"Being a good writer is 3% talent, 97% not being distracted by the internet." Cyrus Farivar

Saturday, April 30, 2011


While I was hoping this would be a piece to submit to the Writer's Digest competition, I'll need a few hours to mull it over and potentially write something else. This was written to Blackbird by The Beatles. The song really puts me in a somber mood, even though the weather here is actually sunny.


           They said it wouldn’t let up. What the almanac claimed to be a perfect day, was in fact ruined by the news citing rain. Forecasts could always turn out wrong; the meteorologist had been wrong before. But after watching five channels, they all made the same prediction. That was the last time he believed The Old Farmer’s Almanac. It’s worn spine and loose pages had pointed him to choose today.
            Instead, he was staring out at an overcast as far as the eye could see. Worse than the ashen clouds was the downpour of rain that had started late in the night and had no intention of drying out. It wasn’t time to make the drive to the church. Between now and the ceremony, he had a couple hours. Tugging on his ironed over-shirt, he took another glance from behind the window; unchanged. The sound of cutlery on dishes brought him from his thoughts. Everyone was having breakfast; something he knew he should partake in. Perhaps a cup of coffee and some toast would ease his anxiety. Or make him heave the contents of his stomach across the altar. Another strike against what should be a perfect day.

Friday, April 22, 2011


            A single finger twitched; his first movement in hours. After several moments, he finally inhaled, and coughed until his throat burned. Rolling to his back, he shook a few more times until his lungs decided that they were clear. Dust flowed in through the holes in the glass, whipped up by the storm winds. Struggling as he searched his jacket, he tied a bandana over his nose and mouth. Propped on his elbows, he glanced around. He wasn’t sure how he’d made it wherever this place was.
            Crawling to the windowsill he eased himself up and took a chance to peer out. Far below was a vacant street. Hesitant, he stood and continued to watch for movement. Nothing but the wind. Coughing, he stepped back and sank into the lone chair. Emptying his pockets, he only found a lighter, a crank radio, and a penlight. There seemed to be only one way into his location, the door currently blocked by some overturned appliances.
            It took more energy than he had to get the dishwasher and fridge out of his way. Sinking to the dusty hardwood, he wiped his forehead with his sleeve. His ears perked up hearing the howl of the wind pick up, large dust clouds billowing. Sandstorm.
            This had been his sanctuary last night, but the gusts had easily flung debris to ruin his bubble. All he could remember was trying to outrun the storm…

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Quiet Patio

            Everyone seemed to be tracking his movements. With most tables full, he looked for a quiet place to sit among the murmuring and watchful eyes. Kids at his old school had long since accepted him; but now he was forced to play “new kid.” It was painfully obvious because his lack of uniform. Having finished moving into his dorm, now seemed like the perfect time to snag lunch.
            His parents meant the best for himself, his twin and their cousin. This boarding school would be a good place to restart. At least, he felt it would be for everyone else. Keeping his eyes averted after giving up his search for an empty table, he moved for the doors to the patio. Crowds weren’t his thing. The only thing he could be thankful for was being unable to hear most of their hushed voices. Slipping out the door, he was greeted by chirping birds and a slight breeze.
            Most the tables were vacant save for a girl and a man that appeared to be a teacher. Noticing the girl, he smiled and moved towards a table next to hers. She was munching on a salad, and seemed a tad lonely since she was outdoors by herself. Sinking into a chair, he sighed in content. All he wanted was lunch and to hide away. It only took a second before he was eagerly feasting on the sauce-drenched meatloaf.
            In the corner of his eye, he could see the lonely girl starting to pack her things. His shoulders sunk as he saw her stand; he’d ruined her peaceful lunch. Stirring the mashed potatoes and corn into a swirled mound, he looked up hearing the clatter of dishes. Somehow she’d ended up on the floor. On his feet, he was at her side and started to clean up the spilled romaine and iceberg mix that now littered the concrete. She still seemed stunned, but appeared unharmed. Getting everything back into place, he smiled, holding out his hand to help her up.
            As she stood with his aid, he felt his heart pound; he continued to stare, unable to look away. Returning the gaze, an equally small grin in thanks, she glanced to the man he’d earlier assumed was a teacher. Speaking to this girl in some unknown language, he let her fingers slip from his own as she walked off with the strange, tall, man.
            Alone, he blinked a few times after several minutes. She was the first to ever stop him in his tracks. Gathering the garbage and trays, he ducked inside to return the trays; he was suddenly looking forward to this school year.

Monday, April 18, 2011


This is a character I really want to write more about/for. He holds a special spot in my heart because he's quite different than most characters/muses that live in my head. Somewhat of a villain, he's mostly tortured by his mind. I think this is the perfect place to explore more about him. Once again, another character created for a roleplay with Craie and our buddy Hells.

