Word Art

Accomplishment

2009-11-03T05:28:16Z

Today is the second day of NaNoWriMo and I feel fairly proud. Last night I fell short of the goal, and technically I did today as well but I still feel fairly well on track. I wrote for over two hours today. About an hour was spent on the sequel for NaNoWriMo but the rest was spent editing the original and my Megara story. I'm a very slow editor and that process is going to take forever. I need to come up with a more realistic due date. Still I tackled some very difficult scenes tonight and wrote quite a bit. Currently I have 2,760 words; for those of you who wanted to know.

NaNoWriMo

2009-10-30T02:20:58Z

This is an announcement of my participation in National Novel Writing Month this year. I've never really done it. Last year I almost did but I knew I had that pesky trip to Italy, and so I decided not to. It's a trip to Italy, what did you expect? This year I even know exactly what I'm writing. I'm going to use NaNoWriMo as an opportunity to write the sequel to my current work, In The Crossfire. I conceived this project to be a a trilogy and this is a great opportunity to get to work on the second novel while still revising the first. I have a lot on my plate as I'm still revising a few short stories at the same time, plus who knows what else will come along. I'm excited and hopefully you'll hear a lot of excited posts about how well it's going.

Catch-Up

2009-09-15T03:07:51Z

I can't believe what I haven't written in here: I finished the rough draft of my novel! It ranks in at about 270 pages, thirty something chapters, and a lot of my time. I'm not allowed to start revising until the 24th, ten days to be exact, but when I do I'm very eager to get going on it. Any takers on being amongst the first group of reviewers?

Until I get to revise I will be working on another novel. It's a very odd piece and the formatting would be completely unacceptable to publishers, but it's something I've always wanted to do. It is actually my second, perhaps third even, attempt at this particular story. I also finished a few other drafts of short stories. Those are being sent out for peer editing rather than magazine submission as I'd hoped. Everything must be as great as it can be, especially in this economy. I'm willing to wait and make things perfect before jumping ahead. Though, secretly, I have set my own due date.

I've also finished reading a few more books. It's difficult to even remember what I had written on my list before because it's been so long. Still, I shall catch myself up with a few quick reviews and then continue to stay on track on this site.

Quick Reviews:
The Road by Cormac McCarthy
This book was fantastic. Every page, every paragraph, and every line felt beautiful but tragic. I may never want to live in a world like McCormic describes, but reading it in the comfort of my own home was great. Must admit that the book can be haunting (dont read before bedtime) but it brings you with it on the journey. The amount of care felt for the characters despite how little they were known is also astounding; it's something any writer could study. I always was either extremely happy for the characters, or ready to cry for them.

Grade: A+

Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott
Yet another one of my books on writing. Anne Lamott was incredibly funny and personal. Though she is writing about the art of, well, writing she recounts stories and lessons anyone outside of the literary world could appreciate. Even the story behind the title is a great life lesson. Don't bother asking what it means; you'll have to read in order to find out.

Grade: B+

Salem's Lot by Stephen King
After reading his novel on writing it only seemed appropriate to read one of his fiction novels. Those who know me can attest that I vowed for years that I'd never read one of his novels. Why? He writes them too fast, and seemingly too easily. This is why I've also strayed from many other writers, Jodi Picoult for one. His memoir didn't help that decision. Hearing an author admit that he'd been too drunk at the time to remember what he'd written is hardly reassuring. Still, after the wit and style of the memoir I gave Mr. King a chance; he exceeded my expectations. I raced through Salem's lot, a novel many recommmended. Though the death and horror might make you want to put it down, you simply cannot. I enjoyed it. I will now recommend a novel by Stephen King to others. Who would have thought?

Grade: B

I am also currently reading: Becoming a Writer by Dorthea Brande, Mansfield Park by Jane Austen, The Witching Hour by Anne Rice, The Zombie Survival Guide by Max Brooks, and The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundera. Honestly I've been racing through books except for those last two. Due to disinterest it has been a while since I've even picked them up. More on that when I finish and write the reviews.

As per usual, the updated reading list, arranged according to their grade:

Atonement - Ian McEwan A+
Frankenstein - Mary Shelley A+
The Road - Cormac McCarthy A+
Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert A
On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft - Stephen King A
Sound and the Fury - William Faulkner A
The Dark Knight Returns - Frank Miller and Klause Janson A-
Bird by Bird - Anne Lamott B+
Confessions of a Shopaholic - Sophie Kinsella B
Outliers - Malcom Gladwell B
Salems Lot - Stephen King B
Stardust - Neil Gaiman B-
Sexing the Cherry - Jennette Winterson B-
Zen and the Art of Writing - Ray Bradbury B-
Angels and Demons - Dan Brown C
New Moon - Stephanie Meyer C
Robinson Crusoe - Daniel Defoe D

Different sounds of Silence

2009-09-15T02:47:34Z

Silence, when unintended, is off-settling. It’s the lack of conversation which nags for something, anything really, to fill the gap. It’s the fear which echoes down the hall in an almost empty house, reminding the sole occupant just how alone they are. It’s the moment where remembrances of a love lost are planned and contemplated.

Silence, when planned, is calming. People flock to enjoy it, even when they do not realize that is their intent. It’s the car ride down a rainy street with only the thumping of the windshield wipers breaking away thoughts. It is the library filled with student both eager and terrified of what lays before them. It is the museum where beauty is appreciated by those who take the time out of their packed schedules.

Reflection on Love

2009-07-21T16:50:09Z

The world is obsessed with love. And why not be? We are all born into a moment of love. Whether our conception is between total strangers or twenty year lovers; that moment is the most basic form of love. So we are born from true love and naturally desire it immediately. We want to suckle our mother’s nipple and know that she loves us, whining, diapers, and all. We listen to fairy stories of happily ever after as children to increase our desire for love, and in college we experiment with the different forms love may take. At some point which varies for most, and never comes for some, we decide to settle down and adapt our concepts of love to that seen on Leave it To Beaver, or today even on the Simpsons. We have been told that everyman dies alone, but we yearn to grow old with someone and be the exception to the rule. Love defines our lives, as we’ve been forced into such a notion and are bombarded by it until the moment we die.

If love defines us than we can assume different roles as our experience with love develops and changes. Familiar love can dissolve as unrequited love begins to consume us, and hopefully the eternal love with overcome all. We can burn passionately until the winds of time blow the flame away, or a slow flicker can pass through the years until we are extinguished. Some candles are never lit.

The question remains: which is the best one can hope for? The loves which fly through life exiting just as quickly as they entered can leave some of the best memories, and worse memories. Those that linger as the days pass offer the comfort of knowledge and time, but harbor the most painful memories through the years. When they leave the pain is worse than all the others for the dependence created and expectancy of the constant companion. Those that never experience love never feel this pain. They never feel the joy either.

Perhaps love is not meant to be measured the same for each person. Our feelings on love may be as different as our fingerprints. We may all feel it, live it, want it, but discover that no two loves are alike. Just as a painting brings forth varying opinions and emotions, so does love. The adventurer may favor the fast fiery flings that mark his life permanently with their reckless abandon. The misanthrope prefers a life of solace, finding no joy in the company of others, certainly non that would compare to his own. Finally, the old woman with lots of cats desires a love that will last; remaining as loyal and comforting as the day it began. Each person yearns for love, but how each experience it, prefer it, and cling to it is as different as the snowflakes flittering by on a winter’s day.

Mistakes and Lessons Learned

2009-06-26T05:08:31Z

This is a rarity for me; I'm going to rant about writing. I've been working rather hard on my novel for quite some time now. Since it takes place in a specific period of time (1871-1873 roughly) I've done a hefty amount of research. Specifically, before writing a number of chapters on the journey my characters take, I looked at how long different modes of transportation would take, how far the distance was, and if it were even possible. Tonight I discovered something interesting: the period of time I read it would take for a train to travel across country then is significantly shorter than what I originally read. The repercussions were astounding. I needed to reconsider if they should ride the train or by horse, and possibly rewrite a good third of my book. I wondered: Should I go back and change everything I've written? Should I pretend I don't know this and simply attempt to minimize their conversation and any mention of time? Do I write my current section aware of this, and wait until I finish to fix the problem. After tormenting a friend over my dilemma (so much could be sacrificed or lost over this one mistake) I decided to go back and fix everything now. As a result I spent a few hours rearranging sections I refused to delete, copy and pasting many descriptions for later sections, and two blank chapters in the middle of my story. Tomorrow I'll go back and rewrite their journey (using a few saved precious nuggets), filling in all I lost, and making it coherent once more.

These issues reassured me in the end. Peculiar sounding, right? I learned a few things about myself, writing, and even the story. It didn't take me long to figure out a solution to the problem, which surprised me. I feared I would not know what to do, and would lose not only a good portion of the story, but days of writing over the dilemma. Instead, I fixed it right away. To know I can manage my work like that is comforting. Now I feel as though any issues which come ahead I can deal with.

The decision I made relied on the characters and the story. It simply became a question of what the characters would do, and knowing felt wonderful. Once I stepped away from the panic I thought of them, and the answer became clear. I felt as if I walked up to them and asked them, I knew what their answers would be. This, again, sounds odd but the for a writer its fantastic and I hope rather common. The characters are real to me, they have developed their own lives, and can make their own decisions. That is the greatest success a writer can have and to discover it made me exceptionally happy. For those of you that are wondering, they gave me an answer I didn't like. It would have been easiest to keep them on the trains, and fix my time comments later. They told me to completely abandon the train in the first leg of their journey; a rather pain in the ass notion.

