37 pm on a Sunday night. I'm sitting in my green leather La-Z-Boy recliner. I have taken naps in this bad boy, watched a lot of movies, read a lot of books, written my fair share of stories too (no fun when it's 90 degrees outside let me tell you!). I'm listening to some music as I write this, a Dance/DJ artist called 009 Sound System. I wouldn't call it great, but it's definitely catchy and listenable. I dug for this music, so I dig it just out of pride of having found it.

Anyway, I know where I am and what I'm doing. Where are you? Are you sitting in your favorite chair? Perhaps couch? Are you in your study (if you have one)? Are you at work? Is where you are your preferable spot while reading something? Everyone has a comfortable place where they sit, lay down, or relax to read something. It's not much different than that favorite spot on the couch when you flick on the tube.

So, by the time you read this. I will have left my Sociology class for the day. It will be into the future. But right now, as you read this, you are with me. Even as my physical self is out and about doing whatever (probably going to Taco Bell). We are having a meeting of the minds with the words I have typed and then posting them on this blog for you to read. I'm reaching into the future just as you are going back in time to meet me.

Let me bring this a little further home. Picture a long room, there are paintings and candles mounted on the wooden walls. Within the center of the room is a long rectangular table with a glass bulb sitting in the middle. Within this glass bulb is a white owl with bright amber eyes. One the back of this white owl is the number ten in blue. You see the number?

Writing is quite a bit more special than people are willing to give it credit for. Those who take it seriously will say writing is hard work, and it is, don't think for a second it isn't. But what else is writing? As I download the words from my head to my moving fingers, you are receiving raw information from my own brain.

Writing is telepathy. What else can it be? Of course, it's not super hero style where I can send and receive information from other people's minds. But you are certainly getting a direct shot of information coming from my head. Take the owl in the glass orb. What does the glass bulb look like? Is it oval shaped? Is it circular? Is it large or small? Does it matter? No, the point is you noticed the number ten on the back of the owl. I'm painting a picture in your head, not writing an instruction manual. I didn't describe the exact dimensions of the room, or described the style of frames on the paintings, the type of wood made from the table, or even how big or small the owl was.

Writing is a gift to all that can do it well. Writing is difficult to accomplish. Writing is difficult to understand and comprehend. Creative writing cannot be taught. One could be given the tools to start, but it is up to the person to write and get better. How does one do that? Read, read, read, read, read, and then write, write, write. Reading should be the center focus of which you base all your writing around. Without reading, writing is pointless, without reading, one can never understand how to wow a reader, to shock a reader, to make a reader laugh, or cry, or pull the book closer to themselves in obsessive interest. If a writer has never had any of these things happen them, they will never be able to replicate the patterns in their own work.

Of course, I could sit here and tell you about it until my fingers are about to fall off. But what it really comes down to is simply doing it. Writers are usually introverted people, and sometimes as introverts, we dump the things going on in our heads unto others. Blurting all that creative whirlwind going inside until the storm subsides. The more time a writer spends talking about it, the less time they spend actually doing it. I find when I delve my thoughts aloud to another on what I plan to write I feel as if I just destroyed what I had going. What is going on in my head is precious. I don't dear whisper it, because it is so fragile, that to whisper would destroy it. Bottle that ambition, that constant need or want to talk about it into wanting to do it instead. There are two types of writers: those who talk about writing, and then those who actually spend time doing it.

So as we embrace the final full week of #writemotivation month; what kind of writer are you? Do you find yourself putting up excuses to not get to that writing? Or are you making a point of taking the effort required to sit down and actually write? It's a simple thing really. Even if a writer is to sit down say, an hour a day, and write something, and then repeat that cycle. It becomes a habit, it will be something you wouldn't even think about. Because if you don't do it, it feels as if you missed something, like not brushing your teeth.

So, my dear reader, I challenge you. For the final week of #writemotivation. Sit down for at least an hour, write something, anything. It doesn't matter what it is. Stick to it, even if the writing is crap. Write until that hour is up, and when you are finished, repeat the process tomorrow, same time, same place. Do this for a week. If you complete the week, go for another. Keep going until writing becomes so ingrained in your daily routine you don't even think about writing, you just acknowledge that writing is something that is going to be done. Like taking a shower, letting the dog out before bed, making sure all the lights are off before leaving home in the morning. Make writing something you do rather than talk about. Who knows, you might find yourself looking forward to that hour.

#Writemotivation to all!

J.G.A.

So Let Us Embrace Week Three...

2012-01-16T17:21:00.000-05:00

Going to treat this post more like a journal entry. There are a couple things I want to talk about, but first, let me paint a picture for you.

Imagine an old man, thinning white hair on top, large wire glasses hanging from the bridge of his broad nose. His back is hunched and he walks stiffly. His pants are pulled up to nearly his chest and looks very, very bored. This is the man I see when I walk into my American History class. He is sitting in a chair and staring off into the floor, as if he can see through it. I seat myself in the back of the class thinking: Shit... this class is going to blooooooow...

Once time for class begins, he glances at his watch. First thing he says.

"This is American History. You will need the book 'Survey of American History', if you don't, you have trouble. I am handing out the syllabus (rule sheet, regulations, contact information), if you don't follow it, you have trouble. My name is Professor Sauders, if you don't show me respect, you have trouble. Read the syllabus, know the rules, know we have a book report due March 28th, if you don't know this, you have trouble."

Sauders stands up, and even despite his hunched back, he is actually rather tall. He sets the syllabus aside, and props one arm before him, and the other behind to appear as if he's holding a rifle.

"We are going to talk about Cowboys and Indians. Lots of movies been made out them. Hollywood made lots of money from the subject. Actually, Hollywood does a good job of making money of anything it can get its hands on."

He aims the imaginary rifle throughout the class. One eye closed as if he is aiming through a scope.

"The Winchester, the rifle that changed everything in the days of the white man taking over Indian land. It was the number one cause of the extinction of the Indians. Of course, there was disease, but the white man distributes war and destruction best. The Winchester rifle could fire 14 times faster than any weapon Indians had."

He pretends to adjust the scope, takes aim of one of the students, and fires.

"PPPOOOOOOOOWWWWWW!"

He reloads, aims at another student.

"PPPOOOOOOOOWWWWWW!!"

He lowers the rifle and pretends to set it against the wall.

"The Winchester also aided in the destruction of the buffalo, Indians' main food source. They also used it to build tents, weapons, clothing, and so on. So everyone, take out your notebooks, it's time for notes."

This was the beginning of my American History class. After he turned on the overhead, laid a transparent sheet up of notes, he looked at the class, smiled (making him look ten years younger) and said.

"I love teaching American History."

The class was so engaging I was surprised it was over. Point of the story, never judge a book by its cover. :)

Okay, something I wanted to mention: self esteem and writing. I have a friend who writes and is about as pessimistic as it gets. He says his writing sucks, he takes too long, blah blah blah. After a while of constantly hearing how everything is horrible, horrifying, terrible, it just becomes background noise. I am naturally a positive person and a dreamer. So much so that I have even been called "childish" in my positive attitude toward my dreams and goals.

Positive thinking is the number one way to get through life, in my opinion. And if you write, it is essential. When you are confident, happy, and a dreamer, it shows in your writing. It show up in the ambitiousness of your story, the engrossing characters. This is common sense to me, but it surprises me how much I see people who like writing but don't take themselves seriously. They say, "It would be nice to write for a living, but I don't think..." or "It's just a hobby, it's fun, but I doubt anything will ever..." I'm so sick of hearing this kind of mentality, it's why there is such crappy writing out there that is considered good.

Don't let rules bring you down, don't let doubt bring you down, channel that energy into a giddy, anxious belief that the only thing stopping you from doing what you want to do is yourself. If you can understand this concept (which is really simple I assure you), you can do anything. You just have to work toward your dreams. But maybe that's the issue, people don't want to work to get what they desire. But if that is the case, they don't deserve it.

Dream, think positive, establish goals! KT's #writemotivation is the best blessing writers on Twitter can come across. And everyday I meet another writer who doubts what he/she is capable of, it makes me realize how special #writemotivation is, and the goal behind it. Believe in yourself!

Last week was a rather productive session in writing. I was able to wrap up one short story and polish up another to have it sent to a beta reader. It has been looked over several times, so hopefully when I get it back, I'll have very few things to fix. I was able to look over some other material, (Zack! That's you! I'm almost done!) and have enjoyed looking over the material as well.

