Didn't end up writing tonight, but was introduced to a new friend that gave me some insights into a few things. And even read a few chapters of a book which gave me some perspective. Yet on the drive home I was once again thinking about my own writing, and may have come up with a title for one of the books (see post title).
Reasons I like the title Bouquet of Regrets:
It has the same number of syllables as Butterfly Effect. This is doubly good when used in conjunction with someone that is amending their history to make the world around them a better place. But trying to avoid spoilers, so perhaps more on that later, and definitely not more on it now.
It ties together the ideas of something beautiful and romantic to the idea of being imperfect and bettering oneself. Regrets are not things we accept about ourselves, if they were they would just be decisions. Bouquets could also be for funerals, I believe, but are most often found at weddings, proposals, etc.
Anyway, just a thought for the night. That's all. No questions, no long and lengthy monologue about words or whatever. Just a title, and a step in the right direction.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Monday, July 29, 2013
Two pages and a prophecy?
Writing in the moleskin again. Seems to come most naturally, other than the hunched over angle. Some personal stuff has me a bit distracted, but I won't let that get in the way of upholding my promises to myself about writing. When writing about being outside of quarantine got too hard, I changed tactics and wrote about something else I've been tossing around, and wrote a prophecy for the books. Not a huge one, I'm sure I'll fluff it out some later when I know more about what the books will include and such, but a pretty good start. And I'm likely to change some of the wording, perhaps make it a little less rhyming, since languages and such would change over time... especially when the language isn't even from Earth. But whatever. I'm cool with sharing the prophecy as it currently reads.
~~~~~~~
Far in the future; Millennia three
By forging truce, a hero he'll be.
Though we yet war with the Brethren Swarm,
Six orbits lasts the eye of the storm.
Ripened by tragedy, the hero grows strong.
Yet none shall hear his silent song.
Though called abomination by those in his clan
All doubt dissipated when he comes back a man.
When unity is found, then the hero will rise.
For he brings truth to a thousand lies.
Facing the gauntlet he shall not falter.
On the trail of justice the hero canst alter.
New galactic order the hero shalt bring,
For he shalt teach the third planet to sing.
The truce is short lived, for a hero will fall,
The reigns are seized by who answers his call.
The war of Swarm ended, an empty throne,
A false hero rises while the true rests alone
The balance of power may swing evil or good,
But the bringer of balance sings the song of wood.
~~~~~~~
Far in the future; Millennia three
By forging truce, a hero he'll be.
Though we yet war with the Brethren Swarm,
Six orbits lasts the eye of the storm.
Ripened by tragedy, the hero grows strong.
Yet none shall hear his silent song.
Though called abomination by those in his clan
All doubt dissipated when he comes back a man.
When unity is found, then the hero will rise.
For he brings truth to a thousand lies.
Facing the gauntlet he shall not falter.
On the trail of justice the hero canst alter.
New galactic order the hero shalt bring,
For he shalt teach the third planet to sing.
The truce is short lived, for a hero will fall,
The reigns are seized by who answers his call.
The war of Swarm ended, an empty throne,
A false hero rises while the true rests alone
The balance of power may swing evil or good,
But the bringer of balance sings the song of wood.
Sunday, July 28, 2013
Baby steps.
Wrote a few more pages regarding the quarantine story line. The hardest part is making the military seem firm and strong but keeping them relate-able. Also have to avoid using any military ranks right now, as I don't really know enough about them, but I'll edit them in after I find someone who knows that sort of stuff. Speaking of; anyone know about military ranks? Information would be greatly appreciated.
This being my first blog about activities, I can say with confidence that it's harder than I expected. Toeing the line between doing writing I can't post or writing just on here, choosing what to disclose about what I wrote, or giving spoilers about it. Chapter 1 from the other day doesn't seem like it was very well received. Possibly due to date it was posted, time, etc, but my money's on it just being too long.
Oh well. Time will tell. Keeping my chin up and my pencils sharp. I'm going to continue to write because I like doing it. I will be looking to make the page a bit more interesting though, so I'm open to suggestions. Currently I'm thinking something like stationary, if I can find it and get it to fit right. Not sure how (or if) that'll work out how I envision it, but all the more reason to get some audience participation.
So. My mission, should I choose to accept it, is:
1. Find out about military ranks.
2. Make blog look better.
And most importantly: 3. Just keepswimming writing.
This being my first blog about activities, I can say with confidence that it's harder than I expected. Toeing the line between doing writing I can't post or writing just on here, choosing what to disclose about what I wrote, or giving spoilers about it. Chapter 1 from the other day doesn't seem like it was very well received. Possibly due to date it was posted, time, etc, but my money's on it just being too long.
Oh well. Time will tell. Keeping my chin up and my pencils sharp. I'm going to continue to write because I like doing it. I will be looking to make the page a bit more interesting though, so I'm open to suggestions. Currently I'm thinking something like stationary, if I can find it and get it to fit right. Not sure how (or if) that'll work out how I envision it, but all the more reason to get some audience participation.
So. My mission, should I choose to accept it, is:
1. Find out about military ranks.
2. Make blog look better.
And most importantly: 3. Just keep
Friday, July 26, 2013
Freyr's day, A day of peace and pleasure
Friday.
A day to leave all your worries at the door, and not pick them up again until Monday. Yet I have a blog to maintain, and I no longer have the excuse of technical difficulties. As part of my computer issues, though, I did back up the files that I had on my hard drive onto a USB. Both good and bad to have them this way, I think, as I can take it with me to work on w/e computer... but I really have one main computer and if traveling, should I really be writing? If I'm traveling, it's normally to see family and such, and so it would be rude to be writing. That's a worry that can wait, though, as I have no plans to travel soon.
What I do have plans for, though, are to back up more of my files. As part of that, though, and as part of going through them, I am typing up things I've already written. Yet I am writing and editing while I do this, and want to give a little taste of what I've been working on.
Last thing before I go into that, though. Does anyone happen to know basic information about military ranks? Just stuff like what outranks Private, and what rank or title is the person in charge of a base, etc.
Anyway, back to the show:
I am issuing a very big spoiler alert right now. Because I will be posting spoilers. Right here. Right now. So if you are the type to not like spoilers: stop reading. Now. Because there will be spoilers.
I'm posting the first chapter I wrote. I think there is some very slight editing I may do to it, in order to clear some stuff out of the way for chapter four. But here goes. And, just in case, and one last and final time.
▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓
▓▓▓SPOILER ALERT!!▓▓▓
▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓
Chapter 1
I remember it as if it only happened yesterday. I was in eighth grade, and science class was as boring as ever. Ms. Fererra was talking about buoyancy or dispersion or something else long and unexciting. I wasn't really paying attention to what she was saying, though, because I was watching a cardinal in the tree outside. It was hopping along a branch, probably as interested in us as we were in it. It would take a few hops, then turn its head. Then take a few more hops, and turn its head the other way.
I didn't notice when the class got quiet. I didn't even notice when she called my name at first, to ask what was so interesting outside. But when I looked back to her, I saw the hallway was full of other kids, and then the principal came in.
"Ms. Fererra, I'm glad to see you're doing well," he began. "Now, as you know, we have a scheduled drill for the entire school, and you're running a bit behind. So if everyone would please go into the hall, and make your way to the gym..." We all looked at Ms. Fererra, who raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised to hear about the drill, but she went along with Mr Gerritt's lead.
"Okay everyone, let's go to the gym. Respectful and quiet in the halls. Single-file," she stated the instructions like it was a normal day and we were scheduled for gym. The class began to stand, and I saw Mr. Gerritt whispering into Ms. Fererra's ear, and her eyes widening. The class was already walking to the gym, when I looked back out the window for the cardinal. The only red I saw, though, was the streams of the comets... or meteors... or meteorites... the giant rocks falling from the sky. Like I said, science was NOT my best subject.