Finally, in the editing and rewriting process I, naturally, had to go back over what I'd already written. To be honest I've been nervous about my book lately. I read a lot and that provokes a certain amount of jealousy and fear in me. I see the brilliance in other peoples works and begin to question if I could be that great. I want to be better (doesn't everyone?) but I feel I shouldn't even think of the comparisons. Today even, I began reading The Road by Cormac McCarthy and all I could think was how wonderful his prose is. The style is amazing. I just kept thinking how it captured an essence I wanted in my novel, and my desire to be that brilliant. Going back and rereading what I wrote is something I don't do too much until the revision stage. Before writing I read the last page or so I wrote, and then continue on. That's it. By now I'd been assuming that it I'd hate it. (This isn't so much a comment on my writing so much as fears of writers in general. Even Earnest Hemingway felt all his first drafts were shit.) When I went back a good ten chapters or so, I found myself rather proud of what I wrote. The prose and word selection made me smile instead of lock myself in a closet hiding in shame forever. Much of it I clung to with desperation, thinking I couldn't bare to destroy those good lines or chapters I'd written. After writing something for so long it can be easy to loose hope and confidence. Tonight restored it unexpectedly.

Updated Reading List

2009-06-05T17:04:08Z

This has been arranged according to their grade so it's easier to find the best books

Atonement - Ian McEwan A+
Frankenstein - Mary Shelley A+
Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert A
On Writing: A Memior of the Craft - Stephen King A
Sound and the Fury - William Faulkner A
The Dark Knight Returns - Frank Miller and Klause Janson A-
Confessions of a Shopaholic - Sophie Kinsella B
Outliers - Malcom Gladwell B
Stardust - Neil Gaiman B-
Sexing the Cherry - Jennette Winterson B-
Zen and the Art of Writing - Ray Bradbury B-
Angels and Demons - Dan Brown C
New Moon - Stephanie Meyer C
Robinson Crusoe - Daniel Defoe D

Book Review: Angels and Demons, On Writing, The Dark Knight Returns, and Stardust

2009-06-05T16:53:30Z

It seems I simply cannot get myself caught up on this. I still intend to begin posting weekly, but gosh finding time is difficult. So heres the review of what I've read since the last post.

Book: Angels and Demons
Author: Dan Brown
Pages: 593
Rating: C

Barnes and Noble Synopsis:
An ancient secret brotherhood.
A devastating new weapon of destruction.
An unthinkable target.
Book: On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft
Author: Stephen King
Pages: 320
Rating: A

Barnes and Noble Synopsis:
In this master class on the craft of writing, Stephen King reveals the origins of his vocation and shares essential habits and rules that every writer can apply. A truly unique volume, it begins with a series of telling memories from youth and the struggling years leading up to publication of King's first novel. Offering readers a fresh and often funny perspective on the formation of a writer's character, King lays out the tools of writer's craft and takes the reader through aspects of the writer's art and life, offering practical and inspiring advice on everything from plot and character to work habits and rejection. Brilliantly structured and chock-full of master's experience and advice, On Writing will enable the work of writers around the globe.

Book: The Dark Knight Returns
Author: Frank Miller, Klause Janson - Illustrator
Pages: 224
Rating: A-

Barnes and Noble Synopsis:
This masterpiece of modern comics storytelling brings to vivid life a dark world and an even darker man. Together with inker Klaus Janson and colorist Lynn Varley, writer/artist Frank Miller completely reinvents the legend of Batman in his saga of a near-future Gotham City gone to rot, ten years after the Dark Knight's retirement.
Crime runs rampant in the streets, and the man who was Batman is still tortured by the memories of his parents' murders. As civil society crumbles around him, Bruce Wayne's long-suppressed vigilante side finally breaks free of its self-imposed shackles.
The Dark Knight returns in a blaze of fury, taking on a whole new generation of criminals and matching their level of violence. He is soon joined by this generation's Robin — a girl named Carrie Kelley, who proves to be just as invaluable as her predecessors,
But can Batman and Robin deal with the threat posed by their deadliest enemies, after years of incarceration have made them into perfect psychopaths? And more important, can anyone survive the coming fallout of an undeclared war between the superpowers

Book: Stardust
Author: Neil Gaiman
Pages: Audiobook. Book is 275 pages
Rating: B

My Review and Thoughts:
First, a note on the audiobooks. I'm not counting them towards my count of books read each year; the goal of which is 30. Still, I'm reviewing them here and adding them to my master list for you. Now to the reviews:

First: Angels and Demons. I think the movie will be better than the book. I did not really like this book. It's supposed to be all action and suspense but I swear I was a good 50 or more pages before things got going. Even then I was often bored, impatient for things to move. One of the reasons for this was a complete lack of credible characters I could care for. Brown doesn't write character development, he fakes it. Everynow and then he tosses in lines about what they are thinking, or a background piece. They are disposable segments which you either already figured out, heard before, or just could not care about. Also despite the fact its supposed to be an action book the man is incapable of writing in the active voice. My vote: rent the movie and skip the book.

Stephen Kings novel on writing is great. I wonder if it's appeal would spread further than just want to be authors, or actual authors. I think that if a regular person picked up the book they would like it, at least if they skip the section on technical aspects of writing. King is honest, knowledgable, and best of all funny. This is the first book I've read by him interestingly enough. Now, I intend to read more.

The Dark Knight Returns is a graphic novel classic. I'm still new to the genre, but even I could see why. It's dark, and oddly realistic in the way it depicts society. Its interesting to see how the heroes aged, and how the media is portrayed. i recomend this to everyone.

I listened to Stardust while at work. Audiobooks are nice in how quickly they go through the novel, and the voices that read it to you. Neil Gaimen reads his own work, and my his voice is lovely. I could listen to him reading me a story all day long. As for the book itself, it's pretty good. The characters are interesting, and it sweeps you with the feeling of an epic journey. Action, witches, and of course, true love. its a great fairytale for adults. Still, despite everything, I prefer the film. Most characters are more likable (Victoria is better in the book) and they felt more vivid for me. Michelle Pfeifer as the witch is an example. A great many changes were made from the book, and I actually like the ending in the film better. The book is good, but the movie is still far better. In the end I recommend you start reading the book and if you don't like it, stop, and watch the movie. If you finish the book and like it, then watch the film. It's interesting how much they differ, and yet share strengths.

Book Reviews: Outliers, Zen and the Art of Writing, Sexing the Cherry

2009-05-08T19:21:53Z

I seem to keep falling behind on these book reviews but I'm attempting to catch up. I've been reading quite a bit so here's three reviews with more to come soon

Book: Outliers: The Story of Success
Author: Malcolm Gladwell
Pages: 320
Rating: B

Barnes and Noble Synopsis:
Malcolm Gladwell takes us on an intellectual journey through the world of "outliers"--the best and the brightest, the most famous and the most successful. He asks the question: what makes high-achievers different? His answer is that we pay too much attention to what successful people are like, and too little attention to where they are from: that is, their culture, their family, their generation, and the idiosyncratic experiences of their upbringing. Along the way he explains the secrets of software billionaires, what it takes to be a great soccer player, why Asians are good at math, and what made the Beatles the greatest rock band.

Book: Zen and the Art of Writing
Author: Ray Bradbury
Pages: 176
Rating: B-

Barnes and Noble Synopsis:
Here are eleven exuberant essays on the pleasures of writing from one of the most creative, imaginative, and prolific artists of the twentieth century - an author who truly enjoys his craft and tells you why and how. Bradbury shares his wisdom and enthusiasm for writing as he examines a lifetime of creating and composing scores of stories, novels, plays, poems, films, television programs, and musicals. Refreshingly direct, each essay shares a single compelling theme: writing is a celebration, not a chore. Unlike so many books on writing, this one does not belabor the technical or become obsessed with the how-to aspects of the craft. What Bradbury does bring to every discussion of writing is the fever, the ardor, the delight that he has discovered and which can be yours.

Book: Sexing the Cherry
Author: Jeanette Winterson
Pages: 192
Rating: B -

Barnes and Noble Synopsis:
In a fantastic world that is and is not seventeenth-century England, a baby is found floating in the Thames. The child, Jordan, is rescued by Dog Woman and grows up to travel the world like Gulliver, though he finds that the world’s most curious oddities come from his own mind. Winterson leads the reader from discussions on the nature of time to Jordan’s fascination with journeys concealed within other journeys, all with a dizzying speed that shoots the reader from epiphany to shimmering epiphany.
My Review and Thoughts:
These are three incredibly different books and so to combine them into one review should prove interesting. Outliers and Zen were both interesting non fiction pieces.  Outliers has a very unique perspective on success and Gladwell conveys them with surprising talent - I was never bored. The most interesting of the theories would be the 10,000 hour rule. Even if you have no interest in this book I recommend looking up that particular theory and estimating how many hours you've earned in a goal you're chasing. There were several sections that I found less intersting than the beginning ones, and I feel that overall the further you progressed, the less interesting the chapters got, though they were still entertaining. My only real regret with the novel is that I wish it would have a better conclusion. It just ended without Gladwell giving any final reflections.

      Similar issues arose in Zen. Bradbury's passion for writing is endearing and inspiring, but one or two of the essays do not feel necessary. I thought it was interesting to hear him reflect on his works and writing but I wish at times he hadn't focused so much on his individual works but rather the process or feeling. When he does the enjoyment he feels shines through and infests you with similar emotions.

    Sexing the Cherry is a fictional novel which is by far the most unique piece of writing I've ever read. Winterson has talent and style in combining both the fantastic and historic aspects of life into one chaotic stories. There are several issues however - the extremely postmodernist novel focuses on characters who do not evoke feeling. I didn't like them, but I don't feel dislike either - I just don't care about them. The story passes back between these two characters and different times, often leaving me (and the rest of my class) confused and uninterested. The writing is interesting, often funny, and filled with unique theories and themes. I liked it - but I feel I could have enjoyed it more if there was greater resolution or better characters. That's the issue. Also it has some of the most bizarre and viloent sex scenes ever written. Even Palahniuk would blush reading these scenes, - or throw up.