Taking a break from my novel has been nice. Working on short stories has allowed me to grasp a concept that isn't as grand and huge and help focus on a simpler story. Funny thing is, now that I'm working a smaller story, I have a better understand of how things are put together and how it should be organized. I'm also better at keeping character personality in order. Sometimes, when I work on a large project like a novel, it's easy for me to keep the roots of my character's emotions the same because my emotions have changed since I started writing the story. Plus, there are all the subplots to put into a story, so it makes it easy for me to lose track of how a character behaves throughout.

Yesterday, I was able to get some more notes written down on my old sci-fi novel Crystal Depths. It will be a while before I dive into it. While I continue to jump back and forth between short stories and novel, I won't start a new project until I get these others old projects out of the way. I figure since I'm playing around with understanding story, characters, sub plot, subject matter, etc. It would be a good idea for me to embrace a broader story in Crystal Depths, before diving into my massive trilogy concept. I want to work my way up before diving into it. I'm kind of focusing my trilogy as a bit of a life project. Sounds kinda cheesy, but I want to make sure I do it right.

Crystal Depths so far is everything House in the Hills isn't. There are tons of characters, the subject matter is completely different, there are passages from each character in the story, it's much more fact based (like Michael Crichton) and nearly twice the length. However, with the notes I wrote up yesterday, it will be a little more psychic and perhaps a little more fantasy-like.

That's the 411!

#Writemotivation to all!!

J.G.A.

More Stuff and #Writemotivation

2012-01-09T18:41:00.000-05:00

Nothing quite like starting the week of the new college semester with a bang. Three classes, and quite a bit of reading to do. Which, I don't think I really mind, I like all forms of reading. Buuuuuuut, we'll see how I feel after a couple weeks of academic reading.

Well, for those of you who have kept up with what tweets I'm been posting (blogs too), you probably understand I've become slightly obsessed with Harry Potter. I'm finally onto book 7, and I have to say I've never been so into reading in my entire life, and that's really saying something. My last week of freedom was filled with massive amounts of reading, catching up with an old friend, and a company party.

So let me get down to the nitty gritty here (not much to say, I want to write you see...). Working on my novel was slowed greatly as of late, mostly due to my mass consumption of Harry Potter. I did however work out a rather important dialogue scene, and after a couple days of it sitting, I realized I wanted to add a few more things to it. On another note, I did pick up my sci-fi short story "Void" the other day. The story is the closest thing I have to submission ready. It's been reviewed a ton, and viewed by several eyes. I kept going over it so much I got tired of the story and tossed it aside (see a trend going on here?), now that I have picked it up again with the intent of giving it a nice polish, I realize I really like what I have.

Also realized I want to pick up a novel I wrote about two years ago and look over it again. I wouldn't mind seeing what I could do with it. It's the longest thing I've ever written (about 180+ pages single spaced). A cool sci-fi about ancient alien machines at the bottom of the ocean. It has a lot of characters and would be cool to take from being a plot-driven story to a character-driven narrative (Harry Potter influence anyone?).

So, I'll wrap this up. Reading a ton, writing a little, brainstorming a shit ton (including lots of note taking, trilogy here I come!).

Here's to #writemotviation!

J.G.A.

Talking About Stuff and #Writemotivation

2012-01-02T13:11:00.000-05:00

Funny doing a blog post right now. I haven't written anything for a couple days. I have been so absorbed in reading as of late. Yesterday I spent the entire day reading. I put down my book (Harry Potter and The Order of the Phoenix) several times with the intent of being done for the day. But I couldn't think of anything else I wanted to do, so I just picked the book up again and read more. Currently anxiously waiting for The Half-Blood Prince to show up in the mail. Might have to read another book while I wait. I'm almost done with Book 5 (Gah!).

Annnnnnnnyway.... There is a new year upon us. Everyone is starting to make goals and resolutions for what they want to do (ok, well most, some aren't), and I had one main resolution for the new year. No, it's not to lose twenty pounds, it's not to get more exercise, nor is it to find that special girl that can actually understand me, but rather to be less self centered. In all honesty, I'm really surprised it took me so long to realize I'm not as interesting of a person as I liked to think myself as. I'm just me, I don't really do a lot. I just read, write, watch a little bit of TV here and there and go to college. Doesn't leave much to talk about in the "exciting" department. I made the resolution to be more focused on the friends I have, showing more appreciation for them, and just enjoying others' company. It's easy for us young people (16-27), to be all about ourselves. I suppose it makes sense, we're young, healthy, and good looking (usually) and the world is at the tip of our fingers. We are capable of doing anything we want, the possibilities are endless. So being self centered comes with the part. I want to go against that mold, I don't like fitting into the "social norm", and as I get older, I'm doing a better job of it. :)

So, let me list off a couple of goals I have for the year.

Reading:

I want to spend at least a couple hours every night to reading. I've been doing this ever since I picked up the Harry Potter series and I'm starting to realize some of the things J.K. Rowling does in her books I could do in my stories. Reading for a longer period of time not only allows me to properly escape from this world, but also analyze how the story is put together. But most of all, read more because it's just plain fun.

Writing:

I usually have the resolve to write. I do sometimes take breaks because I get burnt out forcing myself to sit down and work on writing when I don't really feel like it. Sometimes the breaks come because I need time to recollect my thoughts and reanalyze how I'm going about the story. It also allows me a chance to think about future stories. However, in the past couple days I haven't been working on writing, my thoughts have been divided between my novel and the first book of my trilogy (mainly the intro). Brainstorming is important, for me, it allows me to think things through, which I don't seem to do while I'm making myself work everyday on the same story for hours at a time.

So, that all being said. My writing goals for this year are:

*Get my short stories and two novellas wrapped up and submitted.
*Finish up first and second run through my horror/fantasy novel
*Begin writing first book of trilogy

College:

Ah, while I set myself to some high standards to things I have time to do in my "spare" time. I must pay attention to the centerpiece of which everything my ambition is centered around. This year is going to be a huge for college. I'm approaching my final year at Ivy Tech Community College, which I will be transferring to USI (University of Southern Indiana), a really cool college that is relatively cheap and contains a program where I can get a degree in creative writing. Plus the amount of opportunity I'll have at the campus will be ridiculous, not to mention to finally be around people who actually care and take writing seriously. I love Ivy Tech and what is has done for me, allowing me to go to school without mounting any sort of debt whatsoever, for teaching me so many things about myself as a person, allowing me to build confidence, allowing me to meet a pair of peeps I'm so grateful to have as friends, and even the great teachers. But that college is a joke when it comes to creativity. I like the analogy my friend came up with in class (who has a bit of creative edge himself). Ivy Tech is like tofu, its filling, its technically good for you, and you can get by on it for a while, but there's no flavor.

My goal for college this year is rather simple:

Get an A in all classes.

Of course, this is easier said than done. But I have confidence in myself, and if I get a B, well, it's not the end of the world is it? As long as my GPA stays above 3.5.

Okay, all that jibber jabber is out of the way. Let me briefly cover how things have been going in the writing front, then I'll be done talking about myself.

I stopped myself from writing any new material because I was getting bogged down in what I have written. I want to get my stories finished, and writing is a gradual process, not something I can do in a short period of time. My time has been centered on my novel. And it has been one beast of a story to tackle. I look forward to starting my trilogy, at least it won't so centered on metaphors, emotions, and things that have happened in my past. Revising has been a bit of a turd for it's been tough to get the proper elements/story parts in the right place. And it's really obvious, now that I'm the middle point of the novel, that I put in a lot of filler because I didn't know where to go with the plot. I think I didn't completely comprehend the complication of the story as I was writing it. I thought I did, but looking back, it's obvious I didn't

But thanks to some good reading sessions, brainstorming, walks in the woods, and rereading what I had written, I'm getting a direction for the story and it's starting to slowly come together. It makes me pleased. As far as what I'm doing to help stay focused... I have to say its simply determination to get the novel done as I won't allow myself to start a new project until it's done. Reading a lot has helped in ways I can't even begin to explain. I'll be hoping on the revision train tonight, but if I want to do that and have time to finish up Book 5, I suppose I better get a move on about my day, so I can get back home in decent time.

Happy New Year!!

J.G.A.

The Adventures of Reading

2011-12-17T16:37:00.000-05:00

It is so nice to be done with school for three weeks that it's ridiculous. Currently getting adjusted to having all this new found spare time. Homework filled in about every waking moment when I wasn't involved in going to class, writing blogs, reading, or just writing/revising in general. However, it was a very fun semester, I enjoyed all my classes and the experiences I've been through and learned from. I hope the pace will keep up when next semester starts. So far, each semester has been better than the last.

