Recently read

I finished reading this book yesterday; a very interesting read, told in the way of a masterful story teller, and full of casual but effective advice. It was published almost a decade an a half ago at this point, which I did not realize prior to reading. Despite its age, which in reality is really not that old at all, it offers some good advice, nothing unique or ground breaking in my opinion, but over all worth reading.

It really helps to find that the people behind the award winning novels are actually people and not a pack of brilliant demigods whose mere thoughts can cause our wallets to empty, because at times that is very much the feeling.

Stephen King is a honest writer. Of all of the factoids and little details that I gathered from this book that is the single thing that will probably stick with me the most. He writes how he sees the world and does not dip it in sugar or paint it with rainbows. His characters are real and are never embarrassed for appearing on the page, maybe for being caught with their pants down by another character, but never for just being in the story.

King discusses methodology for writing, a few tips, and standard "tools" of the trade, and what you can expect from making writing a part of your life. I would recommend the book to anyone who enjoys reading about writing. Don't let the non-fiction nature of this book scare you away either, King incorporates the story of his own life so well that you are never left reading a manual.

I once read...

I once read, from a small comic a friend gave to me I believe, that a writer will write regardless of the circumstances. It doesn't matter if you are a coal miner who must give up his precious few hours of desperately needed sleep, you will write if you are a writer. I found that disconcerting. I do not feel that way. I can go for days without writing, and most of my stories are content to sit in my head for quite some time before they come out.

Well, this is me saying I HAVE HAD ENOUGH!!!

I started this blog to showcase my writing, and I find that I am still not doing enough writing for my liking. I have weird hangups about damn near everything in my life, and writing is one of them, but damn it all I am done! I am going to write. At this moment I am mentally angling myself towards my play, and am getting an uneasy feeling about it. I recently decided to finish it, so in this vein I went back and reread what I have already written. I think its good. Too good. To the point where I can not believe that I wrote it. I feel that way about everything I write that isn't total trash. If it isn't trash somebody else must have wrote it because my thoughts can't be that coherent or that interesting.

I probably sound like I am some self serving pretentious mad man that just rambles on and on, or I might sound perfectly normal and be incredibly self deprecating and overly critical. I HAVE NO IDEA!

I just need to move. Step by step. Word by word. I know this. I know nothing is first perfect, and that if we are lucky it will be last excellent, but never first perfect.

I do apologize for my musings here, but hey, it is my blog I will write what I want on it.

If anyone is curious as to why there is a picture of Starry Night on this post it is because I like it. Van Gogh is one of my favorite artists, and probably the only one that I would name if asked that kind of question. My brain can wander freely like it is listening to a piece of classical music when I am looking a Van Gogh.

Grrr argh. Ramble. Sputter. Chaos. Destruction.

Yeah, all that business.

Coherent writing will begin again tomorrow. One way or another.

Good Night.

Prompts! Prompts! Prompts!

So as a writer and person I have my ups and downs. Took some time to feel like posting anything other than my own writing again. But life has a funny way of flipping itself around at the least expected times so this morning I thought, hey, why not some writing prompts?

(1) The Pet's Perspective: I want you to try and think about a day in the life of your pet. If you have more than one pick one; it could be your favorite pet, or your least favorite pet, or your only pet, or a pet you wish you had, whatever! The point is to think about perspective and jot down some thoughts that might not normally ever cross your mind. A dog's seemingly irrepressible urge to chase anything that runs from him, or a cat's habit of attacking things that do not exist. Have fun with it.

 (2) Be a Jerk: one of the things that many authors say is that you need to be mean to your characters. If something isn't threatening their life, possibly killing their friends, maybe destroying the world, or even just threatening to take their parking space at work, then a character doesn't have much motivation and the reader has a harder time supporting them. There is no story without conflict right? So the prompt here is to event a character, for the sake of ease assume it's a standard retail job, although you could pick anything, so a cashier, or stocker, or someone who works in sales, etc. Have something terrible happen to them and see how they deal with it. A car could explode, their boss could yell at them, there neighbors dog could crap on their porch, etc. Again have fun with it!

(3) A Can of Worms: actually start a story with "A Can of Worms" opening, or maybe just existing because that could be a weird story topic, I mean, who can's worms? Anyway start with that and then go from there. You could go stream of consciousness with this, just going from thought to thought, or you could write a real serious story about a can of worms, or virtually anything. Just have fun with it.

Flash Fiction: The Zoo

This was an exercise in 2nd person narrative writing. Comments welcome.

The Zoo

Yes. Yes. Yes. You can feed the monkeys. What. The sign? No. No. No. You cant feed the monkeys. Because the sign says you cant. What? You want to leave? But we just got here. Quit pouting. You know your mother will be angry with me if you say you didn't have fun at the Zoo. She will think that I didn't actually take you to the Zoo and left you at her mothers house, yes grandmas house. Your mother will think that I went and did something that I actually wanted to do, instead of taking you to the Zoo.