Book Review: The Sound and the Fury

2009-04-13T00:59:39Z

Book: The Sound and the Fury
Author: William Falkner
Pages: 448
Rating: A

Barnes and Noble Synopsis: The Sound and the Fury is made up of undifferentiated streams of consciousness that ultimately turn out to be the inner voices of a family's siblings. Its construction is so masterful that the last sentence refers the reader back to the first one, as any perfect work of art might do.
Sound has the earmarks of a modern psychological study, although the book was published in 1929. It is a dramatic and harrowing tale of the Compson family's pathology—primarily in the form of incest and incestuous thoughts.

My Review and Thoughts:

This was an absolutely brilliant novel. I'd advise everyone to read it, but that clearly wasn't Faulkner's intention. It is a difficult read, with the stream of consciousness written in such away that it can eliminate less than the most practiced of readers. The novel is intentionally alienating, Faulkner only wants the best to continue on with his work, and his first section guarantees that. This may sound like a wild accusation from me but the first section not only is in stream of conscious style (difficult in itself) but told from the perspective of a mentally disabled man who cannot distinguish time. This means that events from his present and years before are flowing back and forth with little to distinguish them. Many people within my class wanted to quit the novel immediately. Keep in mind, most of those people are English majors.
Still, if you continue on its a rewarding read. The novel follows four narrators, three first person perspectives, and only one omniscient. The time passes back and forth not only with the different narrators, but with their memories. This allows the reader to discover a new perspective on events that had already transpired but you didn't quite understand before. One of the most wonderful and surprising aspects of the novel for me is the character of Caddy. She is so original, mystifying, and appealing to the reader in part because Faulkner keeps her hidden. She is one of the only people who does not get to narrate a section, and as such does not get to explain herself. All of the characters were interesting though, even the few that were unlikable were given a believability and sadness that I've rarely found in any art, be that literature, television, or film. The only issue I felt with the novel was the lack of an end [Think No Country for Old Men] and my desire for one. I understand the many reasons for it I still longed for completion.
This novel was great. I had to read it in what was essentially about four days, which is not at all enough time. When I finished I admitted to my mother that I knew I had reread it. For those who have seen Memento, it is very much like that (I wouldn't be surprised if Nolan had a great deal of inspiration in Faulkner). I feel that now that I understand the characters and the order of events I want to go back to see what else I can discover and appreciate.

Freewrite: I am

2009-03-27T16:57:01Z

This wasn't really intended as a freewrite but it evolved into one. I realized I wanted to update my "about me" section of my myspace profile and do something interesting with it. When I started writing for it I tried getting kind of creative with it and I really liked the results. I formatted it a little when I was done.

I Am...

I am every great fictional heroine that has ever been created: Elizabeth Bennett, Emma Bovary, Scarlett O’Hara, Sarah Connor, Anna Karenina, Ellen Ripley, and more.

I am a three ring circus from the Ringleader keeping the show together, the tightrope artist gracefully walking high above you, and even the lion tamer conquering all your fears.

I am the living example the seven deadly sins and the Ten Commandments walking the path of virtue or wickedness.

I am the Beatles causing a Revolution Across the Universe with words Eight Days a Week, but If I Fell in this Helter Skelter world, I’d get by With a Little Help From My Friends and continue on Because I believe All You Need is Love.

I am a momentary instance that passes by but I am the memory that is locked away fondly for eternity.

I am the stars in the sky a burning flame that will shine on long after it’s been extinguished and for which there are many names.

I am anything and everything I want to be at any given moment.

Reading List

2009-03-13T15:29:41Z

I've been meaning to post this for a while but it just didn't seem to happen. I wanted to list any books I read with a quick review and grading so hopefully you can find a book you'd enjoy.

Recently Read:
Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert A
Flaubert's novel was filled with vivid and complex characters who even though you may not like them, you believe them, you understand them. While it a simple concept the title character is just so frustrating and realistic that you are intrigued and continue to read whether she will ever be happy. Flaubert has been noted as saying, "Madame Bovary c'est moi!" I too felt as though the complexities of her character were ones I saw in myself.

Frankenstein - Mary Shelley A+
I've read this three times now between school and personal leisure. I find there is always something interesting and new to consider that I hadn't noticed before. I've always adored the character of Frankenstein's monster and think he is one of the most brilliant and sympathetic characters ever created.

Robinson Crusoe - Daniel Defoe D
I know it seems shocking right? A "classic" novel getting a worse grade then a Twilight book...alas it is deserved. I loathed this, as did nearly everyone in class. The character is unrelatable, often unlikable, and there is nothing else to really save the novel. While this is considered the first novel, it is understandable that it would be lacking but I didn't find anything to cling to. Even the action sequences were subpar, with the narrator often stating he was going to skip possibly exciting scenes such as being captured by Pirates, because the reader wouldn't be interested.

New Moon - Stephanie Meyer C
When I told my sister how much I disliked the first novel, she urged me to continue reading through at least the second one before quitting the series. I adore my sister and so when she tells me to do something, sadly I do it. This was a vast improvement over the first but most likely because of the absence of the male lead and thus the over the top proclamations of love that ruined the first. I prefer the guy in this one too, Jacob, because he wasn't anywhere near as brooding and thus boring. Still, I'd recommend reading nearly anything else instead of this series.

I should also mention that I had started reading Invisible Monsters by Chuck Palahniuk but had to stop after about 100 pages. I really liked Choke but I couldn't bare this, I just got so fed up with him trying to "shock" the readers with nearly every line. He has become known for including taboo subjects, scenes, and language but it was absolutely ridiculous; I didn't find majority of it to be necessary. He has impeccable style but restraint would have been appreciated, and I think that if he persists he will lose a lot of his fanbase purely due to their outgrowing him. His shock style reminds me of Bret Easton Ellis who I had occassional issues with, but at one point I even thought when reading an over the top dinner scene, "This is so similar to Less Than Zero except it was done much better then." It was actualy after that scene when I decided to stop reading. I didn't see it as fair to rate the novel when I hadn't finished it, but I really wanted to let include this.

This has been arranged according to their grade so it's easier to find the best books

Atonement - Ian McEwan A+
Frankenstein - Mary Shelley A+
Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert A
Sound and the Fury - William Faulkner A
Outliers - Malcolm Gladwell B
Confessions of a Shopaholic - Sophie Kinsella B
Sexing the Cherry - Jennette Winterson B-
Zen and the Art of Writing - Ray Bradbury B-
New Moon - Stephanie Meyer C
Robinson Crusoe - Daniel Defoe D

Short Story Excerpt

2009-02-18T04:53:07Z

I've began work on another short story. While I've still been working on editing my other stories, as well as continuing work on researching and writing my novel, this project has been quickly evolving. Already, I'm not sure how long it will be or take to write but I have become quite transfixed in writing it. As such I've decided to post the beginning of the project here.

This is the beginning of the story, and is roughly seven pages in length. This introduces the main character and the premise, tone, and conflicts of the story. I would have posted a shorter excerpt but felt it wouldn't have sufficed to demonstrate the scope of what I intend to accomplish. The story is relatively simple and well known. Heracles twelve labors that he performs as penance for the murder of his wife. The key difference is that the main character here, and narrator, is his deceased wife Megara.

Euripides had it wrong. While his account was factual enough he forgot to include the anguish, the pain and the horror. He also abbreviated it. That was where his real error lay; he made it all too short. I didn’t die instantly the way he wrote it; I lived, I lingered, I gasped in pain for 18 minutes before the release of death was given to me. I lasted long enough to see my three son’s burn in the fire, and that pain was more painful than any physical anguish I was in. I wish he had been accurate. I wish I had died instantly.

Despite all my husband’s strength, he hadn’t broken my neck completely. The bones broke a bit, and severed my main arterial artery. The blood leaked internally, spilling into my brain. If I wasn’t already bleeding internally from the ribs he shattered into lungs, or the leg he broke, or the eye he knocked out of its socket, then perhaps I could have survived. It’s possible that Athena would have taken mercy on me, she had always liked me. Instead it was too much blood and when it found its way to my brain that was the end. I had a stroke, and it was finally put to an end.

Even as Charon ferried us across the river Styx I could still feel the pain. Physically it was gone but the memory was strong enough to overtake my body. It was a paper cut that while healed, still echoes its spasms hours after it’s been bandaged. I tried to console my sons, our sons, but I could not look at them in fear of allowing them to see me cry. Seeing their mutilated bodies would only endure further tears. Their skin was no longer the pure white of an early snow fall, but now black and red with bubbling patches ready with puss to explode. Where the white still remained it was no longer that of the beautiful skin they once wore, but instead their bone penetrating from where the flames had completely burned their flesh. The youngest, Deicoon, suffered the worst with nothing but muscle and bone showing now. As I cried out every time they appeared in my view, I believe the noise just floated by Charon; he must have grown immune to heartache and pain of the dead by now. Yet, it seemed that perhaps the river Styx sympathized as she ran so smoothly for us, and I’d always been told that her waters were always stirring. Perhaps, that was the only sign of sympathy she could give, from one mother to another.

As we touched down on the other side of the river our wounds and scars dissolved. When all my eyesight returned I could see their skin returned to that which an innocent youth deserved. I ran to them, with my leg healed, and embraced my three children again. I knew not what would happen to us here but for that moment, despite death, I could be happy. My children appeared healthy again, as I embraced them, which was all I cared for.

We embraced for but a few moments before two figures appeared before us. Despite all that I had heard, neither Hades nor Persephone were quite as I had imagined. He stood back, his tall figure making no shadow in such darkness, as she stepped forward with open arms. She was striking, red fiery hair contrasting light blue eyes and a white flower, still alive somehow, placed lightly in hair. She shone brightly, her fair skin and the beauty of her youth provided the only light I could see in this dark place. She gripped my sons and me as though we should have called her family, instead of stranger.

“Megara, it is so wonderful to meet you at last. My condolences,” her smile vanished though she patted my son’s heads. “We shall get you settled. Come children, say goodbye to your mother.” She bade them to give me kisses once more and then brought them to Charon’s boat, which I hadn’t noticed still waited at the shore. I knew at that moment my children were blessed, and I shall suffer in Tartarus for eternity. Horror seized me; I suffered not only my death, but the death of my children, and now eternal damnation all in one day. I smiled bravely at my children as I waved goodbye to them; they we’re too young to know what was to happen to me.