Now that I have more free time, I've been reading a lot more. I'm currently digging into the Harry Potter series and have really enjoyed it. Just finished reading book 3 (Prisoner of Azkaban), and it has been really interesting to see how the books have progressed. Already I can tell the writing matures with each book, and I've also noticed is how structurally different Prisoner of Azkaban is from the first two. I don't mean as in the material of the story, but how the book progresses. What happens in a 300 page story moves along at a much quicker pace than something that is 400+ pages.

I love reading. I sometimes don't get to it as much as I would like because I get caught up in revising my own novel or writing a new piece. When I read a good book, I start off reading the words, but after a while I'm lifted away and I'm no longer looking at the words, but watching a world progress before my eyes.

A good way to look at it is in The Matrix. Cipher, the bloke who worked with Smith to hand over Morpheus and killed a bunch of side characters, is doing some mysterious work in front of the console where Tank would be while the MCs would be plugged in. Neo walks up from behind and they start talking. I like when Neo asks, "Do you always look at in code?" referring to the Matrix stream in front of Cipher, who responds, "Well that's how you have to look at it. You get use to it, I don't even see the code. All I see is blonde, brunette, redhead..."

This is how reading is for me.

I'm not a speed reader by any means. It takes me a little under an hour and a half to read 50+ pages. Of course, I do a lot more when reading, I analyze how things are put together, how tight the writing is, elements used (suspense, description of surroundings, wording of sentences, foreshadowing, character development), I even go back in the story sometimes to read over parts I may have missed or just to reread. I read for the enjoyment, reading provides me with fuel and inspiration to write better.

The best part about reading Harry Potter is how the characters progress and change as I go through the books. The questions presented and left alone until future books, the foreshadowing, the patience of exposing a little bit at a time instead of letting it all out at once. The kinds of things used to keep a reader interested in what will happen in the next book. These are things I'm learning for my trilogy I have rolling around in my head. Reading fiction is a lot like creative research, it never hurts to study as much as you can. Throughout the next three weeks, I will binge read like I did during summer. The other night, I laid down and read for three hours. I couldn't put the book down it was so good, and I came out feeling great.

Reading is an adventure, reading is exercise for the brain. Reading is the thing that keeps our imaginations alive and young. Without it, life would not be anywhere near as interesting. Reading, writing, and music, theses are the three things in my life that keep me going. Music provides me with inspiration and motivation, but that is for another blog post.

So, my fellow blog readers, what does reading serve for you? I'm always interested to hear other people talk about why they read. Do you read to get away? Do you read to study the craft? Do you read because it fuels you?

Keep Reading

J.G.A.

Rollin' With It

2011-12-12T21:29:00.000-05:00

It's finals week and I have three more days to go. Monday was day one, and considering how I figured things were going to go, it went very well. I could totally tell I studied when the exam was presented to me. Feeling good right now, hope it means I'll get a good grade. I rewarded myself by taking the rest of the day off so I could write this blog and then get some revision done. When this week is over, and it's Sunday, I will sit in front of the tube watching football, beer in my hand while smoking a cigar.

Anyway, this isn't what I came here to write about. I wanted to write about something I'm sure many guys think about, women. Yes, for the ladies reading this (if there are any) this weird nerd is gonna talk about women and my experience with them. Should I tread lightly? I'm leaning a little more to yes because most of the people I spend time with are women. Buuuuuut, I do want to poke a little fun, because understanding women is something guys like to make fun of.

But all fun and jokes aside, women don't need to be understood, just loved. I love women, I love being around them, I love their company, they are pleasing to look at (give me a woman with great hair and eyes and I'm sold), I could go on and on about why I love women. Naturally, being the youngest of three boys and being mostly raised by my mother, I tend to get along better with women than guys.

I'm a pretty unconventional guy. I don't fit in with the social norm, and I really think outside the box. I had a co-worker say that spending time with me is like flipping through channels on TV. I took it as a bit of a compliment, I pride myself on being different. I like to make things fun by messing around, if you can't have fun while doing something, then what is the point of doing it at all? However, that doesn't mean I don't take things seriously. When I get into a state of mind where I'm really focused on what I'm doing or deep in thought, I've had people look at me weird and ask if I'm upset (which I'm not, it's just all the noise I usually make is going on inside my noggin).

For the past four years or so, I've had the privileged, joyful, irritating, and confusing honor of working with mostly women. I worked a summer gig after my first job ended where all the girls (there were about three other dudes that worked there, all much younger than I) were young (17-21, a couple older ladies), wore really short shorts, and were all hot.

Carol's Corner Summer 2011

To say those five months was a learning experience would be an understatement, it was a very interesting and fun time in my life. The girls were fun to be around, getting the chance to socialize and enjoy a good conversation. It was fun to listen to them talk about this or that and understand where some of their perspectives were, and how they thought about things. Of course, every woman is different, so I had to manage how I behaved to get along with some(which sucked), but I was curious about learning what I could.

As the summer wound down and college picked up and my job came to a close. I got a job at Brownstone where I, once again, work with mostly women. College has a been the biggest impact on my interaction with woman so far yet. I had one a I liked, or thought I did, a lot. I wasted a lot of time getting hung up on about one or two features she had that I also had and got carried away to the point where I was about head over heels for her. I learned to express my feelings and channel my emotions on how I felt about her. But when I told her how I felt, I was told she didn't feel the same, which hurt, but I've picked myself up since then and became a bit stronger.

So turn back to Brownstone, since that murky mess with my college classmate has ended (thank God!), I've been given the pleasure of standing back, and observing women. Some of the women at work think I'm weird but that's nothing new (how many times does a guy have to be told this before they understand that he understands this?). I've just been interested in getting to know women and developing a talking relationship, if not a possible friendship. I've developed a more objective view if you will. Still, I sometimes get the feeling that some women get weirded out by me, but maybe I'm just over thinking things.

So let's wrap this up. Woman are great, they are confusing, and they're extremely different than guys. But that's okay, who would want to date a woman that acted like a dude anyway? What have I learned about women? They're emotional, they're sometimes moody (who isn't though?), some are shallow, others are self-absorbed, others are quiet and inquisitive, others are outgoing and wacky, some are extremely perverted (which is really fun if you can get in on the jokes), others are really serious, and others are weird. What makes women tick? I don't know, sometimes I wonder if they do either. I confuse myself with some of the congested thoughts going through my head, along with my inner motives and desires. Best thing I can tell myself about women is this: roll with it, if a woman is going to judge me on who I am on how I act, then they don't deserve to see the tender side I carry within. But at the very least, I'll enjoy the time I have being around the women who can carry a conversation and can embrace being weird. Those women are waaaaay cool.

Keep Writing

J.G.A.

A Couple Things

2011-12-05T11:03:00.001-05:00

It's been an interesting week, a lot has happened and there has been a lot of reflective thinking. School, despite all the finals and big projects coming up, is slowing down. I no longer have class on Thursdays, however, those days have been picked up by work. December is the busy season at the quality place I work, The Brownstone, an awesome restaurant if I do say so myself.

I had the opportunity to pick up a side project at college last week. I was offered the chance to work on the school's newsletter and thought, why not? It seemed like a chance for a great learning experience and something that could look good on me as a student wanting to transfer to a bigger school. Funny thing though, the deadline to turn in two articles was at the end of the week I hopped on the project. It was going to be a pain in the ass to get something written, but fortunately I got information on some events that happened in the school during the past couple weeks and attended a meeting where people from China visited the campus to learn about certain assigned educational systems from Washington. The meeting was two hours long, consisting of a ton of questions, a stagnant room, stuffy executives, audio recorders, cameras, and a translator. Needless to say, it made for a good front page article. I also made the deadline.

I was asked if I was interested in participating in future articles with the newsletter and told the people in charge that I would consider it. The week in working in the newsletter consisted of interacting with people who were stressed, confused, and at times seemingly uninterested. But I think that was due to the little amount of time remaining. If I were to join in earlier, I would be apart of the meetings going into the future and would know what to expect. I didn't give the newsletter much thought, I honestly didn't think I was going to come back, but I got to thinking about it on Saturday and the thought led me to to think about something else.

In my lifetime, especially recently, I have always been apprehensive to take on more. Why? I tell myself it's because I wouldn't be able to get to my writing. But truth is, I always manage to get to my writing one way or another. Because writing is everything to me, and something that is that important to me, I will find a way to work on it one way or another. So, then why is it I'm apprehensive about doing more? Seems the best answer I could come up with is I'm afraid of testing myself. Thinking that having a lot of down time is good, which it is, but I'm finding I like to have things to do. I like going about the week knowing I've got things going on to keep me busy. Being busy keeps me involved, keeps me interested, keeps me learning, keeps me hungry.