No. No. No I didn't say that I didn't want to come to the Zoo with you. I brought you hear didn't I? Yes. Yes. Yes I love you, don't think that because I do not want to be hear means I do not want to be here. What? That makes perfect sense. How would you know you are five. Alright tell you what we will get some Ice cream and you can watch the polar bears swim.

What do Polar bears eat? They eat seals normally but they are probably being fed steak right now, lucky  bastards. No I didn't say bastards. What I didn't say – Whoa look at that bear dive!

I know that you didn't want to see the Polar bears you wanted to see the monkeys, but you did see them. What? up close? You can't get too close they might bite your nose off. Yes. Yes. Yes. You would not have a nose if you got to close to them. You see that sign? It says the nose biting monkeys. Wait. What? You can  read? You are like five how can you read that sign? Hooked on phonics? What is that some kind of brain drug or something? You didn't just say “How would I know I am five?,” do not get smart with me I will – hey hunny!

I thought you were meeting us at the restaurant. What? But I wanted to. But I. But I. But I. Yes I know what no means but. No buts huh. Well this has turned into a fucking fantastic day. What? I do not care if he hears me. The kid is going to figure it out sooner or – OUCH!

You didn’t have to slap me.

I Hate asking for Help

I am an idiot. I have sat here feeling super embarrassed about putting together a "GoFundMe" site since I did it about fifteen minutes ago. I am sure my face has gone from pale, to yellow, to red about a hundred times in the last few minutes, and I just realized that there is no point in it.

GoFundMe is an online fundraising program that helps people gather money for various things, school costs, travel expenses, business ideas, sports teams (I am assuming for kids) and various other things. It works by setting up a site and then contacting basically everyone you know. It does this in broad sweeps through Facebook, Twitter, and email.

After I set it up and sent it out I realized that I had basically asked everyone I knew for money. I felt like a beggar before I started and wanted to be sick. But then I thought about it. I have never not helped someone who I could. I have given money to complete strangers, shared food with homeless people, held doors, volunteered and helped organize charity drives, and been a generally good person my entire life. For my friends I will go WELL out of my way, but they are my friends. I know that they have my back as much as I have theirs. I will still go out of my way for people I hardly know, not to the point of foolishness, well maybe sometimes, but still! I am willing to give everyone a fair chance.

No one is perfect, and if I understand that people need help sometimes, then I should understand that I also need help sometimes.

I still feel a little weird about this whole GoFundMe thing, but not sick and embarrassed like I was before.

Check it out at GoFundMe.Com and check out my page too if you want to read my story and help out. I am not going to repost it here, I am still not that comfortable with it haha.

D&D Blog

I will shortly, which may be tomorrow or a month from now, be starting a Dungeons and Dragons blog. I have been running a campaign for over a year now and have been told by the players that I needed to write it all down. It is quite the crazy tale. So! I will be attempting to serialize the tale via blog posts. Character sheets will be posted with character details as they appear and group drawings and maps will be posted as well as they are created. This will probably mean more to my friends then this blog haha. We shall see. Thoughts welcome.

Flash Fiction: Seeing

Image property of Alessandro Pautasso. Check out his work at his website.

Seeing

I was running so fast that I didn’t notice the neighbor’s dog was laying at the top of the last set of stairs going out of my apartment building. He didn’t move when I stepped down causing me to go ass over teacups. I went end over end until I got to the bottom and cracked my head off the concrete floor.

It has been three weeks since I woke up blind in the hospital after my fall. Well, the doctors call it blind, and it’s true that I can’t see how I used to, but my life has actually become more interesting sense the fall. It is so strange, but now when I hear words I do not just hear them. When I hear a word I taste it, smell it, feel it, and see it, but it is not the normal kind of seeing. I see the word in shades, splashes, and flecks of color. I hear the word bicycle and brilliant slashes of green and yellow flood my mind, along with the taste of grass and fresh air. Someone mentions an apple and I can taste it as if I had just bit into one. The word warm makes me feel, well, warm! The doctors call it Synesthesia, but I call it seeing, although, it doesn’t always make sense. 

My brother was walking me up to my apartment one day when I heard the neighbor kid say ice cream and I tasted sausage and garlic.  My father came over to the my apartment to check up on me and when he said that I should move back home with him and my mother, the word “move” felt like icicles running down my legs. The day that my girlfriend said the word “blind” and the phrase “doesn’t matter,” I tasted at first chalk and vinegar, and then sweet plums, and my vision went from a mass of dark blues and grays to violent violets and reds.

Sometimes the feelings change, but after three weeks the only way I can describe how all my senses react to the word “dog” is absolute and profound happiness, with a hint of sunshine on skin, and the taste of raspberry sorbet.

Realizing my purpose

Tomorrow:

Tomorrow I will make that phone call that I am dreading to make. I have made it several times and have had no answer. I will try again.

Tomorrow I start looking for other work. What I need next is some economy to work with and I have none.