When Persephone twirled back to facing me my fear evaporated. As she pranced forward her arm hooked mine and the two of us began to march forward, the only light was that which she gave off. Her husband turned to follow behind us, his heels giving off a faint clicking sound. Persephone’s voice was as light an airy the wind blowing through the meadows, a gift from her mother “We have decided that you shall reside with us until further notice. We have already set up your room and will simply not accept no for an answer.”

After but a few minutes’ walk another light appeared, the House of Hades stood exceptionally tall with dozens of room despite the few occupants. The white marble glowed in the darkness, as luminescent as Persephone herself. I wondered if it was a feature that only appeared after her taking up residence there. The space was large, warm, and empty. Beside the necessities of furniture and food, there was no extravagance. My room was located closely by that of Persephone to encourage our friendship.

Time seized to be relevant that night. I judged my days and nights solely upon the routines that Perse and Hades had built for themselves. I ate when they did, weaved when she did, and I slept when she did. If left to my own judgment the schedule would have been erratic at best, with the daylight not extending to their world to hail the passing of days. Perse appeared adjusted to such living but I wondered even she was still hesitant to rely on only routine. She attempted to still count the days that passed and measure when she would return not only to the world above but her mother. When I asked, she admitted that on several occasions she had lost count to such extant that Hades informed her that she still had more than a month left. Once, she had even missed her opportunity altogether and he had said nothing at all to remind her. She often wondered whether that happened more than she realized.

Thus passed my immeasurable time as their guest. Perse and I grew close sharing stories of our strife and lives above. She told me of the Elysian Fields where my children had been taken, which put my heart at ease. One year upon her return Hades had shown her the fields, and when she described the beauty there I was happy to know my children would be able to spend the rest of eternity with the clean and pure souls of heroes even if they couldn’t be with me. Perse spent much of her time weaving and longing for her former life, but seemed quite happy to have me there to listen to her. Every night before parting ways to go to sleep she made sure to say, “Good night good friend, sleep well. The Gods still watch over you, as do I.” This set my soul at ease the first night there as my tears poured upon the pillow, and every night since.

The center of their life was eating dinner together. Each day Hades would return home with a kiss upon his wife’s cheek and the words, “Good day Perse dear.” When they sat to dine he would ask her about her day as though it would vary. He would always do so before telling him anything of hers. He was cordial, caring, and patient with her. Though there were times when the event would pass without issue, quite often the usual complaints would be brought up. Perse would complain of the darkness, boredom, and repetition. She would say how she longed for her mother and the world above before asking how long before she could return. Hades would nod and smile with a few sympathetic words, “I know darling,” or “Yes dear,” and finally, “There's not much time left I promise you.” He would always provide an exact number of days until her return above, but as he spoke those words his smile would always vanish. The argument always came to the same conclusion, which I found rather anti-climatic. She would ask, “Why did you bring me here,” sometimes screaming, crying, or whispering even. With that he would regain his smile, put down his silverware as he looked at her with a steady smile to match the tone of his voice, “You know why.” That was it, it always ended it all, as if there could no further need to elaborate or response she could give to continue their fight. The first time I witnessed it I was incredibly perplexed but as I remained with them I believe I came to understand it.

While the time seemed to constantly drag, when Perse was gone it became even worse. At first I feared how Hades would be when it was just the two of us, and the person I had come to associate with the light in this world was gone. This was actually quite a foolish notion. He kept up the routine as much as possible, coming back for dinner and asking me, now, how my day was. Before we finished he made sure to mention how long before his wife, my companion would return. I found that without her frequent interruptions he was a vivid storyteller and at last I felt almost at ease within his presence. Without Perse around he spent more time away and with Cerbrerus. There were occasions where I would see him petting the giant three headed beast and talking to it as if it were my own children’s pet. He also informed Cerbe of how long until his Perse would return.

When she did finally return, her first time being away since I had arrived, he had had a feast prepared for her. I never inquired where the food came from but as they all seemed so at ease with it, I too adjusted to it’s presence. That night I had never seen such light within their mansion. Even all of Cerbe’s three heads seemed to grin at her reemergence. When Hades greeted her his feet carried her with surprising grace, and a smile that never faded. For once, he appeared as luminescent as her. He raised his voice and called out her name in beautiful melody, “Persephone! You’re home!” I would come to see this joyous celebration of her return several times as I stayed with them, but none were as mesmerizing and beautiful as that first night.

Not long after Perse returned Hades came to me with a peculiar proposition. This was the only night that their dinning routine was dispensed with for more important things. Hades entered the room grinning, kissed his head of his wife, and turned to me surprising cheer. “I have news of your husband, should you choose to hear it. I felt at once both appreciation and fear for his hesitation to speak. He was not someone who needs to listen or wait for others to take their turn, and yet he paused for my response.

“Of course she does not want to hear about him, Hades.” Perse shook her head in annoyance as she began to pat my arm softly. “Don’t worry Meg, we won’t mention him again.” I did not miss the flash in her eyes as she spoke the word we.

“Perse, darling, that is for her to decide. I’m still waiting for Megara’s response. “

“I suppose I shall listen, what harm could it cause?”

“Excellent!” Hades clapped his long fingers together and held them as such for the duration of his story. As he spoke he pranced around our chairs, his head twisting dramatically, and his lean legs swinging his body in an imaginary wind. Had he been a woman it would be easy to imagine him as the best dancer at a Bacchanalia. “I’ve just received word from my brother that his son, your husband, suffered such anguish upon wakening from Hera’s trance which forced him to murder you and your children that it has told him to settle as Eurystheus’ slave and accomplish the labors that were asked of him. “

“Heracles is living as a slave?” The surprise overwhelmed me and none which was spoken made sense. “Have his labors already begun?”

“No. He condemned himself to exile before having your murders cleansed from his body. It was only after that he could consult the oracle. His first labor as only just given, he must bring back the skin of the Nemean Lion.”

All that he had said overwhelmed me and I asked to be dismissed from the table. I could not picture him content with his actions, but to imagine him in such grief that he would seek out suicidal endeavors seemed just as impossible. Every moment I thought of him it was still only of the last time I saw him, throwing our children into the fire, and then the images which burned in my mind was of their faces staring at me as we ferried to what I suppose I should now call my home. I’ve loved him for so many years now, my husband, but what could restore that feeling after what he had done. Occasionally, I can feeling it looming still, a nagging familiar feeling I had grown used to. It is easily pushed away with one thought of what brought me here. No, it would be impossible to ever love him again that way. I wonder if I could ever even forgive him for what he had done.

Book Reviews: Atonement, Confessions of a Shopaholic

2009-01-24T02:44:42Z

Book: Atonement
Author: Ian McEwan
Pages: 480
Rating: A +

Barnes and Noble Synopsis:
Set in 1935 England, this "New York Times" bestseller is enthralling in its depiction of childhood, love and war, England and class, making it a profound--and profoundly moving--exploration of shame and forgiveness, of atonement and the difficulty of absolution.

My Review and Thoughts:

This novel is absolutely beautiful and I highly recommend it. I saw the film and there was something in the way the characters spoke and events tranpired that I felt the need to see how the novel had been formatted and handled things. Have you ever heard something too brilliant in a movie and just thought, "Oh that dialogue has to be taken directly from the book," or at least something similar? This was one of those scenerios. When I finally read it I was not in any way disappointed.

The narrative is switched through many first person perspectives, so that the unfolding events, and the corresponding results are seen through the eyes of of an ununderstanding youth, two lovers, and even the sisters' mother. Their conflicts, morals, and hopes are just weaved so intricately that there is no character that cannot be held in some sympathetic light, liked, and at times hated as well. They are some of the most interesting and complex characters I've ever read or seen portrayed; both the the three main and all the less prominant ones as well.

While I know this novel (and film) will be cast aside as a weepy romantic chick one, I implore others to read it because the style, character completely, use of time, and ending especially are all so well written I believe that everyone could find something beautiful and brilliant in it.

On a side note, I have also just finished reading Confessions of a Shopaholic.
I would grade that a B and recommend it to any females who would like to read something light hearted and fun. It "chick-lit" but funny, with an interesting and likable main character, and certainly better than other similar novels making the rounds. I picked it up for my plane ride home, finding it perfect for that and similar fair (read: beach read, long trips, in between classes, vacations, etc). I did like the one idea that in debt theres two routes to go, either make more money or cut spending, very true and I'm finding useful.

Short Story: The Franciscan Wallflower and the Beautiful Bee

2008-12-01T04:32:50Z

Title: The Franciscan Wallflower and the Beautiful Bee

Synopsis: This is a coming of age story and a coming to terms story. While the characters are young, they are facing many changes that everyone must deal with. Through the few brief encounters of Hannah and Adam, the questions of what is love, how does change in life occur, and how should we make meaning in our lives all come to pass.

Personal Notes: This is only a second draft of the story. I would absolutely appreciate any constructive criticism here. The title is really a working title so any thoughts, suggestions, or comments regarding that would be helpful. I just found myself incapable of moving forward with this piece, but without being able to target why exactly. I had started out with the concept but found that I just came to care for the character of Hannah. Any thoughts on the portrayal of her would also be fascinating to me, as I did find myself absorbed in her. Their interaction and the overall transition. Comments regarding the pace would also be especially helpful. I hope to pick this up again and fix it further, but I still seem to just find myself staring at it going, "hmmm...." then putting it down agan any time I try. Posting it when its really not ready is an attempt to restart that process.