I used to be the same way when it came to thinking about my future. When I used to smoke weed, everyday too, I would sit around, watch movies, play video games, and think about the thing I had no control over: the past. Why? Because I was afraid of the future and taking control of the thing that I did have control over: my life. So I quit smoking, sold my 360, picked up a book, and started writing my first story in three years. I got back into college, and worked out a plan for where I want to be within the near future.

Point of all this is, I'm a young man still learning about myself and dealing with petty fears that have plagued me since middle school. But that is going to change. Down time is good, but being involved makes me happy. Writing will always get done, taking advantage of the opportunities presented in my life is important. I've recognized myself as an opportunistic individual, it's time to start behaving like one.

Speaking of writing, I've learned some things from working on my novel. First, it's incredibly different than working on a short story. Short stories focus on one problem and one solution, the novel is exact opposite. As I continue to work on my horror novel House in the Hills, (Zack! If you're reading this, you should be receiving the first part soon!) I'm becoming aware of all the different problems and solutions presenting itself when revising. Reading further into the story has made me remember parts coming up and how I want to tweak them. It's simple to say the story is going to be much longer than the original draft. But if my memory serves me right, I thought the same thing on that beautiful golden evening I finished the difficult first draft.

Another thing I have learned is patience. Writing a novel takes time, and so does revising, and in a lot of ways, it takes more patience. Expand where you want, make the story as good as it can be, worry about removing scenes once you've finished growing the story. Plus, this novel is like my baby, it's made me very apprehensive to cutting out certain parts. But it's also because I don't know what else is going to happen with the rest of the story until I go through it. I know I plan to change the concept and tweak the story to match a theme, which has a lot to do with God, the Devil, Heaven and Hell, and inner personal demons.

Make the writing as tight as it can be. This is something I've learned from writing short stories, but it really helps when writing a novel. Otherwise writing a page of action can come out as three pages, especially with how I write.

Back story is essential! I can't stress this enough, well, at least for me anyway. When writing a novel, I like to make all my characters as round as possible and a novel allows me the play space to do just that. The characters become my friends, I know them better than anyone, I know how they are going to react to situations, I know what they are going to say, I know what their inner motives are. Why the hell would I not what to know about what happened to them in the past? It just makes for more interesting story telling, I always loved it when Stephen King did it.

Working on my novel has been a fun adventure. And I'm only at the beginning! When I reach the end, and I can then go through the story and read it cleanly, I'm sure a smile will crawl across my face. I'll pat myself on the back, and light up a cigar for my relentless effort to make the story a fantastic read.

Keep writing!

J.G.A.

Reworking the Novel

2011-11-28T19:19:00.001-05:00

Revision has been the name of the game for me since school began fourteen weeks ago, and a lot of that revision included working with short stories. The amount of things I've learned from revising those stories, which I'm still working on, has helped my writing so much it's crazy. When I write fresh pieces, teasers, whatever, I do a much better job of getting what I want to say written down.

A little over a month ago, I picked up my novel House in the Hills. The story shocked me with its beginning, including violence, profanity, and just messed up shit. Since then, I haven't been able to stop working on it. The story is literally growing as I continue to revise it. Using knowledge gained from revision sessions on my shorter material, I've been able to make my MC so rounded and palpable (at least to me anyway) that I feel I could meet him walking on the sidewalk during a cloudy day.

The novel is a redemption story, containing drama/fantasy/horror elements. I flushed out a lot of parts that needed it, for example, what the MC did after his mother passed. In the original, he simply got home and went about doing something else, which felt like he was wasn't acknowledging the pain I had built up in him to just brush off after the passing of his mother.

Of course, with more flushing out, means more writing. I've probably added about eight or so single spaced pages in the process. And as I continue to move deeper into the story, there is more I want to flush out, but I'm starting to feel as if I could be bogging the story down. While a novel is a work of art that consists of a journey from point A to point B, I want to make the story every bit as good as it can be. But where does the writer understand when too much is too much?

Right now, I'm wanting to flush out more, but I feel if I do, I may be slowing the progression of the story. However, I have a pretty strong feeling that if I move further into the story, I will add more as I move through like I've already done, there's always more I want to insert. So, to those of you who are reading this right now, I have a question. Is 40-45 pages of single spaced writing too much before the main focus of a story is reached? I want to add a little more to make the story a more interesting, such as adding a different surrounding and adding more struggle with the MC against a fantasy wolf created from the vines of trees.

Should a writer concern himself with the length of a story later and focus on getting everything out, or should there be a focus on keeping track of story progression during revision?

A Taste

2011-11-14T18:15:00.001-05:00

Well hell! Another week in the books, and what a week it's been! School work has slowed down a little, and next week is gonna be the holiday break! Whiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii! Creatively, I'm buzzing with all kinds of ideas. Since working on a dark, angry novel in House in the Hills, I have been writing teasers for future stories. It's also been a pretty good week for writing little bits of writing that aren't necessarily stories. Too much of darkness can get anyone down. It's always nice to have a counter balance.

So, I took some time to write a teaser of a fantasy concept that I plan to write sooner rather than later. However, I probably won't get to it until after I'm done with some of my others projects. I suppose this teaser was just as much for me as it was for anyone else. It allows me to keep working on what I'm doing. Anyway, below is the teaser (with a cool title if I might add), and I hope you peeps like it!

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The Gift of Infinity

Teaser

“Winter hides the dead just like summer ends too soon. Springing forthwith the new knowing autumn is the tomb. And I will wait for you. Living hidesthe dead just like suns, and earth, and moon. Waiting for the new knowing flowersneed to bloom. And I will wait for you.”

“He just seems like a strangeranymore,” Kathy Brooker said to the therapist, Frank Kirkland. He wore a brownvest over a collared white shirt, a black tie tucked into the vest. Black,thick horn rimmed glasses covered his hazel eyes and his black hair was combedback. He nodded as he looked over to Daniel. The boy sat in a chair away fromthe other kids who were playing with the cheap toys left in the lobby. His headswiveled like a bobble-head doll and his eyes looked distant. Kathy looked ather son with a frown on her face. She bunched the knitted scarf around herneck, the knuckles of her hands bulging. Her brown eyes were partiallyconcealed by her dark brown wavy hair. She turned back to the therapist.

“Won’t yousee what’s wrong with him?” she asked. Kirkland looked at her with smallbewilderment.

“Ma’am,your son has autism, that doesn’t mean there is something wrong with him.”

She frownedagain, the lines around her mouth doubling. “That’s not what I mean. There’ssomething else about him. After he had his epileptic fit, I could still see myboy in there, but now, he’s different…” Kirkland opened the manila folder ofhospital information Kathy had given him.

“That’swhat caused the brain damage that made him the way he is now correct?” heasked, adjusting his glasses.

“Yes,” shesaid, and looked at Daniel again. His head had stopped bobbing. Now it was offto the side as he stared at the dots in the carpet. Kirkland watched Kathy asshe studied her son. He produced a pen and notepad from his khaki pants andjotted down a note.

Potential disconnection between mother andson.

He replaced the pad and penbefore Kathy returned her gaze to him.

“Can youhelp him?” she asked.

Kirklandgave a slight nod. “Let me have a talk with him.”

Kirkland’soffice was spacious and roomy. Clad with gentle amber lighting that cast orangeluminescence against the wood walls. Windows lined the south wall with dark redcurtains that had been draped over them, in front sat a large cherry desk witha fat cushioned chair. But it was unoccupied as Kirkland sat down in his blackrecliner and Daniel sat across from him. His little legs hung in the air, hiseyes on the floor. The room was quiet save for a clock ticking on the northwall. Kirkland took out his notepad and pen then looked at Daniel who sat withhis hand held up by his face, his index finger slightly stuck out. Kirklandwatched as Daniel eyes shifted about, his finger tapping the air.

“HelloDaniel,” Kirkland began. Daniel didn’t respond. Kirkland watched him for amoment longer then looked to the brown striped carpet. “What are you doing?”

“Counting,”Daniel said.

“What areyou counting?”

“Thestripes…” Kirkland looked to the floor again, then Daniel.

“I can’timagine there are many to count.”

“Eachstripe has stripe crossing,” he said, moving his hand away from his face,making it flat as if he was about to chop something. “Darker, thinner, stripescrossing others.” Daniel never broke his sight from the floor. Kirkland didn’tlook, knowing he was right. He wrote in his notepad.

Excellent visual acuity, likes to count.

When he looked up, Daniel waslooking at the wall behind him. Kirkland raised his eyebrows. “I’m Dr. FrankKirkland, but you can call me Frank if you like. Your mother has requested thatyou speak with me for a little while. Are you okay with this?”

Daniel’shead swiveled, eyes wandering. “Suppose, don’t have choice though did I?”