The next few moments were a blur of action. I'm told it took a few minutes, but it seemed like seconds. I think I called for Ms. Fererra, to ask about the red streaks I saw in the sky. Mr. Gerritt lifted me by my mid-section, and ran like I was a football and the gym was the end zone. I heard him yelling to Ms. Fererra, but I didn't hear what he said.
~~~~~
My psychologist, Ms. Kylan, says it was just fear telling me we'd be hit, but I KNEW that the school would be. She says I couldn't possibly have known, because even the military was expecting all touchdown to be downtown, but were just taking precautions and getting everyone away from windows and external doors. I'm not superstitious, I'm not paranoid, and I do not suffer hallucinations... though these are all things Ms. Kylan has listed as possible causes of my epiphany.
~~~~~
I remember that I looked up at Mr. Gerritt, and I told him we'd live. I wanted to tell him we'd be okay, but I knew it would be a lie.
And as he ran with me in his arms, I could see the beads of sweat on his forehead, I could hear his labored breathing. I remember Ms. Fererra running past us, rushing to the gym, her high heels clip-clopping as they hit the tiled floor. I was relieved to know she made it into the gym, because the door was just closing as it came into view.
And then the explosions started.
Mr. Gerritt lost his footing when the blasts came, and we both fell to the floor. The walls were crumbling around us, and something fell and knocked him unconscious. I didn't see the brick fall, because the lights were flickering, but I nearly tripped over the bloodstained rubble when I went to him. I was barely strong enough to drag him to the safety of a doorway, hoping it would be more sturdy.
As I sat in the doorway with Mr. Gerritt's still-bleeding head in my lap; dust filling the air from all the debris; my ears pounding from the explosions; I began to hear the screams and cries from the gym. Strangely, it gave me a sense of peace, of hope. Someone must be making those sounds, and that meant someone was in there, even if they were hurt.
I adjusted Mr. Gerritt's head, and sat him against the doorway, so I could help in the gym. By this point the flickering of the lights had stopped, and the hallway was full of dust. Thankfully some light was coming in from the windows of the classrooms, but I still had to put my hand on the lockers to make sure I didn't get turned around.
My hearing was slowly returning, and I hear the sounds from the gym more clearly. Some were yelling for help, some yelled names of friends and students, some were just pain. When I opened the doors, well, I would still have nightmares about what I saw then in the gym, but what came later was even worse.
The first thing I saw was the dust. It covered everything. There were no colors other than the grey. Just different shades of grey. Then the stench got to you. A mix of blood, fear, and being so afraid that you lose control of ...well, basically everything below the bellybutton. And as my eyes began to water from the overpowering odor, I saw my friends, classmates, and teachers. Beaten and bruised, it was amazing to see how they handled it. Some of the teachers cried, sitting with their arms around their legs, some were trying to dig out other teachers and students. Students were mostly crying, largely in groups. Some of the students helped to clear debris, and some of the teachers nursed some of the wounded. The ground had puddles of blood and dust forming, and some of my classmates weren't moving.
It still chills my bones. The knowledge that just half an hour before that I was sitting and watching a cardinal in a clear blue sky. Now I saw plenty of red, and despite the roof being blown off, there was too much dust to see they sky.
I looked around the gym, hoping to see Alyssa safe, but fearing how bloody she could be. Or if she was stuck under rubble... My knees began to quake at the thoughts, as I looked at so many wounded, each which could have been her hurt instead. I ran through the gym, screaming her name, asking everyone if they'd seen her. The entire time wishing I had reacted differently last night. Tears began to flow, creating little streams along my cheeks, while my throat was already hoarse from all the yelling. But I kept searching.
Someone told me Alyssa hadn't been in class that morning. I was so frantic by that point I didn't even notice who it was that told me. I was glad she wasn't in the brunt of the damage. I still wanted to make sure she knew that I was safe, though. I reached into my pocket, and pulled out my cell phone. I had zero bars. Probably some kind of interference from the... space rocks. I put my phone back in my pocket, wiped the tears from my cheeks, and started to focus on helping others. Lifting debris off some people, helping others to the nurses, and all too often finding a lifeless body.
"Harm!! Over here! Harm!"
~~~~~
Harm, by the way, was short for Harmony. I really wish it wasn't, sometimes, because it's almost as bad as being named Calamity. Okay, so maybe I was a little superstitious.
~~~~~
I turned to the people yelling for me by the nickname I never outgrew. There sat a fallen wall lying on top of one of the faculty. Some of the students were using boards and debris to try to pry the wall off the unconscious adult. I was walking towards them, and I recognized Ms. Fererra, the pool of blood around her staining her white turtleneck. As the students were able to lift the slab of wall a few inches from her, Ms. Fererra's eyes began to open.
"Ms. Fererra!" I yelled as I ran. I ran to her, so I could pull her out from under the wall, for it couldn't be held up very long. A single beam of sunlight made its way through the dust, and it seemed like Ms. Fererra was in the spotlight, and everyone was watching the action. When you have enough adrenaline pumping, everything seems to go into slow-motion. It was as if everyone in the gym was watching me run to her, but by the time I got to her, she had pushed the slab off on her own, and stood.
As the slab fell back on the ground, the resounding thud seemed like a gong, beckoning a new passage in the story of my life, and the lives of those around me. The gym went silent. After a moment of awe, some people began backing away in fear, some went towards her, hoping she could protect them.
Looking back at that moment, now, I'm glad Ms. Fererra was the first. We didn't know it then, but her actions were the dawning of a new era for our city. If not for her, if not for someone responsible to rally around, I fear things would have gone even worse.
~~~~~
Ms. Fererra didn't notice what had just happened, at first. "It's impolite to stare, class," she said as she adjusted her hair. She turned around to see what caused such awe, and saw the slab she had just lifted. "Oh, dear," she sighed, "this must be some kind of trick." She bent and began lifting the slab, without even straining. "Oh! Styrofoam," she said as her grip created fingerprints in the brick wall, "But this is no time to be playing around. Let's get to the wounded, everyone!"
Ms. Fererra walked away, as if unconcerned with the mass of students that couldn't lift the section of wall she had proclaimed styrofoam. Some of them tried lifting it again, and none could make any progress. There were probably seven of us that tried to lift it before we all got distracted by the burst of light and heat.
His name was Duncan. He was in my science class, but sat a few rows ahead of me, at the front. He was the kid that always raised his hand, always had something to say. He hadn't been helping other students in the gym, he was on of the ones crying in the corner. And currently, he was the kid literally on fire.
The doctors and scientists later would call the gym a powderkeg. They'd say things about how it was like some kind of beacon of energy that shined on everyone and radiated from there. They used beautiful words, scientific words, I've even read a few poems about it. But anyone describing it as anything less than a nightmare clearly wasn't there. They didn't see the people's bodies tearing themselves apart. They didn't see the student turn into a puddle of flesh, or the teacher that ran into a wall so fast she splattered, and they didn't see the carnage of people suddenly realizing that the laws of physics had forgotten everyone in that gym. Everyone but me.
~~~~~
I ran out of the gym, out of the room that reality forgot. I ran towards where I had left Mr. Gerritt, and he still sat there, his eyes barely open. I clung to his chest like someone grabs to driftwood after a shipwreck.
"...Harmony? ...What happened?" He asked, the words barely coming out.
"Mr. Gerritt... I... I just..." And with that, for the third time that day, it was just too much. I just wished I could have Alyssa telling me everything would be all right, like she used to. Stroking my hair while my parents argued, giving me support when I couldn't stand on my own anymore.
"Stay right here, Harmony," Mr. Gerritt said soothingly. When he started to heading to the gym I tried to stop him.