The corners of her lips turned up slightly, paused for a moment, and forced themselves to return to their original position. No one saw this quick little dance upon her mouth; it was deeply buried within a book. Yet, her eyes were visible, especially the newly present shimmer. She allowed them to peak out from behind Pride and Prejudice for a moment, replacing the fine form of Mr. Darcy, with the tall figure standing before her. She had merely allowed her deep brown eyes a glance up from the worn pages, not yet daring to move an inch more. Right now she was content to quietly watch the beautiful boy that stood before her, contemplating what advancement should be made next. Her long slender fingers slid along the top right corner and right side of her novel, before gracefully closing it upon her string bookmark. The skin on her hands were drawn so tightly over the bone; the bones seemed as though they ready to burst forth at any moment. Her fingers rapped on the cover, but refused to release any sound as she rarely exuded any physical demonstrations of energy. She was nothing more than an elegant ball upon a bright red chair which she occupied as a safe haven. She pulled her knees in toward her wrapping her arms around them. Long limp blond hair piled and twisted into a messy bun upon her head, leaving her pale neck and collarbone exposed to the world around her. The rest of her body hiding within her cushioned fortress, ignoring, and being ignored by the world.

Merely fourteen years old, her tall figure suggested she was older. Her body had developed fast, and if she unraveled her body to its fullest extent she stood 5’8” tall. She had always been a quiet reserved girl who preferred fictional characters to her real world peers. Her intelligence often echoed the common observers’ sentiments that she must have been far older than she really was.

She possessed few traits would hint at the reality of her youth, the first of which would be her pallor. Her skin seemed almost to glow in its paleness. What perhaps could have been luminescent and baby soft only instead appeared sickly and thin. During her growth spurt she had never gained weight, which paired with her skin color distinctly created the illusion of a tall thing girl comprised of nothing but bones. Her lack of movement additionally heightened her appearance of maturity. To many remaining still, a complete absence of motion may manifest itself as a deer in the headlight. It donned upon her an image of Grace Kelly like composure, and a level of class not common these days. Finally, there were her eyes. They were what made her captivating to any who would care to take a second look at her. They were bright and seemed almost as though there was constant moisture which presented itself not as a nearly teary eyed demoiselle, but rather as an ocean of wonderful possibility. They were at once deep, translucent, and echoing most vividly which gazed upon them.

At the moment they were focused keenly upon one Adam LeBeau, who strode through her living room in search of soda, and oblivious to her existence. He stood taller than her being just over six feet, and proud of every inch of his finely formed physique. Her eyes glimmered as he brushed by her, and she viewed him as a real life Apollo, who glistened as the sun and was presently existing in youthful prime. He was right now at the fine age of eighteen a strapping young man who needn’t boast, for it was apparent to all around him. His French heritage gave him a strong defined jaw with dark wavy hair and exotic hazel eyes, while his American raising gave him a blunt fun charm and outgoing personality. He was currently within the Ward residence for a Biology project with the eldest sister, given that very Monday morning. As he swept through the living room and into the kitchen, he caught the attention of the youngest and was watched unknowingly. It was only after she placed her rather heavy book upon the black wooden coffee table that her presence was made apparent. As he swung open the refrigerator door, and bent in to search its continents, his eyes raised above to glance at her. He still wore his varsity letterman jacket with their school’s Bee logo smirking on his back, as if a bee could be intimidating as it kept him warm in front of the fridge or on the football field.. With a quick movement he snatched his soda, popped the top, and gave a quick chug in one fluid motion. When he finished he closed the door, slid into the doorway of the living room, and leaned his body against the frame while still cradling his new refreshment. He stood their poised as though waiting for a portrait staring at the young girl whose presence he had only just noticed. He gave a tiny smirk but no other motion was made.

“Have you been there the whole time?” He took another sip and continued to grin at the young girl.

“Yes. I’ve been right here.” She did not move but rather continued to sit in her cocoon her eyes keenly observing his every movement.

“Wait, I’ve seen you before,” he stepped forward slightly attempting to figure out through a closer look who she may have been. “You were in my English Lit class last year weren’t you!” He retreated to his leaning stance with a proud smile upon his face for recollecting such a fact. “I remember because you seemed kinda young. How old are ya anyhow?”

She lowered her legs to the ground and stood tall at last, her eyes never leaving his. He saw her tall frame shoot up, and became even more curious for an answer. She walked toward him and her voice was low as she spoke, “I’m fourteen.” She passed by him, opened the refrigerator door quickly and grabbed a bottle of water and leaned opposite him against the other side of the doorway. “I tested out of the freshman and sophomore English.” She slowly opened the cap and put the bottle to her lips, and took a quick sip. “That’s why I was in your class.” She looked down and there was a pause before either spoke again. He glanced around the room, observing it for the first time. At last she spoke right as he was beginning to stand tall again, her voice a hollow whisper. “I’m surprised you would remember.”

“Yeah well, you did stick out a little.” He smirked and then gave a final gulp before tossing his soda in the trash. “I gotta get going, Katrina’s probably waiting.” He smiled, “Although I wouldn’t mind letting her do it alone, I don’t get this Bio stuff. Can’t say I enjoy it either.” He began to walk off and as he put his hand on the banister he glanced back, “See ya around,” then disappeared.

Hannah let her head sink down, and her eyes fell upon her bare feet. Her hands were both gripping onto the water bottle, she could feel the cold chill of the icy bottle against her hands. She shivered a little and walked slowly back to her big seat. She lifted her feet upon the chair and wrapped her arms around her legs, with her blanket tossed over. After a few moments, she placed her water bottle down between some medication and the phone. She picked up the novel she had nearly forgotten. With her head resting on her knees she opened up to the page she was on last, and her eyes stared at the words, yet she did not read. Instead her mind wandered elsewhere. After a few moments her eyes glanced upwards to the stairs, then returned once more to her novel.

Adam would frequent the Ward household rather often within the next two weeks, in a desperate attempt to cement his top-ten student standing for senior year. When he and Hannah were even in the same room again, they never spoke more than that first occasion. Hannah would instead sit silently reading or finishing her own homework and watch him disappear upstairs or the kitchen. She never spoke to him, unless spoken to first. She would however, always watch him as he passed. She would follow his every movement, constantly observant of him. Her eyes took him in completely, while the rest of her was afraid to reach out. She had found him intriguing when they had that one class together, thought him different somehow. Now, his presence had rekindled her curiosity. She yearned to speak with him, yet it seemed as though he was completely indifferent to her.

She allowed him to occupy her mind, only due to her other options. She knew that thinking of him was frivolous at best, and that she should be thinking of more pressing matters instead. She had other issues to contemplate, which before his entrance to her household, and life, had weighed heavily upon her mind. He, however, was a release from these otherwise consuming thoughts. For that she was grateful to him. Yet, still, on occasion she knew she would have to return her mind to the more pressing issues.

…

The day following Adams entrance to her house was one such day. While she wished she could have been imagining his eyes, or remembering fondly his smile, she found no solace in him. Instead, her mind was ardently focused that afternoon on the other man standing before her. Dr. Charles Burke was about as tall as Adam, only a little shorter, and his hair much thinner. The color was that of a weary grey and the wrinkles around his eyes and lips were deep. If he had been a woman, Hannah was sure that he would be the kind of older lady who would deposit so much powder upon her face that it can be seen in clumps within the crevices of every wrinkle. As a man there was nothing there to cover or distract from these age marks, so instead they seemed strong and important. Whenever Hannah sat before him she confirmed her theory that they seemed exactly as if they were the lines drawn for cartoons or comics. They defined him in every way. Even now as he was bent toward her with his icy stethoscope upon her back and his eyes looking down, his wrinkles in the furrow of his brow seemed to exaggerate his disappointment.

…

“Well…there’s really no change.” He spoke in a deflated manner. His disturbance was obvious but as soon as he looked back at Hannah he put a smile on his face and his voice changed into that of a pleasant car salesman. “It’s a good thing really. Sure, it’s not an improvement, but nothing has gotten worse.” The lines of his wrinkles seemed shallow around his smile, and there were nearly none at his eyes. Hannah knew that for him meant whatever he was saying wasn’t true. The furrowed brow, the no change statement that was true. Yet, as her eyes roamed upon his Cheshire grin she knew the rest was a show. “All my tests show that there hasn’t been a change, which is nice.” He began to walk around to the other side of the small examination room with the florescent light bouncing of the top of his head where a bald spot was newly forming. He put down his paper work and turned to her once more with his wrinkles deep set once more. “How’s the heart been feeling?”

Hannah looked down shyly at the floor; saw her pale legs hanging from the table. She smiled and nodded, “Not so bad lately.”

…

By the time Adam visited the house again two days had passed, Hannah had begun and finished The Awakening and the temperature grew hotter echoing the change from winter to spring. Yet, despite these few changes, inside the Ward household everything seemed the same. From the food in the fridge, to Hannah snuggled on her seat covered in blankets. The only difference was her book and her hair which now fell around her, guarding her.

He appeared as if from out of nowhere. His descent upon the stairs had somehow miraculously not been accompanied by the loud annoying sound of old house creaks. Hannah herself was engrossed in a book and hadn’t been aware of his presence within the house. She arrived home from a quick errand after he had made his entrance. Otherwise she would have been at least acutely aware of every step upstairs that may have been his, and her eyes would have been drawn to the stairs every few seconds when she would have sworn she heard someone coming. As such, she had no clue he was there, and when she felt a strong firm warm hand upon her shoulder she jumped as though it were the hand of death.

“Hey kid,” he chuckled as he saw the horror upon her face. “Calm down, it’s just me.” He walked over to the fridge and grabbed water. Before she could comprehend what had just occurred he was sitting opposite her on the old ottoman and staring at her. “Where have you been?”

She could not regain her composure for what, to her, seemed to be an eternity. At last she put down The Sun Also Rises and returned herself to her regal position. Her back tall and her chin up, she raised herself to position of queen, with only her eyes lowered. At last after a few more moments breathing she returned his gaze and pretended to be unaware of what he was referring to. “What do you mean?” she inquired, knowing what he was to say next.

“I haven’t seen you in school.” He seemed eager to add more but found himself cut off abruptly by her. Something he surely never expected.