Tomorrow I am going to write. I am going to take my research, my play, and my laptop, and leave the house, and write somewhere. Probably PCJ or The Library.

Tomorrow will eventually be today, and when it is I will not say "Tomorrow I will" again.

There is no point in waiting on yourself. You just have to Be Bold, and take the next step. Life is looking for victims, and I won't be one.

Flash Fiction: From The Golden Key

Illustration property of Claudia Bettinardi. Follow this link to her blog for some great illustrations

The following piece is again something I wrote some time ago. I actually had to go digging through some files to find this one. It is a kind of rewriting / response to one of the Grimm fairy tales known as The Golden Key. I encourage you to read the original version after reading mine; if only so that you can be angry with me. Cheers! Comments always welcome.

From The Golden Key

By John Little

For hundreds of years I have waited. Sense a time long ago that I can not quite remember, I have been laying in this field. I have watched the all the stars shift, ever so slightly, around the dark horizon. I have seen every color of the sun at least twice. I have spoken to every creature from mole to mouse and badger to bear. Every animal enjoys my company, but has no idea of my use. They lack the appropriate digits to make use of me. The crows like my shine and the rats like my texture. A raven once thought to take me to his nest, but I begged him to leave me be. He agreed but he would visit me every day until his death. That was several decades ago. I have sunk deeper into my doom. These things I see anymore only as memories, not as realities. Cold, it is so very cold. It must be winter. Snow. Dark. Now Light. I see light. Little hands, such cold little hands. What is this?  A boy?  A beggar boy at that. He seems cold and hungry. I would surmise that what lies in my chest would make him a happier lad. If he saw to take good care of me I would grant him such a pleasure. I shall guide him to home. Yes. Yes the keyhole is right, there, got it! Now all you need do is turn and find what is inside, my little shivering savior.

Flash Fiction : Ragtime

I have been determined to post something every day. I am still counting today as yesterday, since this day just started for me. This story is a little more poetic in its style than my other one's have been, but a change of pace is always nice. I wrote this quite a while ago, and it is based on a story I heard about a man named Ragtime. Comments welcome.

 Ragtime

You don’t expect to go when you are small. What can you do when you’re small?

I was the brain. My two brothers were the brawn. They went, and I wasn’t surprised. I didn’t think I would go.

 I thought I would get special treatment, being smart. I thought I was gonna be the “go to” guy. I was wrong.

I was like everyone else.

I could run. I could jump. I could crawl. So they took me.

They taught us how to shoot. How to get shot. How to die. How to not die. All important stuff.

Back then they only had two real requirements. Are you healthy? Yes. Can you lift more than fifty pounds above your head. Yes.

Go.

I couldn’t lift that much above my head. I barely got it to my chest. They said that was good enough and pushed me through.

Shots. Shots. Shots. Not liquor. Needles.

When we got there I ran. Like everybody else. I ran. I ran, I jumped, I crawled. I also ducked. I ducked a lot.

Everybody liked music then. Not that people don’t like it now, but we really liked music. We would match it to our heart’s to slow the world down. When we weren’t listening we felt it anyway. A guy would leave and walk like slow jazz, he would come running back to ragtime.

I remember the first one. They all laughed when I could fit. It wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t running. At first I thought it was freedom.

Tunnels aren’t freedom.

Firing a gun in there was like putting a cherry bomb in your ear. It hurt. Almost as much as it did the other guy. Almost.

I learned to swim in earth. They called me fish. I called them bastards.

Tunnels weren’t freedom, but they gave me leave.

I went down, with ten guys waiting for me to return. I came back and they were none. Blind. Deaf. Dumb. And cold. They were none.

I pulled out a radio and called support. I heard ragtime in the background.

After a while. It’s all ragtime.

Thanksgiving

Despite having a massive headache, I am determined to write something today, so here it is.

Thanksgiving is a time for a lot of things; food, friends, and family being among them. To be frank I refuse to write a long diatrab about how Thanksgiving is a time to "give thanks" and how it is really about the generosity of one's heart and so on. I know this, and I know everyone else knows this, so I am not going to go there. I could also talk about my family, and trust me there is a LOT to talk about, both good and bad, but I am not going there either. To be honest, I am rather perturbed and disgruntled about everything and its brother in existence at the moment. But. At the same time I am happy to be alive and to be able to complain about it. So instead of being transparently thankful, or ungratefully complaining, I am just going to leave you with an impromptu poem.

The day begins with waking
And continues with baking
It moves on and on
Like the ringing of a gong

When the times comes to eat
None of us take a seat
The food is not done
The cook has unspun

But We all keep on waiting
Not bothering with debating
The cook though does not quit
All along making quite a fit

I watch and I take
and I take and take and take
But eventually, to my dismay
I say something, I really shouldn't say
Something, I think I will remember
At least till the end of November

But as the food is served not long after
I find that this Thanksgiving to be
Just another chapter
For my friends, my family, and me

 Hope everyone had an awesome Thanksgiving! And Try and give your relatives some slack.

Happy Holidays.