Kirklandcocked his head at the question. “Why would you say that?”

“Mommydon’t love me no more.”

“That mustbe very frustrating.”

Daniel gavea nonchalant shrug. His eyes continued to wander the room. “You have manythings to count.”

“Do youlike to count?”

Danielnodded.

“Why do youcount?”

Danielshrugged again. “Didn’t until last year.”

“Whathappened last year Daniel?”

The boy’shead stopped moving and faced the floor again, cocked to the side. His eyesstared and didn’t move. The room was blanketed in silence. Kirkland scribbledin his notepad.

Possibly unresponsive to certain questionspertaining to incident. Apprehensive?

Just as Kirkland was going towrite more, Daniel spoke.

“Likedclimb trees.”

Kirklandlooked up. “Do you?”

Danielshook his head. “Liked,” he repeated.“I fell.”

“Is thatwhen you started counting?”

Danielshook his head.

“When didyou?”

Daniel wasquiet for a long time, his eyesight dead set on the carpet. Kirkland thought hecould burn a hole through it if he wanted.

“I haddream,” Daniel finally said in a quiet voice.

Kirklandscribbled in his notebook. “You dream?”

Danielnodded emphatically, legs swinging with him.

“What didyou dream?”

“I saw sun,smelled water, felt grass in toes, liked it.”

Kirklandfurrowed his eyebrows, unsure what to say, so he waited.

“Sky blue,white cotton floated. I heard them. They flew.”

Kirklandscribbled more in his notepad.

“Powerfulthey are, like great positive.”

“Positive?”Kirkland asked.

Danielpinched his eyes shut for a moment. “Good,” he said, and opened his eyes.

Kirklandset the pen down. “Does it hurt to carry a conversation?”

Danielshook his head. “Words can’t find, can be hard to…” He gestured his hands in acircular motion as he tried to think.

Kirklandlent a hand. “Think of the right words?”

Danielnodded. Kirkland leaned forward.

“Tell meDaniel, in your dream, who are they?”

The boyraised his head and looked to the ceiling. “The Mighty.”

“Who are The Mighty?”

“Protectors.”

“What dothey protect?”

Danielpinched his eyes shut and tried to think. Kirkland waited until the boy’s faceslowly turned red.

“Relax,Daniel, relax, you don’t have to answer.”

“No…no…no!”Daniel shouted and stood. He walked behind the chair, head cocked to the side,and paced back and forth. Kirkland watched him. Daniel walked in a small circle,mumbling quickly to himself.

“Daniel,”Kirkland said. The boy continued to mumble incoherently. “Daniel,” Kirklandtried again but the child didn’t respond. Kirkland set his notepad on the tablenext to the table and began to stand.

“Land!”Daniel shouted, pointing his finger at the therapist.

Kirkland froze,half standing, then slowly sat back down.

“Whatland?” Kirkland asked.

“Land,”Daniel said. “I dreamed of land.”

“Where thesky was blue?”

Danielnodded. “Always blue.”

“These…Mighty,do they—”

“TheMighty.” Daniel corrected, standing behind the chair and staring down.

“The Mighty, they occupy the sky?”

Danielfurrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“They fly?”

The boynodded.

“Youstarted counting after your dream?”

“Yes,” Danielsaid, and looked to the wall behind Kirkland. “They help count.”

“TheMighty?”

Danielnodded.

“Do you seethem often?”

Danielnodded. Kirkland grabbed his notepad and scribbled in it.

Possibly disconnected from reality.

“Do you see them here?” Kirklandasked.

Danielfurrowed his eyebrows, and walked around the chair and sat down. “Not here,don’t live here, live in land.”

“The landyou dream?”

Danielnodded. Kirkland leaned back in his chair and rubbed his smooth chin. Helistened to the ticking of the clock.

“How oftendo you go to this land, Daniel?”

“Everyday,”he said.

“Have yougone today?”

Danielfrowned and shook his head from side to side. “Mommy don’t like me spendingtime in room. She say not healthy. Haven’t gone today.”

“Do youplan to?”

Danieldidn’t respond. Once again, they sat in silence. Kirkland let his mind processwhat he had been told. He set the notepad on the table with the pen on top andleaned forward.

“I want toplay a game Daniel. Do you like games?”

Daniel nodded.

“Can youtell me about the land you visit?”

He shookhis head.

“Why not?”

The boymade that same circular gesture when he couldn’t get the right words. Kirklandrubbed his chin, then adjusted his glasses.

“Can you show me?”

The boylooked at him. Kirkland saw they were deep blue, like wet stones. They carrieda presence that made the hair on his arms stand up and a chill run down hisspine. He dared not look away, but he felt a twinge of nervousness tricklethrough his body.

“You wantto see land?”

Kirklandopened his mouth, closed it, thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yes.” He beganto feel off, as if he was asking for something that could happen. But thatcouldn’t be, he was just humoring the boy. Hoping to show Daniel that the worldhe thought was real was make-believe. Daniel stood from the chair andapproached him. Kirkland sat upright and looked at the boy as he stood beforehim. His blue eyes did not blink as he held out his little hand. Kirklandlooked at it and then the boy.

“Want to see?”Daniel asked.

Kirklandnodded. Daniel nodded to his hand. Kirkland reached out his hands to realizethey were shaking. The air inside the office suddenly felt cold, as if all theheat had been sucked out of the room. The ticking of the clock stopped. Thelamp lights on the walls flickered. Kirkland stopped and observed this. Helooked back to the boy, unsure. The boy didn’t move or blink, he stood waiting.Kirkland took the boy’s hand.

He feltpressure through his mid section and let out a cry of pain. But it was brief ashe noticed his surroundings were bending, curving inward, the fabric of realitytearing. The cold air melted as heat flushed over his body. The scent offlowers floated to his nostrils and a warm breeze blew over his face. The worldhe knew as his office disappeared in a sea of blue, green, and brown. Sparklesglittered in his vision like electrical sparks and he closed his eyes. Loudpopping, like fireworks, filled his ears.

“Daniel!”Kirkland called. But the popping was too loud. Then it stopped. Chirping filledhis ears; a scent of some of the freshest air he had ever smelled entered his nose.Light beamed his closed eyes, and he slowly opened them. The sun hung high inthe sky, tall grass with flowers blooming stood around his polished shoes. Hismouth dropped open as he beheld the sight before him. His glasses adjusted tothe sunlight, transitioning to sunglasses. Bugs buzzed before him, the air wassoothingly warm. The breeze was so gentle it kissed his face like a lover.

He stood ona grassy cliff. The sky was a pretty deep blue. A planet tilted to its sidewith rings surrounding it was visible in the haze of the blue heavens. Belowwas a giant valley filled with trees that seemed to go on forever. Few cloudsrolled by below, casting shadows over the tree tops. A long running riverdivided the trees and ran into a massive body of water that went to the leftand into the valley walls. He saw something flying in the distance. It wassmall, and hardly noticeable. At first he thought it was a bird. But an echoedcall traveled to his ears and he furrowed his eyebrows. It sounded like a whalesinging.

“That’sthem,” Daniel said. Kirkland jumped at his voice with a small scream. Daniellooked at him funny then pointed to the small black figure in the far distance.“Do you see it?”

Kirklandlooked at the boy for a moment, noticing something different about him, but unableto put a finger on it. He looked back to the massive valley.

“Yes,” he said. “I see it.”

“That’s one of The Mighty.”

“A protector?” Kirkland asked.

“Actually, they are guardians. Theywatch over the land. They’re the law keepers, making sure evil stays out andall the villagers are safe.”

Kirklandslowly turned to the boy and stared. Daniel looked back at him.

“What?”

“You,you’re…you’re…”

“Nothandicapped?”

Kirkland’smouth hung wide open. He turned to the valley. “This? You made this up?”

“No,”Daniel said. “I just see it. Then I’m here. It didn’t happen until I hit myhead falling out of the tree.”

“B-b-b-but,you’re autistic,” Kirkland said in a feeble voice.

“Not here,”he said.

Kirklandfell to his knees. It was too much, too much to process. He dropped his handsinto the lush grass. It was extremely soft, like a freshly washed blanket. Heshook his head. He heard the distant call of The Mighty carry to his ears bythe calm breeze.

“This iswhere I go,” Daniel said. “It’s where I forget the problems of the world Ireside, and live in harmony with the villagers here.”

Kirklandfelt as if he could pass out. A gray butterfly danced in his vision, and beganflapping its wings. He slapped himself hard across the face. Daniel looked athim.

“You okay?”

“Oh, justpeachy,” Kirkland replied.

“Do youwant to meet the villagers?”