“Well, of course not,” She smiled a porcelain smile and rested her hands upon her lap. “We don’t have any classes together,” a slight laugh tumbled out as her eyes studied her hands.

“Yeah, but I used to see you in the halls. Now I don’t. Where have you been?” Adam was not the kind of young man who was adjusted to people seeming to disappear on him, especially young females. Instead, he always found that once he met someone, all of a sudden they would always be there. All of a sudden, they would meet in the streets more often, or pass in the halls, or discover that they lived incredibly close to one another. He always thought it an odd coincidence of life. He had never factored into the equation that he was actually a rather engaging young man who people were instinctively drawn too. Miraculously his ego was not enflamed with self love as normally happened to handsome eighteen year old men, instead he was almost completely unaware of the effect he had on people. Instead of seeing himself as a young rock star or politician who acquires legions of people who yearns to always be at least a little bit closer, to reach out and touch him, he saw himself as nothing extraordinary.

Despite this lack of self awareness, I the absence of such coincidences of seeing Hannah, in fact in the total opposite occurrence he felt something new had transpired. He hadn’t thought seriously about her not being there until seeing her again, and even when sitting there staring at her it was more of an awkward trifle that he couldn’t figure out. There wasn’t an ache or pain at her absence, instead merely nothing, which left an indescribable confusion in his mind. Now, these thoughts passed briefly through his mind, and left as quickly as they had entered. All that was left was the vague desire to know where she had been when he had expected her to be there. “Where have you been?”

“Nowhere,” she smiled a meek smile, “I’ve been here all along. You just couldn’t see me.” She tilted her head to the left and examined his face. She was learning each and every single crevice, he had been in her home enough to had done so easily. She smiled softly at the slight indent above the stray hair on his right eyebrow. As she walked back to her chair she brushed his shoulder slightly.

Adam returned dutifully the next day, however, for a shorter stay than usual. As he dashed upstairs he called out “Hey kid” assuming Hannah was in the chair, though he did not remain to hear a response. About an hour later he returned downstairs and sat down near Hannah and without even waiting for her to look up at him, burst into speech, “I think I’m gonna hide out down here! I can’t take any more Bio!” Hannah could hear the exasperation in his voice. “You’re sister I think loves science, to the point where I think it’s starting to scare me a little.”

Hannah smiled and wrapped her arms around her legs which were pulled up on her chair. “She does love it, and you are right it is scary.” She laughed a little and cocked her head to the side as she spoke, “You see, she loves anything with a specific point, answer, or label. It’s all very neat, keeps things from being too—messy.” Her smile grew as she grabbed the water at her side and had some, it distracted her a little. “Science is the quest for a cure to her. Well, she’s the type of person who is always eager to discover those.”

Adam nodded in agreement although he seemed as though he didn’t understand something. After a moment or two of just staring at her and at his own hands, he said, “I still don’t get it. I never seem to know the answer.”

Hannah giggled a little, the kind of girlish laugh any fourteen year old girl instantly regrets, then she returned to her normal state of maturity, and smiled. “I don’t either. That’s the worst part, sometimes there is no answer. If there is it can take forever to find! That’s why I’m a liberal arts person instead. I’d rather observe and take things in for enjoyment any day.”

He smiled and stood, his hands in his pockets. “Yah, me too” As he walked over to the stairs he looked back at her, and asked in a low gentle voice, “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine today, thanks.” She spoke stiffly. Then she looked back at him and before he could ascend the first stair she donned an incredibly kind smile “Make sure my sister’s okay.”

He smirked and jokingly spat back “Sure, though if she likes science there’s nothing I can do for her!” before he began leaping up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

Adam didn’t return, couldn’t return, until Monday. Hannah missed his presence and longed for his return. In the meantime she began Far From the Maddening Crowd and the new spring weather. She had begun to listen fondly to the birds which had taken up residence again outside her home. With the Cherry Blossoms on the trees and the flowers in bloom Hannah had her father hang artwork of her favorite artists in her room such as Monet and Picasso to commemorate the changing of the seasons. Pictures of wallflowers, sunflowers, and lilies made the dim lights seem brighter. When Adam returned to the house again, he cemented the feeling for her. He burst into the house with a smile on his face and jogged immediately over. “Hey kiddo,” he lolled as he pounced onto the seat across from her. “One week left, then this whole thing’s over! Great huh!”

Though she was not ready for it all to end she smiled back at him peacefully. “Yes, I suppose so. It must be very nice for you.” Her book was down completely now, and as she placed one hand softly over the other she grinned, “But are you ready?”

He glanced at her awkwardly, knowing there was something in what she asked that he did not understand. Hesitantly, he gave the only reply that seemed accurate, “Yes, I’m ready for this to be over.”

Hannah gave a quick smile as she lifted her book back up. “I suppose so. I wouldn’t be surprised if you find yourself thinking this experience wasn’t so bad.” Hannah resumed reading, only glancing up at Adam as he bounded up the stairs. She glimpsed the puzzled appearance that was now dominantly present upon his facial expression.

Three days passed before Adam reappeared. Hannah nearly missed an interaction with him, as he hadn’t noticed her presence; her body swarmed in covers and laying upon her couch. Previously unaware of her being there, he heard her moaning from a nightmare and woke her gently. “Hey kid, you alright?”

“What?” It took a moment for her to comprehend what had occurred and her mind to return to reality. She breathed in his company to calm her nerves. “Yeah, I’ll be fine. It was just a dream.”

“Alright then,” he brushed a piece of hair from her face. As he did so, she felt safe again.

“Will this be your last visit Adam?” Her smile was timid at best; she was afraid of how he would respond

“No, I’ve got one more left. I’ll see you soon.”

“Good.” She smiled brightly, her eyes sparkling. “That means I can go back to sleep. I’ll see you soon Adam.” She yawned before rolling over, and drawing the covers above her shoulders tightly. She fell asleep quickly.

…

Adam’s last encounter with Hannah was only two days later. When he walked in she merely smiled and let him know her sister was waiting. Hannah would talk to him more later.

As he descended the stairs less than an hour later, Hannah listened eagerly anticipating talking with him. When, at last, he stood before her she raised herself to match him. It could have been possible for her to look lanky or awkward with her height, but instead she held herself perfectly before him. She stood as an elegant swan that unfurled itself for the first time before a gracious audience. Adam couldn’t hold back his surprise as it was the first time that she had stood opposite him at her full height, no bending, no wavering, and no hiding. They stood as two stone pillars guarding a lost city.

“You’re all don here now.” Hannah held her head high and in doing so her neck seemed even more fine and thin than usual. Her clavical seemed as though it would penetrate her flesh.

Adam nodded, “The project is done.”

A small kind smile came across Hannah’s lips, “I’m glad I got to know you.”

“Yeah, you too. You’re a nice kid.” With that Hannah leaned forward and gave Adam a quick kiss. It was soft, sweet, and slightly awkward. It was everything a first kiss of a young girl should be. Adam was taken by surprise but smiled back at her anyhow.

“Goodbye, Adam.” Hannah spoke softly as she turned and sat down once more.

…

Adam learned of Hannah’s death not even three weeks later. It was a top article in the local paper. A young girl’s death due to heart failure is front page material. Adam couldn’t believe, couldn’t understand. He read it twice attempting to comprehend. How could Hannah have been sick? How could he have missed it? How could she have died? He sat staring at the paper, at her. She looked young and beautiful staring back at him from the paper.

The clock on the wall ticked away the minutes as remained immobile, staring still. At last his mother walked into the room to get some coffee, though he did not notice her either. She saw him sitting there, not moving, but found it peculiar he had yet to greet her after a few more moments had passed. “What have you got there Adam?”

“What?” He slowly returned to reality. “Newspaper.” He got up and left the room without another word; he gripped the paper tightly. He would never loose that paper, after he got married and had kids of his own, he would know exactly where it was in his home, even if it seemed to worn and faded to read anymore.

The funeral came quickly after the announcement of Hannah’s death, they often do. A great many people attended, not necessarily because they knew her, most of them didn’t, but because whenever a young girl dies that always happens. Those that passed her in the halls but had never spoken with her had appeared, and those who had just seen her face the one time in the paper still felt the need to give their condolences. They all just couldn’t stand her making them face their own immortality, and Adam secretly hated them for it. As he looked at her sister during the ceremony, Katrina seemed as though she hated them all too for their presence.

Adam hadn’t wanted to be there himself, had waited until last minute to decide whether or not to go. Though if he was honest with himself he knew that was a lie. Adam knew he was going attend the funeral from the beginning, he just knew he couldn’t stand hearing all the ashes to ashes dust to dust talk; not about Hannah. He hoped he could at least leave without having to talk to the family he had gotten to know a little bit. He believed that was a possibility when he saw the number of people attending, yet when he saw Katrina walking towards him he knew his hopes were dashed.

“Hello Adam” There was no point in pretending to smile

“Hello Katrina, how are you holding up?”

“I’m doing alright. I’m glad you could make it today. You’re one of the few people I hoped would be here.”

“Yes, well, I was very sorry to hear about it, but of course I’d come.” Adam began to divert his eyes. They wandered towards the plot of land he wished was unoccupied. They couldn’t remain there for long, despite the brevity of their stay, they were there long enough for Katrina’s eyes to follow.

“Adam, I have to attend to other family matters soon, but there’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you first.” Katrina’s eyes began to well up with tears, they were a deep brown, unlike her sister’s. Her voice was steady. “I’m so very glad that Hannah got to know you. She didn’t really know anyone, and so talking to you meant a lot to her. You meant a lot to her. I just wanted to thank you, for being there for her in the end. You’ll never know how much that meant to her.” Before Adam even had a chance to reply Katrina had turned and walked away, leaving him there to stare into the empty space of where the Ward sisters had once been.