"NO!! Mr. Gerritt! It's not safe in there! Your body will... I mean, their bodies were... but..." I realized I couldn't even describe what I'd seen. There simply aren't words to describe such trauma, such massacre.
"Just stay here, Harmony. I'll be right back." And with that, he went into the gym, despite all the screams, despite my warning, perhaps despite his own fear.
I looked into the room I was in the doorway of, then, for the first time since dragging Mr. Gerritt in. It was the boys' locker room, painted blue, and pristine compared to the rest of the school. I threw up. Maybe it was because I finally could catch my breath enough. Or maybe it was because of all the dust and gore filling my lungs. I threw up again. I was exhausted. I turned my head, realizing I was laying down just beside the puddle I'd made. The school mascot, a blue jay, was standing just inside the boys' locker room, where it hadn't been moments before. That was the last thing I saw for three days.
A day to leave all your worries at the door, and not pick them up again until Monday. Yet I have a blog to maintain, and I no longer have the excuse of technical difficulties. As part of my computer issues, though, I did back up the files that I had on my hard drive onto a USB. Both good and bad to have them this way, I think, as I can take it with me to work on w/e computer... but I really have one main computer and if traveling, should I really be writing? If I'm traveling, it's normally to see family and such, and so it would be rude to be writing. That's a worry that can wait, though, as I have no plans to travel soon.
What I do have plans for, though, are to back up more of my files. As part of that, though, and as part of going through them, I am typing up things I've already written. Yet I am writing and editing while I do this, and want to give a little taste of what I've been working on.
Last thing before I go into that, though. Does anyone happen to know basic information about military ranks? Just stuff like what outranks Private, and what rank or title is the person in charge of a base, etc.
Anyway, back to the show:
I am issuing a very big spoiler alert right now. Because I will be posting spoilers. Right here. Right now. So if you are the type to not like spoilers: stop reading. Now. Because there will be spoilers.
I'm posting the first chapter I wrote. I think there is some very slight editing I may do to it, in order to clear some stuff out of the way for chapter four. But here goes. And, just in case, and one last and final time.
▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓
▓▓▓SPOILER ALERT!!▓▓▓
▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓▓
Chapter 1
I remember it as if it only happened yesterday. I was in eighth grade, and science class was as boring as ever. Ms. Fererra was talking about buoyancy or dispersion or something else long and unexciting. I wasn't really paying attention to what she was saying, though, because I was watching a cardinal in the tree outside. It was hopping along a branch, probably as interested in us as we were in it. It would take a few hops, then turn its head. Then take a few more hops, and turn its head the other way.
I didn't notice when the class got quiet. I didn't even notice when she called my name at first, to ask what was so interesting outside. But when I looked back to her, I saw the hallway was full of other kids, and then the principal came in.
"Ms. Fererra, I'm glad to see you're doing well," he began. "Now, as you know, we have a scheduled drill for the entire school, and you're running a bit behind. So if everyone would please go into the hall, and make your way to the gym..." We all looked at Ms. Fererra, who raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised to hear about the drill, but she went along with Mr Gerritt's lead.
"Okay everyone, let's go to the gym. Respectful and quiet in the halls. Single-file," she stated the instructions like it was a normal day and we were scheduled for gym. The class began to stand, and I saw Mr. Gerritt whispering into Ms. Fererra's ear, and her eyes widening. The class was already walking to the gym, when I looked back out the window for the cardinal. The only red I saw, though, was the streams of the comets... or meteors... or meteorites... the giant rocks falling from the sky. Like I said, science was NOT my best subject.
The next few moments were a blur of action. I'm told it took a few minutes, but it seemed like seconds. I think I called for Ms. Fererra, to ask about the red streaks I saw in the sky. Mr. Gerritt lifted me by my mid-section, and ran like I was a football and the gym was the end zone. I heard him yelling to Ms. Fererra, but I didn't hear what he said.
~~~~~
My psychologist, Ms. Kylan, says it was just fear telling me we'd be hit, but I KNEW that the school would be. She says I couldn't possibly have known, because even the military was expecting all touchdown to be downtown, but were just taking precautions and getting everyone away from windows and external doors. I'm not superstitious, I'm not paranoid, and I do not suffer hallucinations... though these are all things Ms. Kylan has listed as possible causes of my epiphany.
~~~~~
I remember that I looked up at Mr. Gerritt, and I told him we'd live. I wanted to tell him we'd be okay, but I knew it would be a lie.
And as he ran with me in his arms, I could see the beads of sweat on his forehead, I could hear his labored breathing. I remember Ms. Fererra running past us, rushing to the gym, her high heels clip-clopping as they hit the tiled floor. I was relieved to know she made it into the gym, because the door was just closing as it came into view.
And then the explosions started.
Mr. Gerritt lost his footing when the blasts came, and we both fell to the floor. The walls were crumbling around us, and something fell and knocked him unconscious. I didn't see the brick fall, because the lights were flickering, but I nearly tripped over the bloodstained rubble when I went to him. I was barely strong enough to drag him to the safety of a doorway, hoping it would be more sturdy.
As I sat in the doorway with Mr. Gerritt's still-bleeding head in my lap; dust filling the air from all the debris; my ears pounding from the explosions; I began to hear the screams and cries from the gym. Strangely, it gave me a sense of peace, of hope. Someone must be making those sounds, and that meant someone was in there, even if they were hurt.
I adjusted Mr. Gerritt's head, and sat him against the doorway, so I could help in the gym. By this point the flickering of the lights had stopped, and the hallway was full of dust. Thankfully some light was coming in from the windows of the classrooms, but I still had to put my hand on the lockers to make sure I didn't get turned around.
My hearing was slowly returning, and I hear the sounds from the gym more clearly. Some were yelling for help, some yelled names of friends and students, some were just pain. When I opened the doors, well, I would still have nightmares about what I saw then in the gym, but what came later was even worse.
The first thing I saw was the dust. It covered everything. There were no colors other than the grey. Just different shades of grey. Then the stench got to you. A mix of blood, fear, and being so afraid that you lose control of ...well, basically everything below the bellybutton. And as my eyes began to water from the overpowering odor, I saw my friends, classmates, and teachers. Beaten and bruised, it was amazing to see how they handled it. Some of the teachers cried, sitting with their arms around their legs, some were trying to dig out other teachers and students. Students were mostly crying, largely in groups. Some of the students helped to clear debris, and some of the teachers nursed some of the wounded. The ground had puddles of blood and dust forming, and some of my classmates weren't moving.
It still chills my bones. The knowledge that just half an hour before that I was sitting and watching a cardinal in a clear blue sky. Now I saw plenty of red, and despite the roof being blown off, there was too much dust to see they sky.
I looked around the gym, hoping to see Alyssa safe, but fearing how bloody she could be. Or if she was stuck under rubble... My knees began to quake at the thoughts, as I looked at so many wounded, each which could have been her hurt instead. I ran through the gym, screaming her name, asking everyone if they'd seen her. The entire time wishing I had reacted differently last night. Tears began to flow, creating little streams along my cheeks, while my throat was already hoarse from all the yelling. But I kept searching.
Someone told me Alyssa hadn't been in class that morning. I was so frantic by that point I didn't even notice who it was that told me. I was glad she wasn't in the brunt of the damage. I still wanted to make sure she knew that I was safe, though. I reached into my pocket, and pulled out my cell phone. I had zero bars. Probably some kind of interference from the... space rocks. I put my phone back in my pocket, wiped the tears from my cheeks, and started to focus on helping others. Lifting debris off some people, helping others to the nurses, and all too often finding a lifeless body.
"Harm!! Over here! Harm!"
~~~~~
Harm, by the way, was short for Harmony. I really wish it wasn't, sometimes, because it's almost as bad as being named Calamity. Okay, so maybe I was a little superstitious.