Kirklandlooked at Daniel and nodded without even knowing how he did. Daniel looked overthe valley and the flying figure singing in the distance. He placed his thumband forefinger in his mouth and let out a long, shrilling whistle. Kirklandwinced at the sound. When Daniel stopped, and waited, Kirkland heard a callcome back. The therapist raised his head. The flying figure was growing largeras it approached them.

“What didyou do?” He asked the boy.

“I calledhim over,” Daniel said with a smile. He gestured to the flying figure comingtowards them.

“TheMighty?”

Danielnodded.

“What are they?”

“I alreadyto—”

“No, no.What do The Mighty look like?”

Danielsmiled, and looked at the approaching figure. Kirkland looked too. The wingspanwas massive, at least fifty feet. Its body was thick, the underbelly whitewhile the skin was light blue. Its tail whipped and lashed about in the openair. Its neck was long, spikes lining the back. Two massive horns curved fromits head like a ram’s. It let out a roar that shook the ground. Kirkland beganto cry in astonishment. This couldn’t be real. This was all a dream. He wassleeping in bed with his wife snuggled next to him. Because only in dreams andchildren’s books did dragons exist…

Protagonist or Antagonist

2011-11-08T11:29:00.000-05:00

So another week is in the books. I was lying in bed the other night, once again, unable to fall asleep until after lying in bed for an hour and a half. I got to thinking about what would make a good blog post. I was thinking I'd write something about reading and what it does. But I was like, eh, I could do better. Then it hit me. Why not talk about the protagonist and antagonist?

It's kinda funny really. When someone writes a story, there is always the MC, or protagonist, that the story is centered on. Then there's the opposing force, the power opposite, the antagonist. It never occurred to me that these two characters are the MCs of a story (funny I know). The thing about an antagonist though, is that they aren't always a person. Sometimes it's monsters, dinosaurs, the weather, life. The antagonist takes on many forms, and is a fun role for me personally. It can be anything!

I love creating a good antagonist. It's the basis of every good story I write. I often spend more time working with the bad guy, force, entity, or whatever, more than I usually do with the protagonist. The good guy usually comes naturally to me, the bad guy is the juicy part, the guy I sometimes wished I could be. The bad ass that had no emotional attachment, the bad ass who kicked ass when he needed to, the bad ass who walked into a bar and unload with an AK-47.

I have a story arc going for a trilogy, and part of the reason is because I couldn't kill off my antagonist. He's just so... awesome. He's brutal, he's powerful, intelligent, suave, but also convincing. This final feature is the reason he's still alive. He speaks truth, and I realized this when writing an in depth conversation he was having with another character. The words came out so naturally and just made sense. I've had moments when writing the good guy and I type out his/her dialogue and think: "mmm, no, that's not right, he/she wouldn't say that." I never had that with this particular character. While my first book is focused on the good guy and what he's going through, it is every bit as much about by bad ass antagonist.

The next best thing about writing a good antagonist is that you can make it apart of the protagonist. I'm doing that with my current novel. Sure, I have some outside characters that create difficulty for my protagonist, but the true evil in the story is what lies within him. The unresolved conflict from a life that has left him angry, hurt, and afraid.

When I write, I love writing about the antagonist. It allows me to jump into a mode of thinking I don't access on a day-to-day basis. I'm a good person and a sweet guy, I know this. But sometimes, there's nothing better than letting out the darkness that lies within us all, and relish in it for an hour or two as I write about a juicy antagonist.

Where do you stand? You prefer writing about the protagonist, or antagonist?

Keep Writing.

J.G.A.

Revision

2011-11-01T10:32:00.000-04:00

What is revision? It's a pain in the ass quite honestly. However, it is every bit as important as writing the first draft. Nobody gets a story right the first time, no matter how much some might claim. Revision is a different side to writing. Revision is kind of like restoring an old classy car. It's covered in dust, has junk on the inside, and rust in some spots from sitting for so long. What do you do? You take it out, wash it up, vacuum the inside, and treat the rust. In many ways, revising a story is like restoring that old car. Except with writing, you aren't done after you've restored it.

Revision doesn't start with the first read. When a writer finishes a story, the first thing he/she should do is stow it away for a while. I go by the suggestion Stephen King said in his book "On Writing" which he said a story should sit for at least six weeks. Personally, I have let stories sit for as long as six months. When you have forgotten about a story, and you find it locked away in a drawer, or a file on your PC, and you realize you've forgotten all about it and can't remember what you've written. You're ready to begin.

The first thing that comes with reading through the first time is gauging the quality of what you have. The first read should consist of mundane activities, cleaning up grammar, fixing possible misspelling, fine tuning sentence structure, and cut, cut, cut! No matter how much you like that particular line, it probably doesn't have anything to do with the story and needs to go by the wayside. Some people prefer to print out their material and edit the manuscript manually. This is fine, but it leaves an extra step in transferring the changes to your PC/MAC that I don't think is necessary. I do everything digital. I do enjoy reading a hard copy of my work and destroying that unneeded line with a big black marker. But the transfer process makes me want to pull my hair out.

When you get to the second read. This is where you see how things are structured. Why is the MC doing this particular action in this particular scene? Does everything connect? Is the antagonist's/protagonist's desires/needs/motives fully developed? Does every side character have a role and purpose? Some would say this is something a writer should do through the first read, but I prefer to stick with trying to get the little things out of the way and build up from there. Even if the story telling is good, a bunch of little mistakes, sentence structure, grammar, etc. (the foundation of a story), can add up and disrupt from a good read. While working through this part, this is when I also ask: "What am I trying to say?" Every story has a subtle meaning underlying it, a metaphor if you will, that will carry through the tone of the story. This subtle meaning comes up in the ending, and should leave a resonance in the reader's mind. It's what makes the reader think about the story after he/she has finished it. It's what makes the reader mention the story to others. This is a sign of great story telling.

So your grammar is up to par by your eyes, your story flows like water, and it has meaning. Now you share it with others willing to read your writing. No matter how good you may think the story is, there is always going to be something you'll miss, especially if you've been staring at the piece most of the day for the past week. Writing is a form of communication, if you don't want to share your piece; then what are you doing writing anyway? Getting as many fresh eyes on your piece/story/novel is critical in making your writing as good as it can be. For me, when I send my stories to others, I'm usually trying to get help with details. This is were I'm weakest. I can develop an idea with the best of them. It's why I find myself buried in idea concepts, but struggling to get the damn ideas out the door and feeling confident about them as a finished product.

You've sent your story out, and now you've got feedback. First off, understand that everyone is going to have a different idea of what you're trying to do with your story, especially if you shared your piece with someone you haven't shared with before. There may be some people who won't like your story, it's happened to me. There may even be those who send you feedback saying the story isn't very clear, while others will say the story is great the way it is. The key is looking at who's advice you take with most merit. Personally, I tend to take advice from those who I've known for a while, and those who've read my previous pieces. These readers are going to have the best understanding of what I'm trying to do, and will give suggestions that fit my overall vision for the story. Say you sent out a story to a couple beta readers, one likes the ending but the other doesn't. What do you do? I prefer the Stephen King rule on this as well. When in face of a tie, decision point goes to the writer. However, if you have two, three, perhaps four people mentioning there is something wrong with the ending, or a particular scene, you should look it over.

After this entire process, weeks, months, perhaps years depending on your available time, your story is polished and revised. I tend to (because I'm an anal freak with writing) read the story out loud, cheesy voices included. I try to do it in an entire sitting to help carry the mood. When you read something out loud, you will catch things that you would so easily miss when reading inside your head. You know what you want to say in your piece, but that doesn't mean that's you've written. And even after you've shared your material with a bunch of people, there are bits that will be missed. I personally hate this process, I hate the sound of my voice droning on for hours at a time, but I want to make sure the piece is ready to present.

So you're ready to submit! Go get that first rejection letter! If you've already gotten one, got get that first acceptance letter! Don't be afraid to look over a story after it's been rejected a few times. It never hurts to look over a story again. A piece of writing is never done. However, I believe there is a life span that pieces should endure before they are finally put to rest. To spend too much time on a particular piece, or multiple for that matter, can cause creative constipation, leaving it difficult to get fresh ideas out.

Revision is vital to writing. It improves your basic writing skills, it helps you understand what needs to be said and what doesn't. Revision, in my honest opinion, is what separates the amateur wanna-be writers from those who take it seriously. If you can't take writing seriously enough to go through the revision process, then you shouldn't be writing. Do something that requires less time, maybe polish that freshly restored car.

Keep Writing.

J.G.A.