All School work and no play makes Jack a dull boy

2008-12-01T03:54:15Z

I havent been able to post anything in a while/ I have been lazy I apologize. I had intended to participate in the National Novel Writing Month this November but I realized that was not going to be possible with my work load and vacation schedule. Any that did should be proud of themselves though. I have spent much of my month doing homework and then one wonderful week in Italy...it was amazing. I have ready a number of books lately but instead of doing my normal review and summaries, Im just gonna give a quick read it or leave it for each with grading scales.

Another Country by James Baldwin - Mixed - C-
Jazz by Toni Morrison - Read it - A
American Son by Brian Asalon Roley - Leave it D
Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides - Extremly difficult subject matter for some, but if you can handle it., read it A-
Born Standing Up (presently finishing) - Mixed Try it C + to B-

Next up on my list (besides far too much research on tourism) is In the Heart of the Vally of Love and Watchmen

also Im going to finally start posting on here (once school lets out probably) for actual new writings, creative challenges, and the like.

Update: What I'm Working on

2008-10-08T03:25:57Z

As I havent posted any stories recently I thought I'd write something about why that is. I am working on projects right now, but am tied up with school a lot. Pretty much right now Im focused a lot on revising however. Currently I am working on revising one short story about a young girl, and writing/ revising another about language and war. Both are currently untitled. I am conducting research for my novel but I have also begun some writing, though admittadly...pretty much nothing. That project is most likely going to take me at least two years for what I'm planning on undertaking. A lot of what I have been doing is reading. I have finished reading a few novels recently (check out the reviews) and have a few more to post soon. I should have another three book reviews up by the end of next week. I will admit that I need to get into the habit of writing for at least 30 minutes every day more, and so I should be utilizing more writing prompts. The ones I like I will post here. I only use those, however, when I do no actually write creatively (not including research or revising) on one of my current projects). So those are the many things to come here...

Book Review: Age of Innocence

2008-10-03T05:15:47Z

Book: Age of Innocence
Author: Edith Wharton
Pages: 307
Rating: B

Barnes and Noble Synopsis:
This is Newland Archer’s world as he prepares to marry the beautiful butconventional May Welland. But when the mysterious Countess Ellen Olenska returns to New York after a disastrous marriage, Archer falls deeply in love with her. Torn between duty and passion, Archer struggles to make a decision that will either courageously define his life—or mercilessly destroy it.

My Review and Thoughts:

This is an extremely well written piece of literature, and it's easy to see why it is considered a classic. The way Wharton presents members of that particular society is especially alluring as it makes the readers want to be one of their peers, feel sympathy towards them, and dislike them all at the same time. The complexity of this upper class New York society is written by someone who had once occupied it, and so it is examined as if by an expert. I felt as if I was there at many of the events, especially in the rooms. While I know a lot of people who would have hated some of these descriptions (If you are a person who hates lots of details on settings stay far far away from this book. Im sayiny if this book is the North Pole, you should go to Pluto) However, I found these descriptions so beautiful because there was a sense of this desire to return, or admiration. Yet, at the same time Wharton often seemed as though she did not approve of the society. That was what made this book so interesting for me. That it felt so richly nostalgic, but filled with criticisms. It almost reminded me of my Grandfather who used to tell me about when he was in WWII, but then half way through a particular memory, would stop and remember something horrific. His face would change in that moment as he would begin to tell what he was thinking, not the full story but a brief highlight of an old friend who died or something, and then he would return the good times of what he was focusing on before.
The only issue I have with this novel is the inability to feel close, or identify with any characters. This is necessary due to their status and inability to form deep comprehensive personalities complete with their own thoughts, outside of that society. I know this and understand this logic, but I still like feeling close to at least one character in the novel. The closest I felt to anyone was May and she is hardly in the novel, and her personal thoughts are non-existant. This was my one regret about the novel, but it is an important one for me.

Book Review: Twilight

2008-09-23T17:26:21Z

Book: Twilight
Author: Stephenie Meyer
Pages: 544
Rating: C

Barnes and Noble Synopsis:
Bella Swan's move to Forks, a small, perpetually rainy town in Washington, could have been the most boring move she ever made. But once she meets the mysterious and alluring Edward Cullen, Bella's life takes a thrilling and terrifying turn. Up until now, Edward has managed to keep his vampire identity a secret in the small community he lives in, but now nobody is safe, especially Bella, the person Edward holds most dear.

My Review and Thoughts:

I should admit before anything else that I finished this novel about a month ago but have been as yet incapable of finally putting this review out-Sorry. I chose to read this book because I got sick and tired of seeing it mentioned and highlighted everywhere and NOT having read it. All those little Edward/Bella icons and bumper-stickers on Facebook made me believe that this must be an amazing novel if everyone was so obsessed with it. Apparently I felt very different.

This novel is a teenage romance. Anyone who tells you different is lying their asses off. Well, is it at least such a beautifuly written captivating romance to Romeo and Juliet proportions that you should read it; I don't think so. The characters are likeable, but thats it. There was not a single instance where I thought to myself, "Wow, thats an amazing line" or "I adore how that was done." I am a great fan of underlining and highlighting things I find powerful, moving, or just sometimes sweet. This did not occur once through out the novel for me. I found it very CW and boring. The danger and lack of safety to which the synopsis hints at does not truly present itself until over 300 pages within the novel. The novel to me was merely a teenage girl falling in love with a bad boy, and nothing else but that romance for majority of the novel. There is nothing particularly strong or amazing about that romantic story except that he is a vampire and thus warns her for her safety. So if you would like to read a teenage love story, this really is the novel for you. If you were hoping for a dark novel with great romance and danger then I would suggest another. This is far too cutesy to be considered within the likes of Anne Rice, Stephen King, or J.K. Rowlings end of the Harry Potter series even. This feels more like High School Musical with Vampires. Just because theres a vampire in a story, does NOT make it an amazingly dark or great book. If you want that storyline look to Buffy the Vampire Slayer, or even the new show True Blood as those execute that narrative in a superior manner to this.

And for those of you wondering I will still most likely see the film version of this novel. I believe that it holds possibility to be a great film, especially with the use of filmatic effects and editing to the storyline.

Short Story: Remembrance of a Future Past

2008-08-21T00:15:35Z

Title: Remembrance of a Future Past

Synopsis: This is a story of two old friends who meet up after several years. The focus is on the choices they made, the differences between them, and whether or not their decisions have led them to where they truly want to be.

Personal Notes: This may infact be the last draft of the story. I have worked on this story for a long time, and hope to send it out for publication soon. If you were one of the people who read this when I had posted it at my other page before, trust me there have been significant changes and it is worth going through a second time. I would greatly appreciate any constructive criticism before I would make that final leap, especially regarding the realism of the characters and their interaction. Thanks.

They had been friends once; though now that time had passed. It was a strong friendship, and peculiar as well. When they met they understood one another instantaneously, coming to share the same taste to such an extent that others they shared the same mind. They talked nearly every day about an array of subjects, never tiring of the others’ view or company. Best of friends at work; they discovered that was where their loyalty was confined. Efforts to extend their friendship outside the building failed due to: distinct lifestyles, diverse acquaintances, and basic social ineptitude. After working together for years, she disappeared to attend college, while he stayed and got married. Not since that juncture had they seen each other, despite their once illustrious friendship.

Now they sat across from each other; ten years passed. A reunion on her short visit home; both curious about what happened to the other. They cared about each other once, and wondered if they could once more. Both looking to find a friend; both needing to find one. Most of all they wanted reasons for why their lives turned out the way they had. They hoped for the best and came prepared for the worst.

He sat drinking his beer, and Theresa, Tess as she was called, with her wine. They sat opposing each other, silent figures of the past. Five minutes passed since they took their seats and the only words spoken were their orders. Now they stared at each other blankly; neither knowing what to say. The silence growing more awkward with each passing moment.

“So how is Melanie? I never heard if her painting worked out,” asked Tess, trying to fill the silence.

“Last I heard she was doing well. I don’t really know.” Jude paused to drink some more. “We got a divorce, about six years ago,” he spoke casually, glancing at his drink before finishing it off. Jude was a quick drinker, or so said all the girls he had “dated” since the divorce.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have asked.” She said as she fiddled with her fork. “I just can’t believe you got divorced. You two seemed so perfect for each other.”

“Yeah. Well I guess we weren’t.” He started thinking of the house he bought with Melanie, and the apartment he moved into after the divorce.

“What…What happened exactly?” Tess didn’t mean to be rude, but she had acquired a habit for asking personal questions a long time ago. Some would call her conversational style invasive, however, she just believed she was curious. That was why she studied journalism at New York University and then wrote for the New York Times. She needed to learn to feed her natural curiosity.

“I guess it was our communication. Which is kind of important, you know? We just didn’t understand each other.”

“How so?” she asked innocently enough. Tess didn’t understanding how adult real relationships function, she hadn’t been in one for a long time.

“She believed I didn’t love her. That’s how.” He looked at the waitresses to distract him from the memories. Melanie’s determination to leave on their last night together flooded his mind.

“How? That’s nuts. Everyone knew you would do anything for her!” Tess remembered the simple way of how Jude described Melanie; how obvious it was that he loved her.

“I don’t know. She said something about security, and before I knew it…it’s all in the past, doesn’t matter. How about you, why didn’t you ever get married? I’m sure you’ve had offers.” He waived his hand to signal for another drink.

“Yes, nothing too great. I don’t think I’ve missed much,” she took another sip from her drink.

“Well who? Anyone I know?” he enjoyed the distraction.

“No. The first was from my college boyfriend Shaun, immediately after we graduated. It seemed as though we were going to get married, but I wanted to move, and he didn’t.” She sipped knowing she forced their separation when she moved to London. A smiled dawned on her lips as she thought of the London rain at night. Tess’ smile faded quickly. “There was another guy too; that didn’t work out either.”

“What about the second guy? Why didn’t you make a go of it with him?” Jude was surprised that he was actually interested in her life.

“Oh, Rory. We didn’t date that long, when all of a sudden, he asked me to marry him,” She remembered how they met. They collided into each other on the same day she was promoted to editor. “I still wanted more from life.” Unfortunately, once she had made editor, no better opportunities came along. Since she turned Rory away no one else could make her laugh, and she had given up searching. Jude watched her eyes become overcast; he sensed a change of subject was needed.