~~~~~
"Ms. Fererra!" I yelled as I ran. I ran to her, so I could pull her out from under the wall, for it couldn't be held up very long. A single beam of sunlight made its way through the dust, and it seemed like Ms. Fererra was in the spotlight, and everyone was watching the action. When you have enough adrenaline pumping, everything seems to go into slow-motion. It was as if everyone in the gym was watching me run to her, but by the time I got to her, she had pushed the slab off on her own, and stood.
As the slab fell back on the ground, the resounding thud seemed like a gong, beckoning a new passage in the story of my life, and the lives of those around me. The gym went silent. After a moment of awe, some people began backing away in fear, some went towards her, hoping she could protect them.
Looking back at that moment, now, I'm glad Ms. Fererra was the first. We didn't know it then, but her actions were the dawning of a new era for our city. If not for her, if not for someone responsible to rally around, I fear things would have gone even worse.
~~~~~
Ms. Fererra didn't notice what had just happened, at first. "It's impolite to stare, class," she said as she adjusted her hair. She turned around to see what caused such awe, and saw the slab she had just lifted. "Oh, dear," she sighed, "this must be some kind of trick." She bent and began lifting the slab, without even straining. "Oh! Styrofoam," she said as her grip created fingerprints in the brick wall, "But this is no time to be playing around. Let's get to the wounded, everyone!"
Ms. Fererra walked away, as if unconcerned with the mass of students that couldn't lift the section of wall she had proclaimed styrofoam. Some of them tried lifting it again, and none could make any progress. There were probably seven of us that tried to lift it before we all got distracted by the burst of light and heat.
His name was Duncan. He was in my science class, but sat a few rows ahead of me, at the front. He was the kid that always raised his hand, always had something to say. He hadn't been helping other students in the gym, he was on of the ones crying in the corner. And currently, he was the kid literally on fire.
The doctors and scientists later would call the gym a powderkeg. They'd say things about how it was like some kind of beacon of energy that shined on everyone and radiated from there. They used beautiful words, scientific words, I've even read a few poems about it. But anyone describing it as anything less than a nightmare clearly wasn't there. They didn't see the people's bodies tearing themselves apart. They didn't see the student turn into a puddle of flesh, or the teacher that ran into a wall so fast she splattered, and they didn't see the carnage of people suddenly realizing that the laws of physics had forgotten everyone in that gym. Everyone but me.
~~~~~
I ran out of the gym, out of the room that reality forgot. I ran towards where I had left Mr. Gerritt, and he still sat there, his eyes barely open. I clung to his chest like someone grabs to driftwood after a shipwreck.
"...Harmony? ...What happened?" He asked, the words barely coming out.
"Mr. Gerritt... I... I just..." And with that, for the third time that day, it was just too much. I just wished I could have Alyssa telling me everything would be all right, like she used to. Stroking my hair while my parents argued, giving me support when I couldn't stand on my own anymore.
"Stay right here, Harmony," Mr. Gerritt said soothingly. When he started to heading to the gym I tried to stop him.
"NO!! Mr. Gerritt! It's not safe in there! Your body will... I mean, their bodies were... but..." I realized I couldn't even describe what I'd seen. There simply aren't words to describe such trauma, such massacre.
"Just stay here, Harmony. I'll be right back." And with that, he went into the gym, despite all the screams, despite my warning, perhaps despite his own fear.
I looked into the room I was in the doorway of, then, for the first time since dragging Mr. Gerritt in. It was the boys' locker room, painted blue, and pristine compared to the rest of the school. I threw up. Maybe it was because I finally could catch my breath enough. Or maybe it was because of all the dust and gore filling my lungs. I threw up again. I was exhausted. I turned my head, realizing I was laying down just beside the puddle I'd made. The school mascot, a blue jay, was standing just inside the boys' locker room, where it hadn't been moments before. That was the last thing I saw for three days.
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
War, what is it good for? (Absolutely nothing)
Well, I've definitely been falling behind on my writing goals lately, though I did do a bit of work outside of this blog. In order to make up some of the lost time, though, I will be writing about something I'm rather passionate about. I can't go into a lot of the details surrounding it, but I recently found out that when asked what their values were, someone I wouldn't have expected it from answered, among other things, "Integrity." This threw me a bit, and came across as blasphemous. So I'm going to go ahead and write about why, etc.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Integrity is an impressive word.
It looks a bit like "Integer," which is another word for a number without anything after the decimal. Another word for these kinds of numbers is "Whole," which implies they are full, missing no pieces, no dents, bruises, or scratches. Integers are clear, with no hidden meanings or data.
It also looks a bit like "Integral," which means necessary. Without any integral component, the system simply falls apart. This is, in barest terms, a need. So breathable air is integral to you being able to stay alive, for instance, but that new iPod isn't. Having a working internet connection is integral to you getting online, but having a working mouse or keyboard isn't... though you might not be able to do much without them.
The reason why I bring up these other words is because of their similarities. Like Integer, Integrity is clear-cut and whole. Like Integral, it means something is so important that even bending on the issue could cause complete system failure.
Integrity is not a line in the sand.
Integrity is the hull of the Titanic. One does not bend another's integrity, it must be breached or broken. This is not a chain link fence that you can go under or through. Integrity is the Berlin Wall, and the guns are loaded and pointed before anything can cross it. When it comes to integrity in your morals, it goes beyond your willpower. If Batman has a choice of shooting the Joker with a gun or dying, he will die, because he doesn't use guns. No rationalizing about when it is acceptable, no excuses, just no guns. Because yes, to sacrifice one's integrity is to sacrifice your sense of self.
Integrity is the woman that during war time grabbed a knife to defend against the armed enemy soldiers. And when the witnesses laughed at her and asked "What are you going to do with that," she stated "I will show them whose side I'm on."
If you have moral stance of pure nonviolence and are offered $10 to punch a clown in the face, and your concern is about the amount of money offered for it, then it isn't a stance you hold with integrity. If you are the President of the United States of America and publicly state that you will not negotiate with terrorists, but you do when you can see the faces of the hostages are your own children, then you lack integrity. If you say that you like banana nut muffins, but will eat a blueberry muffin if no banana nut are available, then that's a preference and not a question of your integrity. But if you tell people you would rather die than eat a blueberry muffin but you eat blueberry muffins, integrity is possibly a trait you lack.
Integrity means it's worth the time every time. Integrity means 100%. Integrity means that you do not bend on the issue, but may try to make way so that the issue doesn't come about. In a situation of do or die, you would literally rather die. This is what makes the SAW movies so thrilling to so many people, the question of how far people will go off of their moral path. Because after the first step is taken, it can be nearly impossible to get back.
According to Webster's dictionary, Integrity is uncorruptible, unimpaired, and complete. When the integrity of the hull of a ship is breached, the ship sinks. If a bucket of white paint has a single drop of black, and becomes a shade darker for it, the paint lost it's integrity of being white. Which is not to say that you have a can of black paint, but there are no shades of grey with integrity. Either it is pure, whole, and uncorrupted, or the integrity is lost.
One especially emotional situation dealing with integrity are rape victims, or victims of other assaults. In a perfect society, your body is your own, and there is never any question about it. When this one simple truth is put under question by someone else forcing their will upon you, it is hard (if not impossible) to recover from. You lose your self-worth, your sense of purpose, your innocence and your confidence. You hold your integrity and who you are, and how you define yourself. If you lose it, you've often lost yourself. And no matter how many times you wash your hands after it, a part of yourself will always see them stained.
~~~~~
Now, after that little tirade some of you may wonder what caused me to be so passionate about it. What sort of person could list it as a value and cause me to be so worked up? Well, issue one would be that it wasn't a person so much as a group of persons. And issue two would be that it's the same group of persons that yesterday in writing expressed to me that I should care less about what the rules are, and more about what people say.
