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Showing posts from 2011

Stress... Breeds Creativity. And Alcoholism. In This Case, We'll Go With Creativity.

New ideas kicking around in my head. Not sure where they're going but, as usual, I thought I would run it by you and see what you thought. _____________________ Ben had no idea what would happen when he attended one of the biggest charity events in LA that fall. What it would lead was little more than West Coast Confusion.  ******             It was early. Much too early.   Even for his jetlagged body. He had been on the west coast for less than twenty-four hours and, as he stood on the balcony at 5:30 a.m. waiting for the morning, he really had no idea of the time. The moon shone brightly as it descended towards the horizon, casting the Pacific’s slumbering waves in ethereal iridescence. The air was cool and refreshing and he hoped it would clear his mind. It didn’t. Glancing over his should back into the room all he could do was shake his head and wonder just what in the hell he had gotten himself into. Maybe it was nothing, and maybe that’s all it should be.            

The Oddity of Normalcy

In the past week or so I have heard or read the following in response to things I've said and done: "You are not normal." "You need help." "There is something very wrong with you." "How in the hell does your mind work?" "Nice tie." (Ok I just threw that last one in there, I was wearing a really nice tie that day.) I can't deny any of the accusations. Thankfully they are usually followed by laughter or an "lol" but I think there is just a hint of fear behind the sentiments expressed. No, I am not normal. And I'm damn proud of that fact. Let me give you a little context - I've begun an annual tradition whereby I write an ode to my friends on Facebook by altering the prose of the timelessly classic poem 'Twas the Night Before Christmas. While I do try to keep the generally Christmasy (it's a word, shut it) feel of the story, the lyrics are altered so that I can include as many names of my fri

The Unintentionally Intentional Smile

Writing, for me at least, is perhaps one of my most selfish endeavors, amounting to a therapeutic gushing of self expression. It is means to core-dump all of my stress and anxiety into something a tad bit more productive. Relieving the tremendous pressure in my head by allowing the maelstrom of words and ideas to dissipate, the act itself, typing the words on the screen before me, is akin to turning that pressure gauge down before the boiler blows. It’s something I must do for me, ergo egocentric. BUT… (isn’t there’s always a but…) let’s face it – if I wasn’t sharing my words, then I’d basically be just talking to myself which, as we all know, is one step away from living by myself in a house full of cats and trying to teach them to meow the tune to It’s a Small World After All. (It can be done, if I can just get Mr. Wiggles and Princess Prancy-Paws to work on their timing.) Point being: Yes, the underlying act of writing is a selfish cause designed to benefit me, myself and the voice

Radiant

For some reason my old college apartment popped in my head this afternoon, prompting this foray into my imagination. Read. Discuss. Give thoughts. Enjoy! ______________________________________             “Do it.”             “No.”             “I said do it!”             “NO!” he yelled emphatically before covering his mouth with his hand. It didn’t matter. There was no one there to hear him. Cameron Reedle was most definitely alone. As he turned to scan his surroundings Cam did indeed confirm that his was the only breath in the room. The voice he heard was his own, and it was the same voice he heard almost every Friday night like clockwork. In those moments he deeply regretted his decision not to move after graduation. Instead, he kept the same dumpy apartment he had as an undergrad and continued to live with The Two Johns (as he had come to call his roommates with the same name). Cam and John Benson (JB) stayed on for law school and were now deeply entrenched in their second year

In the immortal words of Monty Python...

... And now for something completely different! Yes, from time to time, I dabble in poetry. I'm no Yeats or Longfellow, admittedly, but I do like to delve into the poetic corners of my mind every now and then. This morning's brisk encounter with winter's first knock at my door brought some words to mind.  I hope you enjoy. _____________________ Frost A chilling frost blankets all in winter’s dew. Arriving sunrise washes all in angelic glow, enticing. Strength of heart erodes facades, releasing joyful smiles. The warmth of day envelops all in shining glee, reveling. Day’s end approaches all in reverent apology, dimming. Hopeful longing for tomorrow’s light, releasing yearning sighs. A chilling frost blankets all in winter’s dew, again.

Too Many Ideas, Too Little Time...

An unfortunate (or fortunate) byproduct of high levels of stress is the tidal wave of ideas that overwhelms me as I search for an escape. As a result my morning and evening commutes often take me to far greater, bleaker, magnificent or melancholy places than my four wheels would carry me otherwise. I've had this kicking around in my head since I woke up at 4:47 a.m. this morning. I wrote this over my lunch hour a short time ago. Again, please read and share your thoughts. I write for me, certainly, but what good is writing for myself if I can't share it? (FINE. Making a couple of bucks in the process isn't all that bad either, but that truly is secondary. I really just want to go all "Sally Field" and be able to say "they like me! They really like me!") Leave me alone, I'm tired and punchy. IN ANY EVENT....  Have a read, tell me what you think of it. Tell me what you think happened. Tell me who you think these characters are and what they've do

Lillian's Christmas

While some of you that may read this blog were first introduced to my writing via The Diligent , you may know by now that science fiction/fantasy is not my normal genre. I'm more of  a "Nicholas Sparks with a dark side" kind of writer. From time to time, though, an idea will grab hold of me without letting go and even I don't know where it will lead me until I stop and read the words that I've written. This story is one I wrote about four years ago, entitled " Lillian's Christmas ." Set in my hometown village of Pittsford, New York, Lillian's Christmas follows William Masters as he struggles to raise two small children in the wake of a family tragedy. Inspired by my love of Christmas and all that surrounds it, this story was my attempt to capture the spirit of the holiday season in its purest sense. Below is the first chapter. For many reasons I am reluctant to publish this story, yet something inside me compels me to do so. I give you this firs

Clowns Can Eat Hot Death... With Arsenic Sprinkles.

As Halloween rapidly approaches let us all rejoice together in the spirit of the holiday. Come on now, join hands, and let's all wish for the clowns of the world to be swallowed up by a giant, magma filled fissure in the Earth's crust, never to darken our doorways with their creepy, painted faces ever again. I jest, of course. Sort of. I do not really wish all clowns to die flaming deaths in the depths of Hades. Mostly. I do not know when, where or why I developed such a deep-seated case of coulrophobia. I must admit though it is far less an actual fear that it is an instance of clowns just irritating the ever-living snot out of me. (Ok, sidebar here... where did the descriptive terminology that is "ever-living" come from? Snot is not ever-living. I don't know why I really said that, except for the fact that when you put "ever-living" in front of something it makes it that much more dramatically poignant. In any event, that's another Halloween topic

The Reunion, Chapter 2

At the rate ideas are coming to me for this story I should have it completed in about a month or so, depending upon how much I am able to write per day. What I present to you now, for your reading pleasure, commentary, and inquiry, is the uncut, unedited, raw first look. However, as I am writing this to be published, this unfortunately will likely be the last look you get before it's completed. So please share any thoughts or suggestions now and perhaps you can help me shape this story.  Without further ado, please join me as we follow Jamie Tanner on the journey his life takes after a chance encounter at... The Reunion. _____________ Chapter 2. Jamie sat on the deck and sipped his coffee. A warm, early September breeze blew strongly and caused ripples to work their way across the surfaces of the large, in ground pool and hot tub to his right. Closing his eyes he breathed in the sweet, late summer air and embraced the warmth of the sun on his face. Inevitably his mind drifted