“Well I used to read your political column in the New York Times, it was great. It seems odd to read something written by someone I used to know,” he smiled a bit. His pride in knowing her shone brightly in that grin.

“I had nothing else to do. Something good came from it. I’ve been getting lots of work, it’s great really. How about you? You don’t still work at the music shop do you?”

“Yes and no. Actually, I own it now. Jason died, and left me in charge,” he spoke as if nothing occurred at all. “I was his assistant after all. He owed it to me.”

“That’s great! I mean that’s horrible, Jason was a wonderful man. It’s great that you are in charge of the shop. You know all that underground music, and you always had the best taste. Do you remember the time we were supposed to go to a concert together but everything went wrong,” a massive grin now showed on her face.

“How could I forget? We were stuck in traffic for well over an hour that night,

and by the time the show started we were still an hour and a half away!”

“So you decided to just stop at that really sketchy restaurant, and skip the concert. Have our own on the ride home, we just listened and sang to that band all night.”

“Yeah, that was a surprisingly good time.”

“Yes, it was,” nodding in agreement. “Wow, I can’t believe it. It’s great that you are still at the record shop.”

“It’s alright. I haven’t really thought of it,” he lied. He thought about it. He thought about it everyday. He had been hired to work there when he was twelve, to clean and organize. Seventeen years later he was still there. With that their food arrived; both eager for it.

As they ate each contemplated what the other person neglected in their life. He believed she didn’t miss out on much, not much had changed. He still went to the same clubs, listened to the same music, and lived in the same town. Only now he was alone. He donned faked a smile and took another swig of his drink. He wondered what she could be thinking. She thought of all the things he didn’t know about her. All the articles, all the papers, and all the one night stands that he never knew of. She idolized him once and was glad he didn’t know. She gave a meek smile in reply to Jude’s and ate another French fry without meeting his gaze.

“May I ask you a question?” Jude asked finally putting down his drink, and jamming his food in his mouth. “It’s just that I’m curious. You’re so successful and I was just wondering if…”

“I see you still take forever to ask a question. Look, whatever it is you’re going to ask, go for it. It doesn’t matter,” and shoved her food in front of her to signal that her eating had come to an end.

“Are you happy?”

She smirked a little then sat back. A few moments passed before she leaned forward again. She thought that she had an answer for any question; it was part of her job. For the first time she was speechless. She thought about her life, her friends, and her job. At last she answered, “I got everything I ever wanted. I live where I always wanted. I do what I always wanted. I make good money and have a lot of prominent friends. According to everything I have ever been told, I should be happy.”

“That doesn’t mean you are,” as Jude took another swig of his beer.

“No, I’m not happy…Are you?” leaning back again.

“No.” For the first time he remembered how honest they had always been with one another.

The two finished their meal in silence, evading eye contact. The waiter dutifully brought their check which they split evenly. They stood, he helped her with her coat, and walked her to her Lexus. His eyes glanced over it lustily as it gleamed as all new cars do. He could feel himself smirk a little and tried to refrain but found it difficult to do so. He looked at her now as, she really looked different from before. At some point she had grown and changed into the woman standing before him.

The sun shone bright enough that Tess squinted her eyes in order to see Jude. She pursed her lips and the wind blew some of her hair across her face. She found Jude’s grip surprisingly tight as his hands clenched her arm and he pulled her toward him and he began to kiss her. His other hand brought her neck forcefully to him. His lips strong, his eyes shut tightly, blacking out the light which blazed down upon his eager transgressions. As he extended his venture, she stood in compliance; an idle figure with open eyes. Though she did not yield to his undertaking, she did not deny him it either. She granted him at least that. When he was appeased at last and the cumbersome situation was terminated; they still stood in close proximity to one another with only the breeze separating them. There was no pause, hesitation, or thought following what occurred, Immediately, Tess exhaled deeply as she looked at him and let the whisper of, “Bye, Jude,” roll off her lips gently. He opened the door to her car as she turned her back towards him, and she climbed inside. She turned the ignition and drove away. He stood watching her disappear down the road

Two Writing Prompts

2008-08-16T17:25:55Z

Writing prompts are extremely helpful in creating a habit of writing, and developing a natural style. I've been attempting to use them a bit more recently as I've been breaking out of my writer's block. These are a few of the ones I liked most and thought that you might enjoy. When I utilize writing prompts I force myself to write for at least fifteen to thirty minutes without stopping, and refusing to correct myself. That explains some of the grammatical errors, as this is my work at its most base level. After reading the prompt, consider how you would have responded and maybe write your own. I'd be interested in hearing not only responses to my writings, but also what you would have written. This will always be true for the writing prompts I post.

"You Don't Drown..."
Even though it was June the water was a hell of a lot colder than she had anticipated. That’s what you get when you live in New England. Perhaps she hadn’t taken her final leap into the ocean stark naked. It seemed appropriate, her last gesture to humanity to be done without clothing. She wanted to be discovered bare, the way she was born. She thought it poetic somehow. She just knew that her husband would be embarrassed and pissed off by it, and that made her even happier. That he would think to himself, “God damn it Janis you couldn’t even wear a fucking swimsuit” She was right to, that would be his first thought. His second would be about her being dead. His embarrassment would always come first.

That wasn’t why she was here. She wished it could be so simple or boring. No, she wasn’t so pathetic and weak that she would blame this on him. Though he would probably take credit for it, he was rather proud of himself that way, “Yes, she did do it because of me.” That way everything in her life was due to him. He never realized that he simply didn’t matter much to her, not for a very long time now at least. The way she saw it, it wouldn’t really effect too many people. Her mother might be sad for a little while, but she would move on, she was old. Janis and Steve had no children so there wasn’t much to worry about there. Her social circle was pretty small and airy. It was just the sort of light social acquaintances based purely upon proximity, and base similarities that wouldn’t cause any significant grief regarding any death. The only real grief that might be experienced would be due to others realizing their own mortality. Though in the case of suicides that doesn’t happen as much. People really only begin to fret over that sort of issue when there is a sudden accident, or when an incredibly young person dies. This was not that sort of situation, they would be in the clear.

Actually there wasn’t really much of a situation to blame her current plung upon. Steven wasn’t cruel to her, she had no proof he cheated in any way. She had no enemies, and life wasn’t generally unpleasant. It wasn’t much of anything at all. It never was, and it seemed it never would be. Thirty four years and some one hundred and fifty nine days Janis had been alive now, without ever feeling any true happiness. Nothing great, no excitement, no joy, nothing to keep her going. Just the same mere feeling that everything was, “Alright, I suppose” everyday. She never felt it would get better. It never even seemed to get so bad, that when it got better she could feel a change in emotions. She couldn’t take it anymore, all she wanted was to just feel something. She wanted to start over, return to how it was. She knew she couldn’t so she’d rather just end it all than keep living day by day the same over and over. So she loaded herself with sleeping pills before walking down to the query near her home, unrobing and leaping in.

When she was found there was quite a surprise. The police inspector asked Steve how she had seemed the last time he had seen her, “Alright, I suppose” Inside his thoughts racing, “Damnit, Janis why were you skinny dipping, its so damn embarrassing.” It took a while before he could think to ask if she could have gotten caught in a current or stuck on something. The inspector shook his head, “You don’t drown because you fall into the water. You drown because you stay there. Your wife committed suicide” Inspector walked away shaking his head. Steve wished once more she could have worn something.

"Zoomed In"

Her hands were soft and delicate, smelling of lavender from her hand cream. They moved gently across her stomach over and over. If only visible lines could emerge tracing where here they had just been, they would create perfect circles, forming an eternity of worried motions. The hands still seemed unable to stop when the movement finally seized, due to a forced jerk from another’s hand. That hand smelled more of oak than flowers, or sawdust. Though there were no callouses, blisters, or other visible signs of wear the hands were significantly rougher. It was as if they had weathered a storm before, had chosen to do so willingly, and was damn proud of it.

Oak steadied Lavender before speaking, “Are you calm?” A few moments passed before her head nodded affirmatively. Both sets of hands remained on still trim stomach. “Let’s talk about it then”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Lavender’s voice was steady even if her hands weren’t.

“Don’t be like that,” Oak dropped his hands along with his voice, walking away. He couldn’t stand it when she just pushed him away like this. She always acted like this, she was just a child still in so many ways. “You know you want to talk about it.”

“I already told you everything you need to know. I don’t know what more you could want from me.” Lavender stared blankly ahead, gazing into a different existence.

“I know you told me you got pregnant but there’s still more to talk about”

“You’re the one who got me pregnant if that’s what you’re worried about” Lavender was annoyed now, ready walk and never speak to Oak again.

“No that’s not what I was saying, I wasn’t worried about that.”

“Then what could it be then?”

“What do you want to do?” Oak dropped his voice and for the first time she heard it quiver a bit. “I’m ready to do whatever you want, but you won’t even talk to me about this. I know I don’t make much but it could be enough if we wanted to try.”

“No, there’s nothing to talk about.” Lavenders voice wasn’t soft or gentle, even though she knew he was pleading for her. “It’s over, it’s all over.”

“What did you…”

“We aren’t going to talk about it. It’s over, it’s all over” Her hands soft and gentle roamed across her slender stomach as she walked away.

Welcome

2008-08-16T17:02:43Z

Welcome to my new writing journal. Those of you who are closest to me know that I had one previously, but due to a series of unfortunate events I am no longer capable of gaining access to it. To put it in other words, the internet has screwed me over once more. I consider this to be my fresh start as I have become revitalized in my writing recently. I plan on posting my short stories, a few interesting writing prompts with responses, and maybe as time passes excerpts of larger pieces. I really hope that you will be responding, as I thrive on constructive criticism and would love to hear what you have to say. So please read and respond, and most of all I hope you enjoy.