So, last comment on that is this: Doing what is right isn't always popular. Doing what's popular isn't always right.
Anyway, I usually like to end with a question, just so it's clear that's there's room for audience participation. And I definitely encourage you to respond if you would like. But instead of a question, I'll leave you with something I understand if you don't want to make public. It's a bit more somber than my previous posts, but I think it's a memory worth having.
Think of the last few times you felt guilty. Think of why you felt guilty. Take a moment and just ask yourself "What did I sacrifice to cause the pain of guilt?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Integrity is an impressive word.
It looks a bit like "Integer," which is another word for a number without anything after the decimal. Another word for these kinds of numbers is "Whole," which implies they are full, missing no pieces, no dents, bruises, or scratches. Integers are clear, with no hidden meanings or data.
It also looks a bit like "Integral," which means necessary. Without any integral component, the system simply falls apart. This is, in barest terms, a need. So breathable air is integral to you being able to stay alive, for instance, but that new iPod isn't. Having a working internet connection is integral to you getting online, but having a working mouse or keyboard isn't... though you might not be able to do much without them.
The reason why I bring up these other words is because of their similarities. Like Integer, Integrity is clear-cut and whole. Like Integral, it means something is so important that even bending on the issue could cause complete system failure.
Integrity is not a line in the sand.
Integrity is the hull of the Titanic. One does not bend another's integrity, it must be breached or broken. This is not a chain link fence that you can go under or through. Integrity is the Berlin Wall, and the guns are loaded and pointed before anything can cross it. When it comes to integrity in your morals, it goes beyond your willpower. If Batman has a choice of shooting the Joker with a gun or dying, he will die, because he doesn't use guns. No rationalizing about when it is acceptable, no excuses, just no guns. Because yes, to sacrifice one's integrity is to sacrifice your sense of self.
Integrity is the woman that during war time grabbed a knife to defend against the armed enemy soldiers. And when the witnesses laughed at her and asked "What are you going to do with that," she stated "I will show them whose side I'm on."
If you have moral stance of pure nonviolence and are offered $10 to punch a clown in the face, and your concern is about the amount of money offered for it, then it isn't a stance you hold with integrity. If you are the President of the United States of America and publicly state that you will not negotiate with terrorists, but you do when you can see the faces of the hostages are your own children, then you lack integrity. If you say that you like banana nut muffins, but will eat a blueberry muffin if no banana nut are available, then that's a preference and not a question of your integrity. But if you tell people you would rather die than eat a blueberry muffin but you eat blueberry muffins, integrity is possibly a trait you lack.
Integrity means it's worth the time every time. Integrity means 100%. Integrity means that you do not bend on the issue, but may try to make way so that the issue doesn't come about. In a situation of do or die, you would literally rather die. This is what makes the SAW movies so thrilling to so many people, the question of how far people will go off of their moral path. Because after the first step is taken, it can be nearly impossible to get back.
According to Webster's dictionary, Integrity is uncorruptible, unimpaired, and complete. When the integrity of the hull of a ship is breached, the ship sinks. If a bucket of white paint has a single drop of black, and becomes a shade darker for it, the paint lost it's integrity of being white. Which is not to say that you have a can of black paint, but there are no shades of grey with integrity. Either it is pure, whole, and uncorrupted, or the integrity is lost.
One especially emotional situation dealing with integrity are rape victims, or victims of other assaults. In a perfect society, your body is your own, and there is never any question about it. When this one simple truth is put under question by someone else forcing their will upon you, it is hard (if not impossible) to recover from. You lose your self-worth, your sense of purpose, your innocence and your confidence. You hold your integrity and who you are, and how you define yourself. If you lose it, you've often lost yourself. And no matter how many times you wash your hands after it, a part of yourself will always see them stained.
~~~~~
Now, after that little tirade some of you may wonder what caused me to be so passionate about it. What sort of person could list it as a value and cause me to be so worked up? Well, issue one would be that it wasn't a person so much as a group of persons. And issue two would be that it's the same group of persons that yesterday in writing expressed to me that I should care less about what the rules are, and more about what people say.
So, last comment on that is this: Doing what is right isn't always popular. Doing what's popular isn't always right.
Anyway, I usually like to end with a question, just so it's clear that's there's room for audience participation. And I definitely encourage you to respond if you would like. But instead of a question, I'll leave you with something I understand if you don't want to make public. It's a bit more somber than my previous posts, but I think it's a memory worth having.
Think of the last few times you felt guilty. Think of why you felt guilty. Take a moment and just ask yourself "What did I sacrifice to cause the pain of guilt?"
Monday, July 22, 2013
Computer to be fixed tomorrow?
well. its been a week since I wrote on here, which is definitely not good. its not something i can be proud of, but at least i have been working on my stories still even got a few ideas about putting them into other mediums, since it seems like nothing stays as just words on a page very long lately. it is both amazing and a bit disheartening to see how many books from my youth that they have made or are making into movies. i still have not seen atlas shrugged yet, though i found the book rather motivating. but i will make a point to see enders game. perhaps a few times. but, if you value punctuation and grammar as much as i, then this paragraph of text is already becomming painful to read. so the question i leave you with this blog post: what book from your childhood do you most wish you could make into a movie?
Sunday, July 14, 2013
Why do we fall, Bruce?
Well, computer issues are definitely putting a damper on the blogging part of my new goals, but it gives me a bit more time to think (in between sessions of trying to find people to fix my computers, of course).
Got an idea for a new story, new viewpoint, and potentially a new villain or two. Perhaps part of the Trayvon Martin thing gave me the idea, but there are other events that have also left a bad taste in my mouth about the justice system.
Here's an idea I'm finding it hard to communicate by text, but is important to me. If our criminal justice system handles 100 cases, and all 100 are dealt with the same way, whether guilt or innocence, would you rather have 99 guilty men go free, or one innocent man to spend his life in prison? I'll post my thoughts in the next blog, but time for the audience to take the floor. Which would be better, jailing the innocent or freeing the guilty? Let me know, and explain why you feel that way.
And after you post, ask yourself what crime you were thinking of, and if that changes your answer at all.
Got an idea for a new story, new viewpoint, and potentially a new villain or two. Perhaps part of the Trayvon Martin thing gave me the idea, but there are other events that have also left a bad taste in my mouth about the justice system.
Here's an idea I'm finding it hard to communicate by text, but is important to me. If our criminal justice system handles 100 cases, and all 100 are dealt with the same way, whether guilt or innocence, would you rather have 99 guilty men go free, or one innocent man to spend his life in prison? I'll post my thoughts in the next blog, but time for the audience to take the floor. Which would be better, jailing the innocent or freeing the guilty? Let me know, and explain why you feel that way.
And after you post, ask yourself what crime you were thinking of, and if that changes your answer at all.
Thursday, July 11, 2013
Bad Compy :(
so my computer is broken. that makes this quite a bit harder to do. but that doesnt mean i will give up. ...but it does mean i cant capitalize or use most punctuation. le frownie face. apparently i cant drop down a line or two for spacing, either. so i will keep this short to avoid hurting your sense of grammar further. if you could have any superpower, but every time you used it someone close to you would die, what superpower would be worth it to you?
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Spoilers vs. Blogging
So I did my hour of writing today and wrote about 4 ½ pages in the moleskine. As I said in my first post, I'm going to try to avoid spoilers, but that's rather hard as I'm pretty proud of my work so far. So instead I'll leave you with this thought, and please feel free to respond.
If your family was in quarantine, and you had no details about why, what would you do? Would you want to be in it with them, or would you try to get them out? What lengths would you go to in order to ensure their safety?
If your family was in quarantine, and you had no details about why, what would you do? Would you want to be in it with them, or would you try to get them out? What lengths would you go to in order to ensure their safety?
Tuesday, July 9, 2013
I got the rhythm, I got the rhyme, everybody take a pause for reading time!