Some Thoughts

2011-10-27T23:29:00.000-04:00

Okay, it's been, like, a while since I posted, and I need to get a groove going with this blog. Within next week, I'll have a post about revision. For now however, I wanted to cover some things that have been going on in my life.

Writing has been on a bit of an up and down trip lately. School, friends, work, emotions, yadda yadda yadda. Fresh writing has been a bit hard to come across. However, I've had plenty of time to revise some material I have written. I revised four pieces I thought touched base on four different genres quite well. One in sci-fi, one in horror, another in drama, and thriller. I have to say, I enjoyed reviewing these pieces because they provided me with challenges in different forms. One thing I have been asked a lot, mostly by those outside school of course, is what I like to write the most. The answer is tough because I can't give a straight forward answer. I mean, I grew up trying to write horror based material, feeling that was where my calling was. I guess in a fundamental aspect, that is where I have most experience. But writing has changed a lot for me over the past year. I used to write genre based material, sci-fi/horror, because that was where I felt my writing skills were best. But since taking a class in Creative Writing, reading a wider variety of material, sharing work with fellow writers, I've found myself testing my skills in other genres, fantasy, drama, comedy (yes, and very unsuccessfully too), and now romance.

Writing has become my way of dealing with things going on in my life. It became clear to me when I wrote the first draft of my latest novel House in the Hills (working title). A writer is supposed to write about what he knows right? It's really all I have to go by. I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed, hell, I can be pretty damn stubborn and closed minded at times, but I believe my creative ambition and story telling can be pretty damn good. But my writing helps me deal with things that are going on in my life, and in a lot of ways, that's makes them more than just stories to me. My ongoing project, Rise of a Hero, is supposed to touch base with my discomfort with where the country is heading, the development of technology, the distrust amongst people, and what the combination of all these things mean for a rapidly changing world. It's simply a massive story, and I've already split the concept into two books.

But I took a break, revised my darker material for a couple months and found myself flirting with becoming depressed. I decided to take a turn towards something a little more focused on the light in the world. I had a close friend help me get going on writing a romance. I'm not sure where the story will take me, but I know I need to flush the swimming emotions that have been bothering me for the past couple weeks. It will be a journey, and a test in my writing ability.

Moral of this post. Writing for me is extremely personal. I take things from my life: people, things, places, music, and place them in my story. It helps me deal with life because, really, life can mess with you when you least expect it to. Anyway, that's my rant for now. There will be more.

What does writing do for you?

Keep Writing.

J.G.A.

Been A Little While

2011-10-02T23:33:00.000-04:00

Well, it has been a busy past few weeks. This weekend was rather insane with work, the weeks equally busy with college and homework. However, with things starting to slow down a bit, or perhaps I'm getting a grip on the speed of things, I was able to get back to writing! Yay!

Recently, I've started rewriting a story I have attempted to write twice before (most novel ideas start like this for me). While my current project has been inspired by Cormac McCarthy's writing, I've found myself writing something that delves a lot deeper than what the original story was intended to do (an action story like "Last Action Hero", yes, THAT movie). I had a lot of ideas going for what I wanted to do with the characters, mainly the MC because my antagonist gained so much power through re-conception. This wasn't intentional, it just happened. While reading one night, I happened upon a new idea. It wrote it down and started adding details and came to realization that the story concept was simply MASSIVE. I also realized I didn't want to deal with character development either, thus the fate of my MC, and even my antagonist, was decided. I am working on a novel with a conceptual sequel idea written in my idea/dream book. I would like to do a third novel to make it a trilogy, but one step at a time.

Annnnnnnnnyway, here is the point. I have been writing the novel for a little while now. On September 11th, I wrote a stand alone piece that was intended for character development of my MC. It was also inspired by the tenth anniversary of the World Trade Center attacks. As I went back and read over it (this is after I came up with the idea for a second book), I found myself saying wow to myself. The segment not only captured in essence the tone of the first book but also hints at what is going to happen in the second book. It's things like this that makes me love writing with a passion. Writing is just like Stephen King said, "Digging up a fossil," you discover a little bit at a time and it takes time to dig up what you have discovered.

Okay, I'm done yacking here. Had to get caught up. I will post more. I have a lot of little short stories to share, but for now, check out this character intro of my MC and his father. Enjoy!! :D

****************************************************

MichaelBender sat down across from his father in the small café outside Del Rio Countyand looked over the place; small and empty save for themselves. The large landscape window at the entrance breathedcold air from outside. The floorboardswere cracked, warped, and rotting away. Nail heads protruded and raised the potential of snagging people’s jeansand boots if they didn’t watch their step. The booth’s cushion was heavily worn with it protruding from the cornerslike something had chewed it open and ripped the guts out. The waitress came along. She was middle aged with gray lining her hairshe had tried to cover up with blonde streaks. She wore it in a tight pony tail. Her face was haggard and worn like old leather. Her eye liner was uneven. Her lipstick, once fresh at the start of hershift, had faded and exposed the wrinkled slim lips on a two pack a daysmoker. Her voice was husky and dry.

“What willyou folks be havin’?” She asked.

Michaeltook the single laminated menu from the wire holders against the wall when hisfather, Charlie, spoke.

“We’ll havetwo pieces of toast with butter ‘n preserves ‘n two coffees black,” Shescribbled the order on her tattered note pad and stuffed it absently in herfilthy stained apron and walked away. Michaellooked at his father, the menu still held in his hand.

“Don’t gogivin’ me that look boy, you ain’t want nothing to do with this place’s cookin,”He said and Michael set the menu back in the rack. Charlie wore a blue and black checkered shirtand reached in his breast pocket and took out a pack of Camels and begansmacking them against his hand. Michaelgestured to them.

“Thosethings will kill you,” He said.

Charlietore away the cellophane and took out a cigarette and popped it in his mouth. “Boy, when I want your opinion on somethinI’ll ask,” He said and put the cigarettes back and dug in his pocket for hisZippo lighter. He withdrew it, lit up,then took a long pull of his cigarette and let out a thin stream of smoke thathung over them like a dark cloud covering the sun on a warm day. They sat in silence for a while when Charliejerked his chin at his son.

“How’sworkin for the government?” he said.

Michaelshrugged.

“You likeit?”

Michaeldidn’t answer.

Thewaitress came with their food and coffee and set them down then left without aword spoken. Michael looked at the blackcoffee sitting in front of him. Hestared at his reflection and looked at the dark circles under his eyes, thestubble on his face. He placed his handson the table and kept his eyes there as if to hope for something greater tohappen, as if he were to stare long enough he could wish away his doubt ormaybe bring the day purpose when he couldn’t in the world.

“You stareat the coffee long enough it might do a trick,” Charlie said, raising the cupto his lips and sipping, he set it down. Michael reached for the spoon and stirred his coffee even though therewas nothing to stir. Charlie watched hisson for a long time with discerning eyes.

“You gonnatell me what’s got you all bundled up?”

Michaelstopped stirring and set the spoon on the table lightly and picked up the cupand sipped. He set it down and stared atthe untouched blackened burnt toast in front of him. “What do you think pops?”

“Boutwhat?”

“About theworld,”

Charlielooked at his boy without blinking. “Youain’t tryin to get at me with that ‘what’s the purpose of life’ shit are ya?”

“I’mtalking about what you see in the news. You know, the state of the country, the things going on, you must havean opinion.”

“Yessir, Ido,”

Michaelheld out his hands, waiting.

Charlietook a long sip of his coffee and looked at his son over the rim. He set it down and took a piece of toast, cutit and buttered one side. “Son, I don’twatch a lot of TV. All there is bad newsabout bad happenings around the world.”

“Are youafraid?”

He set thetoast down. “I ain’t afraid, I’m just irritated,”

“With theworld?”

He gesturedhis hand in a so-so gesture.

“What doesthat mean?”

“It meansexactly what it means boy. What’s upwith you? I ain’t gonna invite you outhere no more if you gonna be like this,”

Michaelgrinned. “You didn’t invite me.”

Charlie putpreserves on the toast. “No, I guess Ididn’t,” He took a bite. Michael watchedhim.

“Do youknow what I do?” He asked his father and he nodded.

“Sure, youwork for the government,”

“I work forParagon Horizon,”

He noddedand set the toast down again. “That newagency developed to help the war on drugs right? Some kind of new faction to help thegovernment dump more owed money down the drain so we can be driven deeper intothe debt? The one that the new president said it would bring an end to all theterror drugs has brought about this good country?”

Michaelsighed. “Yeah, that one,”

Charliewatched his son as he stared into his coffee. “What did you expect me to say?”

Heshrugged.