All will know what I had meant,
When I said my rhymes were relevant.
Poetically elegant,
my gift for gab is Heaven-sent.
My words are always pleasin'
and they don't need a reason.
Even out of season,
without my beats you're freezin'.
I can make rhymes about politics
or even about drug addicts.
I can pound the beat with one drumstick.
But I'd drop the beat for a cute enough chick. ;)
I can bust beats with the radio on
I can wax poetic all night long.
All the way from dusk until the dawn.
When it comes to the message I'm the poem's pawn.
I can write most pleasantly
but me can speak irritatibly!
A great rhythm makes me squee with glee.
And reading this makes you happy.
Though I like being spontaneous
My rhymes are rarely outrageous.
For that I'd need to be courageous.
And I'm just a bit to shy.
(Yes, I'm actually a shy guy.)
At work I'm told I need to be
Caring, Kind, and Patient me.
and yet always, inevitably,
they end up just on wasting me.
I try to be a gentleman,
And though things come up, that's the plan.
I'm not near as sweet as a candy man
but within my limits I do what I can.
Character witness? I've got a few.
Like Noah's ark they come two-by-two.
Sometimes it's what you say, not what you do.
Sometimes it's not what you did, but to who.
I've got my fair share of guilt on hand.
Enough to give a solo each to a full blues' band.
And when the tough stuff came I sometimes ran,
but now I am a bigger man.
When the time comes I do what it takes,
though I sometimes still do make mistakes.
Perfection levels all in its wake,
and I'm not quite ready for that earthquake.
So I wake each morning and I do my best,
Because you don't know which day will be your test.
And I still have to vent when I get stressed.
But even for an athiest I think I'm blessed.
The rhymes are getting harder and I'm barely in,
but to give up now would be a sin.
I wonder what it would be like to have a twin.
Maybe it's time to begin ag...in?
~~
Limericks are poems with a change to the pace,
and though they still rhyme they have a different face.
The first, second, and last line all end the same,
But the jokes held within are rarely tame.
So I'll write some of those within this space.
There was a young girl on facebook.
And on seeing cute boys, she shook.
Though the boys feared it seizure,
She knew they could please 'er,
And she knew it with just but a look.
The was a young writer named Scott,
who feared all he wrote was just rot.
So he spilled his heart by blogging 'em
And the audience wasn't flogging 'im.
So it's time to move on with the plot.
~~
The weather outside's like ninety degrees
with the half a week of sixty always being a tease.
So I sit at my computer and the sweat does flow,
Oh why can't my air conditioner grow?
It's been a half an hour and I'm running out of thought,
The writer's block I might have caught.
but if I give up now it's all for naught,
yet if I keep trying my brain goes taut.
Even out in public I sometimes feel alone,
For the company I keep rarely matches my own,
I'd like to be more social and spread my wings,
but sometimes it's hard to find common things.
I'm sharing random thoughts just to fill the "paper"
I once knew a girl called "Little Raper"
She had a big brother on the football team,
but what the heck did their last name mean??
Some people ask me if I prefer Geek or Nerd,
and sometimes I wish there had been a third.
But Dork isn't at all what I want,
So I prefer Geek if you want to taunt.
But the Geek shall inherit the Earth,
For we all are modest of our worth.
Because I prefer overlooked to overworked.
Yet I put a full effort in each day,
even though I frequently question the pay.
And there's a lot of question I try not to say,
Yet if it stays downhill, I likely may.
I'm an Xbox gamer, but I'll probably switch
Due to the Xbox One's main PR hitch.
If you knew what customer's wanted you wouldn't flip flop,
So maybe wait a year or two and take it from the top.
Though some really like it, I can't prefer DC
because Marvel heroes could be me.
I'm not a dying member of a once-great race,
Like Superman, Abin Sur, Martian Manhunter... or all the others from space.
My hour's almost up (at least I hope)
as I come to the end of my rhyming rope.
if it goes much longer I'll need a hand
Because writing this much I hadn't planned.
So I sit here at the computer box
and my head feels like it's full of rocks.
Why didn't people yet adopt the word "plox"?
That could have caught on like it was the pox.
My blog is plain because it's about the writing,
and if I add a background there's more you're sighting.
So please let me know that the fish are biting,
by responding how it looks in this lighting. :D
#############
#############
Okay, that's enough practice writing for a day. Definitely had a few points I thought about giving up, but even the bad ones I'm pretty proud of. Let me know what you think! Comments encouraged.
When I said my rhymes were relevant.
Poetically elegant,
my gift for gab is Heaven-sent.
My words are always pleasin'
and they don't need a reason.
Even out of season,
without my beats you're freezin'.
I can make rhymes about politics
or even about drug addicts.
I can pound the beat with one drumstick.
But I'd drop the beat for a cute enough chick. ;)
I can bust beats with the radio on
I can wax poetic all night long.
All the way from dusk until the dawn.
When it comes to the message I'm the poem's pawn.
I can write most pleasantly
but me can speak irritatibly!
A great rhythm makes me squee with glee.
And reading this makes you happy.
Though I like being spontaneous
My rhymes are rarely outrageous.
For that I'd need to be courageous.
And I'm just a bit to shy.
(Yes, I'm actually a shy guy.)
At work I'm told I need to be
Caring, Kind, and Patient me.
and yet always, inevitably,
they end up just on wasting me.
I try to be a gentleman,
And though things come up, that's the plan.
I'm not near as sweet as a candy man
but within my limits I do what I can.
Character witness? I've got a few.
Like Noah's ark they come two-by-two.
Sometimes it's what you say, not what you do.
Sometimes it's not what you did, but to who.
I've got my fair share of guilt on hand.
Enough to give a solo each to a full blues' band.
And when the tough stuff came I sometimes ran,
but now I am a bigger man.
When the time comes I do what it takes,
though I sometimes still do make mistakes.
Perfection levels all in its wake,
and I'm not quite ready for that earthquake.
So I wake each morning and I do my best,
Because you don't know which day will be your test.
And I still have to vent when I get stressed.
But even for an athiest I think I'm blessed.
The rhymes are getting harder and I'm barely in,
but to give up now would be a sin.
I wonder what it would be like to have a twin.
Maybe it's time to begin ag...in?
~~
Limericks are poems with a change to the pace,
and though they still rhyme they have a different face.
The first, second, and last line all end the same,
But the jokes held within are rarely tame.
So I'll write some of those within this space.
There was a young girl on facebook.
And on seeing cute boys, she shook.
Though the boys feared it seizure,
She knew they could please 'er,
And she knew it with just but a look.
The was a young writer named Scott,
who feared all he wrote was just rot.
So he spilled his heart by blogging 'em
And the audience wasn't flogging 'im.
So it's time to move on with the plot.
~~
The weather outside's like ninety degrees
with the half a week of sixty always being a tease.
So I sit at my computer and the sweat does flow,
Oh why can't my air conditioner grow?
It's been a half an hour and I'm running out of thought,
The writer's block I might have caught.
but if I give up now it's all for naught,
yet if I keep trying my brain goes taut.
Even out in public I sometimes feel alone,
For the company I keep rarely matches my own,
I'd like to be more social and spread my wings,
but sometimes it's hard to find common things.
I'm sharing random thoughts just to fill the "paper"
I once knew a girl called "Little Raper"
She had a big brother on the football team,
but what the heck did their last name mean??
Some people ask me if I prefer Geek or Nerd,
and sometimes I wish there had been a third.
But Dork isn't at all what I want,
So I prefer Geek if you want to taunt.
But the Geek shall inherit the Earth,
For we all are modest of our worth.
Because I prefer overlooked to overworked.
Yet I put a full effort in each day,
even though I frequently question the pay.
And there's a lot of question I try not to say,
Yet if it stays downhill, I likely may.
I'm an Xbox gamer, but I'll probably switch
Due to the Xbox One's main PR hitch.
If you knew what customer's wanted you wouldn't flip flop,
So maybe wait a year or two and take it from the top.
Though some really like it, I can't prefer DC
because Marvel heroes could be me.
I'm not a dying member of a once-great race,
Like Superman, Abin Sur, Martian Manhunter... or all the others from space.
My hour's almost up (at least I hope)
as I come to the end of my rhyming rope.
if it goes much longer I'll need a hand
Because writing this much I hadn't planned.
So I sit here at the computer box
and my head feels like it's full of rocks.
Why didn't people yet adopt the word "plox"?
That could have caught on like it was the pox.
My blog is plain because it's about the writing,
and if I add a background there's more you're sighting.
So please let me know that the fish are biting,
by responding how it looks in this lighting. :D
#############
#############
Okay, that's enough practice writing for a day. Definitely had a few points I thought about giving up, but even the bad ones I'm pretty proud of. Let me know what you think! Comments encouraged.
Monday, July 8, 2013
Goals and Stuff
A friend of mine recently started a fitness blog. By doing the blog, she is holding herself publicly accountable to meet and adhere to the goals she has set for herself, and I applaud her and her efforts.
And though I am not in peak physical condition, the exercise I will be holding myself to is actually about writing. When I was in middle school we would have days where we basically had free roam. We didn't have assigned topics, styles, or anything. We simply had time. We could write whatever came to mind, and in that moment of freedom, we truly spread our wings. You could start by writing a journal, or writing a song that came to your head and what it meant to you, or you could write about a book you were reading, or how your favorite hero would deal with what you were dealing with.
And yes, that easily could have been more for the Thought Police to have easy access, or for the teacher to have a day off, but whatever the cause, the results were beautiful.
I have begun writing a book series, and already have a few chapters, characters, viewpoints, etc. Yet there are times when I look at the computer screen, the smartphone screen, the notebook, or whatever I am using that day, and I don't know what to write about the one topic I have been working on. So I keep tripping over writer's block, rather than just going around it. I see what is on the other side, and I don't know how I want to get there, so I don't end up writing anything. And day by day, each time I do it, I fall more and more into a habit of slacking and procrastination.
My slacking ends today.
I will be writing every day for an hour a day. I will try to make it roughly the same time each day so that it becomes a habit and I grow accustomed to writing when I get home from work as a means of relaxation. Since there is some room for life to get in the way, I will hold myself accountable to at least 5 hours a week. I will set my alarm for 60 minutes when I sit down to write, and even if I can't think of anything to write for my series, I will write something anyway. And if it isn't for the series I will post it here. I'm going to try not talking too much about the plot and such of my stories because I don't want to give too much away. So if I do write part of the book, the entry in my blog is likely to be shorter.
All that being said, I still have 45 minutes to go today, and want to start off with good habits, so here's something that's been running through my head for a while, but I never bothered to put it to pen. Please forgive me that it isn't well polished, but editing comes after writing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Benjamin Franklinstein (An alternative Fantasy history)
The story of Benjamin Franklinstein is one told to young children that let curiosity guide them. Benjamin Franklin was a man that had many ideas, in a society that believed the future was built on ideas, rather than loyalty. There are some who called him brilliant, for a time, but it became clear the man was mad.
No matter how good his intentions were, all he created brought people pain. Ben had created a fireplace that allowed people to feel more heat but the smoke would leave the chimney, and this caused many people to leave the fires burning overnight. As the families slept in their nicely warmed beds, the logs would crumble, roll, and start the home on fire. When he heard tales upon tales of this, he sought redemption by building more. He created a small enclosure of glass to be held in front of the face. He told the people that it could improve their vision, yet the ones that wore it would see worse than before, often tripping and having the glass dig into their eyes. He invented what he called "Daylight Savings Time", which created an outcry of the populous due to people being late for 6 months of the year. Even his attempt to help farmer's plan for the season went horribly when the day he said would be best for planting was followed by a flood, so most crops were drowned.
The people's rage was so great that they attacked him in nearly every town he went. His right eye was cut out to show the pain endured from his "bifocals." They burned his left arm to signify those lost in the fires. And they damaged his right leg beyond repair, that everywhere he went he would be late. Eventually he found a cabin outside of a town with many youth, and few adults. Due to their numbers, the children would ridicule him, but speak to him, and the adults were kind enough to simply ignore him. Until one day that he announced he would make himself right with the world, and create a better world by doing it.
In a final attempt to prove that he did have some good to bring to the world, he stated that he would create a cleaner energy than coal, or die trying. And die he did. In 1752, Benjamin Franklin tied a key to a red kite and let it fly during a lightning storm. As he predicted, the kite was struck by lightning. The seven lightning strikes, one after another, sent him flat. As his body lay motionless and steaming, the crowd moved in. The whole town had come out to see this man make another mistake. And as the kite drifted into the sunset, the mayor poked Ben Franklin's body, and the mothers reminded their children that curiosity always kills, Ben's body moved.
An inhumane roar arose from the recently deceased man, and the crowd quickly dispersed. In the moment of being stuck by so much energy and force, Ben's mind had been opened, and he would finally be able to make the world better. But in order to do that, he needed to be a full man again.
As the town got pitchforks and torches to drive out this unacceptable horror, Ben went to the cemetery, and began to find the parts needed to bring his plan to fruition. Though his skin was now covered in burns from the lighting and scars from so many unhappy citizens, he felt no pain as the rain ran across his torn flesh. He dug, deeper and deeper, as the angry mob searched for him.
~~~
Thomas's father put him to bed early that night, as soon as they got home from watching Old Ben's crazy antics.
"Mind your sister, lad, and keep an ear out. Don't open the door for no one, lest it be me, y'hear?"
Thomas's father, and a few others in the village, had left that night, but weren't heard from again. Every day at least one more person went missing, but Thomas kept watch on his sister. Soon houses were abandoned, and people were leaving in broad daylight, taking nothing but the clothes on their backs.
Family after family, and home after home, Thomas grew more and more alone. With so many people gone, Thomas, having 13 summers, was one of the oldest ones left. He, his sister, and four others that got left behind made up the youth. The adults were an even poorer lot. One old man who had lost a leg fighting natives and couldn't leave, two widows, and a man that had lost his wife and children in a bear attack and refused to leave his family's resting place. The adults taught the children how to tend the abandoned animals and to take care of themselves, even how to hunt. And one by one the widows went missing, then the old man.
With just seven townsfolk remaining, the man decided to join his family, and hung himself from the rafters of their home.
That night no one went missing. The children had all slept in the same home to watch each other. Timothy woke first, and counted the others before waking them and stepping outside.
In the middle of town they had a flagpole, and it stood their still. Yet rising far above the flagpole was a red kite.
Ben came from out of the shadows, his body now a twisted mass of the bodies of others. He greeted Timothy, who had often visited his cabin, and Timothy screamed and fainted. The other children had not come outside, and sat huddled in the house.
They heard the scream, and huddled tighter, afraid to move, afraid to breathe, and none willing to check on Timothy.
Seconds passed. Minutes passed. And then when they could wait no longer, Timothy's little sister, Deborah, stood and, body trembling, went to check on her brother.
~
He sat there, calmly and healthily, talking to Ben in hushed tones. Ben's mind had been opened to the world, and he had been traveling. He had gone from cemetery to cemetery throughout the colonies, always in secret, taking the minds of those that had passed on, and adding them to his own. His intelligence was staggering, and he sat on the doorstep sharing it freely with a boy that hadn't experienced much outside of his own town.
Deborah screamed, "Tim! Get away from him! He's been killing the townsfolk!"