“It ain’tnothin new. Nothin in this countryis. Nixon said the same thing when hestarted the war on drugs in the 70’s. Ain’t nothing has been done since then to help the situation, ain’tnothin’ gonna be done to help it now,”

Michaelgrinned. “So you think I’m wasting mytime then?”

Charlie bitinto his toast and shook his head. “I ain’tsayin that. I said the government iswastin more of its money on somethin that ain’t goin to work,”

Michaelpicked up his coffee and sipped. Hewatched his father. “You ever miss oldertimes?”

“No,”

“Why?”

“It ain’t muchdifferent then than it is now,”

“What doyou mean? Seemed all right to me,”

“That’s causeyou was a kid. Kids ain’t got much to beworryin’ about,” He clasped his hands together and set them on the table. “Look Mike, the country has been in adownward spiral for a long time. And ithas been happenin since long before you were born. People will say it was Vietnam that put us inthe rut we’re in now. Some folks willsay it was 9/11. Which I can understand,the country has done gone drastically changed since then. Everbody has gone paranoid. The government likes to say they didn’t breakour spirit, but we’re actin more like a terrorized country than ever. But,” he paused, holding up a broad finger.“The country has been in the muck since the thirties. People like to say how the country now isbad, but think of the way the country would be now if it were to be a repeat ofthe depression. It would be completechaos, there would be riots. You knowwhat really scares me about itthough?” he asked and his son slowly shook his head. “There ain’t no one topside to help the trainget back on the railings if it didderail. Everone in the government is ashouter, there ain’t no leaders.”

“A new FDRwould work,” Michael added and Charlie shook his head.

“FDR didhis part but he brought the country out of the depression by creatin war. War creates the need for munitions and itcreated jobs. It put people to work andit put money in the pockets of the workin poor. This country is fueled by two things,” he raised his broad hand andticked them off with his fingers. “People spendin money they don’t got and killin others.” He brought hishand down on the table then picked up his coffee and sipped. They sat in silence. The cold air from the outside brushed overMichael’s exposed neck and he shivered and popped the collar on his blackleather jacket. He looked at his father,he was looking outside. He turned andlooked out the window and saw snow was falling in a heavy white sheet.

“Gettinhome just became a bitch,” Charlie said and finished his coffee. Michael turned back to his father and lookedat him, then his hands. They were rough,calloused, the hands of a working man. He looked at his own; his hands were soft and devoid of anyblemishes. He lowered them into his lap.

“What youmake of the world now?” Michael asked in a low voice.

Charliesighed and took one more pull of his cigarette and crushed it in the ashtraybetween them and leaned back in the booth and studied his son. “You wear me out,” He said and sighedagain. “Your mother and I live out inthe boonies so we can live in our own world apart from the shit that’s bringinthe world down faster than it ever has.” He sat up and leaned forward. “Lookit, within the next twenty or thirtyyears there will be people that ain’t entirely people. We’ll be merged with them cellular devicesembedded in our skulls and we’ll talk to each other over the open air. We’ll have little micro machines coursing ourblood that regulate our system like an immune system should. Everday, I see a civilization that isseparatin itself from the world it came from and creatin a world that isartificial. One made of steel, concrete,exhaust, and chemical emissions. We tryto find God inside A.I. and forget that God is where we started. We get involved in materials that ain’t gonnamatter. We plug ourselves into a digitalworld and live it as if it were reality yet the only thought that comes to mindwhen I see this is ‘What will happen when someone turns off the lights?’ Theworld is progressin at a rate it has never before progressed and it’s because someonecreated the computer in the 70’s and decided it could change the human race forthe better.” He sat back and looked out the window. Michael looked at his father. He glanced at his watch. He looked at his cold coffee and untouched toast,the blackened corners curving up. Theysat in silence.

Michael said. “Thought you said youdidn’t watch the news?”

“Guess Ilied,” He said and scooted out of the booth and stood. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” hesaid, getting up. “I’m ready.” They paid, then stepped out into the icy coldwhere the snow fell gently. Michaellooked to the end of town and out to the plains where it was covered by a whiteveil descending from the heavens. Themountains stood in the distance with the authority of ancient markers of time andthe knowledge of what was and what was to come. He took in a deep breath and letit out a long stream of smoky air. Theoutside was dead quiet, devoid of human life and wind. Charlie stood beside him and took out anothercigarette and placed it between his lips. Michael looked at his father and watched as he lit up, smoke escaping asthe cherry tip glowed.

“What wouldyou do if I died?” he said.

“I’d wantto die too,”

“You’d wantto be with me after?”

He noddedand the wind kicked against them. Michael shivered and Charlie watched his sonas he did. He placed his arm around hisboy’s shoulders.

“Let’s gohome,”

Theydescended into the white blur like two souls walking into the unknown. Two men walking side by side and stride forstride as if they were the last two people left from the frozen creosote of thewinter plains.

Jacob G. Adams

September 11^th, 2011

First Piece

2011-09-19T01:02:00.000-04:00

This piece is the shortest thing I have ever written, not even breaking 600 words and inspired from the lucid feel of a dream and a song with the same title. It plays close to the heart and delves into a genre that I, someday, would like to dive into. Enjoy!

*************************************************************************

Tiny Tears

I’m sailing on sea on blue, faded,lost, numb, and broken. I looked toshore and saw it wasn’t far, but understood it was well out of my reach. I saw her as she stood on the white shoreline looking for me. Her blonde hair dancedin the cool wind. Her chroma key eyes glitteredin the sunlight. I saw her elegant face,the smoothness of her skin, the softness of her hair. I heard the gentleness of her voice when sheused to lie next to me and whisper in my ear. She was right there, yet so far away. In my dreams there had been a place for me and her. Tears slipped from her eyes and they sparkledin the sunlight, driving a dagger into my heart and bleeding moonlight.

I took apaddle and started rowing. Left andright, left then right. The water wascalm and peaceful, but another tear fell from her eye and the water stirred andpushed me back. I rowed faster, harder,but as more tears sparkled in the sunlight like diamonds, the harsher the waterbecame. I’m not an ordinary man. I want to be with her. I want to feel her smooth skin. I want to look at the scar beside her lefteyebrow she got from a curling iron. Iwant her to smile at me like she used to. I longed for her to say she loved me as if I was the only one for her. All I ever wanted to say was how much I lovedher, how I wanted to be the man that could always be there for her, but Icouldn’t bring myself to. The water turnedgray and the sky banked with dark clouds. The water turned to muck, becoming thick, murky, cold, and unforgiving.

Left then right left andright.

I’m only pushed away so I cried outfor her. I called her name. I told her I love her. I told her in my dreams all her hopes andcares could be recognized through the tiny tears. I shouted for her to come with me, be my oneand only, be the person I should have expressed my love to. But she didn’t hear me for I was simply toofar and she turned away. Life doesn’t gothe way we intend it to, but we get all that we deserve. The value of something precious cannot betruly recognized until it’s gone. Ican’t believe I’m just an ordinary man. I have my own problems, I have my own struggles. Doesn’t every man have a mountain to climb?

I didn’t want to let her go but I pushed myself away and I’m left withoutthe ability to say what I wanted to say. I’m left without my ability to show, to express, to gesture. Left without the ability to touch her body,hold her hand and feel her soft face as I moved in for that electrifyingkiss. I’m left with nothing.

I’m twenty-three years old and I’ma million miles away.

Starters

2011-09-16T13:16:00.000-04:00

This is a first for me. I have a lot of ideas for what and where I want to take this blog but this first post is going to be rudimentary thing. I'm doing this because I love writing and I write a lot of stories that are quite long (or at least I'm constantly told) and I want to share my shorter pieces with those who are interested. I've written on and off since I was twelve but really didn't start to take it up as a career choice until the fall of 2009. Once I took a Creative Writing class things changed entirely for me.

I'm a pretty straight forward individual. You won't see me pretending to be better than I am, nor will you see me complaining about much of what goes on in the world for I think that kind of mindset is toxic and unhealthy. I'm an all around nice guy and have my own share of faults, but no one is perfect, and you'll see it come through in the pieces to come.

I love the outdoors. I like to ride my bike when I can (no, not a motorcycle, I'm not that cool) and I believe sunsets are one of the most beautiful things we are given on this planet. Music inspires me and positive thinking is the key to life.

My pieces that I will post will be very abstract and surreal as most of them are developed from dreams I've had. I don't write in just one or two genres for I think that is far to constrictive for my writing abilities. I write what I feel and I get out what is going on inside my head and put to paper, (a monitor screen actually...) and it helps me vent the things that hold me back. Writing is a beautiful thing and I believe enriching the lives of others is the best thing I can do in this life.

Okay, now time to get back to homework! :)

Jake