"No, Deb. It was the man who lost his family. I made the mistake of unburying his family on that night I died, and though I thank them for their sacrifice in helping me on my journey, I do not believe he could forgive me. Seeing his wife's leg and arm removed, or his son's eye taken from his skull was too much, and it drove him to insanity. He is the one who had been destroying your town, and I am sad that I had come too late to stop him. But with you and Timmy here, along with the others, we will make this place the center of a nation, and the hope of the world. My ideas know no bounds, and neither shall yours!"
Thus began the unlife of Benjamin Franklinstein. He would meet his promises. In twenty years he was voted President for Life, and still rules over the Americas to this day. Though his cabinet has gone through many changes, the Americas are seen the world over as a technological marvel.
And though I am not in peak physical condition, the exercise I will be holding myself to is actually about writing. When I was in middle school we would have days where we basically had free roam. We didn't have assigned topics, styles, or anything. We simply had time. We could write whatever came to mind, and in that moment of freedom, we truly spread our wings. You could start by writing a journal, or writing a song that came to your head and what it meant to you, or you could write about a book you were reading, or how your favorite hero would deal with what you were dealing with.
And yes, that easily could have been more for the Thought Police to have easy access, or for the teacher to have a day off, but whatever the cause, the results were beautiful.
I have begun writing a book series, and already have a few chapters, characters, viewpoints, etc. Yet there are times when I look at the computer screen, the smartphone screen, the notebook, or whatever I am using that day, and I don't know what to write about the one topic I have been working on. So I keep tripping over writer's block, rather than just going around it. I see what is on the other side, and I don't know how I want to get there, so I don't end up writing anything. And day by day, each time I do it, I fall more and more into a habit of slacking and procrastination.
My slacking ends today.
I will be writing every day for an hour a day. I will try to make it roughly the same time each day so that it becomes a habit and I grow accustomed to writing when I get home from work as a means of relaxation. Since there is some room for life to get in the way, I will hold myself accountable to at least 5 hours a week. I will set my alarm for 60 minutes when I sit down to write, and even if I can't think of anything to write for my series, I will write something anyway. And if it isn't for the series I will post it here. I'm going to try not talking too much about the plot and such of my stories because I don't want to give too much away. So if I do write part of the book, the entry in my blog is likely to be shorter.
All that being said, I still have 45 minutes to go today, and want to start off with good habits, so here's something that's been running through my head for a while, but I never bothered to put it to pen. Please forgive me that it isn't well polished, but editing comes after writing.
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Benjamin Franklinstein (An alternative Fantasy history)
The story of Benjamin Franklinstein is one told to young children that let curiosity guide them. Benjamin Franklin was a man that had many ideas, in a society that believed the future was built on ideas, rather than loyalty. There are some who called him brilliant, for a time, but it became clear the man was mad.
No matter how good his intentions were, all he created brought people pain. Ben had created a fireplace that allowed people to feel more heat but the smoke would leave the chimney, and this caused many people to leave the fires burning overnight. As the families slept in their nicely warmed beds, the logs would crumble, roll, and start the home on fire. When he heard tales upon tales of this, he sought redemption by building more. He created a small enclosure of glass to be held in front of the face. He told the people that it could improve their vision, yet the ones that wore it would see worse than before, often tripping and having the glass dig into their eyes. He invented what he called "Daylight Savings Time", which created an outcry of the populous due to people being late for 6 months of the year. Even his attempt to help farmer's plan for the season went horribly when the day he said would be best for planting was followed by a flood, so most crops were drowned.
The people's rage was so great that they attacked him in nearly every town he went. His right eye was cut out to show the pain endured from his "bifocals." They burned his left arm to signify those lost in the fires. And they damaged his right leg beyond repair, that everywhere he went he would be late. Eventually he found a cabin outside of a town with many youth, and few adults. Due to their numbers, the children would ridicule him, but speak to him, and the adults were kind enough to simply ignore him. Until one day that he announced he would make himself right with the world, and create a better world by doing it.
In a final attempt to prove that he did have some good to bring to the world, he stated that he would create a cleaner energy than coal, or die trying. And die he did. In 1752, Benjamin Franklin tied a key to a red kite and let it fly during a lightning storm. As he predicted, the kite was struck by lightning. The seven lightning strikes, one after another, sent him flat. As his body lay motionless and steaming, the crowd moved in. The whole town had come out to see this man make another mistake. And as the kite drifted into the sunset, the mayor poked Ben Franklin's body, and the mothers reminded their children that curiosity always kills, Ben's body moved.
An inhumane roar arose from the recently deceased man, and the crowd quickly dispersed. In the moment of being stuck by so much energy and force, Ben's mind had been opened, and he would finally be able to make the world better. But in order to do that, he needed to be a full man again.
As the town got pitchforks and torches to drive out this unacceptable horror, Ben went to the cemetery, and began to find the parts needed to bring his plan to fruition. Though his skin was now covered in burns from the lighting and scars from so many unhappy citizens, he felt no pain as the rain ran across his torn flesh. He dug, deeper and deeper, as the angry mob searched for him.
~~~
Thomas's father put him to bed early that night, as soon as they got home from watching Old Ben's crazy antics.
"Mind your sister, lad, and keep an ear out. Don't open the door for no one, lest it be me, y'hear?"
Thomas's father, and a few others in the village, had left that night, but weren't heard from again. Every day at least one more person went missing, but Thomas kept watch on his sister. Soon houses were abandoned, and people were leaving in broad daylight, taking nothing but the clothes on their backs.
Family after family, and home after home, Thomas grew more and more alone. With so many people gone, Thomas, having 13 summers, was one of the oldest ones left. He, his sister, and four others that got left behind made up the youth. The adults were an even poorer lot. One old man who had lost a leg fighting natives and couldn't leave, two widows, and a man that had lost his wife and children in a bear attack and refused to leave his family's resting place. The adults taught the children how to tend the abandoned animals and to take care of themselves, even how to hunt. And one by one the widows went missing, then the old man.
With just seven townsfolk remaining, the man decided to join his family, and hung himself from the rafters of their home.
That night no one went missing. The children had all slept in the same home to watch each other. Timothy woke first, and counted the others before waking them and stepping outside.
In the middle of town they had a flagpole, and it stood their still. Yet rising far above the flagpole was a red kite.
Ben came from out of the shadows, his body now a twisted mass of the bodies of others. He greeted Timothy, who had often visited his cabin, and Timothy screamed and fainted. The other children had not come outside, and sat huddled in the house.
They heard the scream, and huddled tighter, afraid to move, afraid to breathe, and none willing to check on Timothy.
Seconds passed. Minutes passed. And then when they could wait no longer, Timothy's little sister, Deborah, stood and, body trembling, went to check on her brother.
~
He sat there, calmly and healthily, talking to Ben in hushed tones. Ben's mind had been opened to the world, and he had been traveling. He had gone from cemetery to cemetery throughout the colonies, always in secret, taking the minds of those that had passed on, and adding them to his own. His intelligence was staggering, and he sat on the doorstep sharing it freely with a boy that hadn't experienced much outside of his own town.
Deborah screamed, "Tim! Get away from him! He's been killing the townsfolk!"
"No, Deb. It was the man who lost his family. I made the mistake of unburying his family on that night I died, and though I thank them for their sacrifice in helping me on my journey, I do not believe he could forgive me. Seeing his wife's leg and arm removed, or his son's eye taken from his skull was too much, and it drove him to insanity. He is the one who had been destroying your town, and I am sad that I had come too late to stop him. But with you and Timmy here, along with the others, we will make this place the center of a nation, and the hope of the world. My ideas know no bounds, and neither shall yours!"
Thus began the unlife of Benjamin Franklinstein. He would meet his promises. In twenty years he was voted President for Life, and still rules over the Americas to this day. Though his cabinet has gone through many changes, the Americas are seen the world over as a technological marvel.
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