            The clock ticked next to him as his eyes focused on the hands vibrating ever so slightly. He could care less about the time. In fact, he wouldn't have noticed if the timepiece danced about singing the time while holding a plate of bacon. At this moment, the house was silent. Normal people were sleeping and relaxing to their sweet dreams. All he could do was move about his room. Insomnia has plagued him for years and had a knack for choosing when he should remain awake. Shifting on the sheets, he lay on his stomach with his feet at the head. Eying his desk, he debated whether to venture the few feet of carpet to lounge in the swivel chair. But not liking that idea, he turned and moved his attention on the bookcase. One hand twitched at the thought of reorganizing the tomes. Devan had spent countless nights arranging the books. He'd collected so many over the years they were overflowing the shelves and had since taken up the spare room in his closet and under the bed.

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Chipped Paint

 This feels really out of season to write; but it stemmed from a roleplay I was in with my good buddy, Craie. Good grief, this was fun.

Chipped Paint 

 The flakes had long since stopped their descent. With the roads thoroughly covered, the small town would wake up to a white wonderland. Some had already woken to clear a path out and tread the roads. But rather than brave the snow, he stood inside, staring out at the dim neighborhood. He heard the gurgle of the coffee pot, signaling that he could finally partake of his morning brew. Padding into the kitchen, he poured himself a hefty mug and sipped the dark liquid.
            Remaining in the kitchen for a few moments, he continued to sip the bitter drink; observing how the backyard started to brighten as the sun rose behind the overcast. He contemplated adding cream or sugar, but decided against the idea. A snowstorm was supposed to be rolling in; glittery frozen flakes would dump sometime in the evening. It would only be a few hours before few would venture out in predicted blizzard conditions. Glancing into his mug as he was slowly nearing the bottom, he set it in the sink and ventured back to his room.
           It had been years since he lived in the podunk Mid-West town; the last time being his senior year of high school. The instant the celebration of graduation had come and gone, he left and never looked back. His only contact had really been with his parents and the calls to his sister. Finally, he had been convinced to join his family for the holidays. When he pushed open the door, his room was still littered with high school items and things he hadn’t packed up for college. Tugging open his closet, he rummaged through the clothes that still remained.

Sunday, April 10, 2011

Glossy Eyes

 This is what happens when I watch Toy Story 3, and remember when I would have adventures like Bonnie. I think this deserves a rewrite later though.

Glossy Eyes

            He dug through the contents of the box, not quite sure what to expect. Initially, he was supposed to be sorting through things to decide what to donate. Several boxes sat around his home office, delivered unceremoniously by his mom. Pulling out a few worn concert shirts bearing bands that had long since broken up, he added them to a growing pile. A part of him hoped there was a hefty price online for these rock and roll treasures. Just as it seemed he was reaching the end of the box, his phone buzzed. Digging in his pocket, he managed to answer before the ringing stopped.
            “Hi Jodi… yeah, just looking at some stuff my mom dropped off,” he said, returning his attention to the box. The person on the other end continued, while he pulled open shirts and tossed them in box for donation. Reaching in, he felt around until his fingers finally brushed against something that certainly wasn’t a shirt.
            “Jodi, I need to call you back… Yeah… later,” he said, hanging up without another word. Staring into the cardboard package, he smiled.
            A pair of glossy eyes returned his gaze, unblinking; the marbled eyes were slightly chipped. The hair was matted, and patches were missing. But somehow, it looked the same as when he last saw him. Tentative, he pulled the plush bear out and examined its form. Smiling, he brushed a finger across the stitched smile and velvet nose.
            Staring at the stuffed animal, he thought about how much the teddy bear had been lugged around. This was quite the find in all the mixed boxes. His mind wandered to all the adventures he and Frazz had.
            “Daddy!” A small voice brought him out of his thoughts, as little arms hugged his neck. Grinning, he turned and cuddled the child. Setting the bear on his desk, he tickled the little boy’s sides.
            He could reminisce later.

Friday, April 8, 2011


I've been listening to White Rabbit from the Sucker Punch soundtrack a lot. That version, and another by The Blue Man Group. This is a working title, cause I can't think of anything else. 

Tea -        

            He laughed at the absurdity of it all. The words that sprang from the 'pillar’s mouth were certainly nothing he should be concerning himself with. Shaking his head as the caterpillar continued, he finally had heard enough, and placed his teacup back on the mismatched saucer at his seat.
            “That’s preposterous. Obviously this is some imagined story due to all the time you waste with that pipe of yours,” he spat, not sure how much longer he could listen to him talk.
            “She came from above. I know she did,” the other answered, taking another drag off his pipe before he exhaled circles of colored smoke. Each ring made a slow ascent before finally altogether disappearing.
            “If you spent your time wiser, I’m sure you’d realize that drug has most certainly gone to your brain,” he said, his gaze holding firm.
            “I think it’s a marvelous story! Perhaps she could join us for tea!” Hatter grinned, gesturing to all the empty seats around the table. “
            “This she he speaks of won’t be joining anyone. We should be focusing on more important matters; Like keeping your heads down so you don’t anger the Queen.” The last thing the rabbit wanted to do was spend his days defending his friends against the Queen’s court.
            “She’ll come, you’ll see, Whitey,” the Caterpillar said.
            “Don’t utter a word of your nonsense to the Queen or any of her cards. You’ll lose your head,” the rabbit said, a finger pointed at the caterpillar.
            “Perhaps she’ll find me insightful.” Whitey’s nose twitched in his annoyance.
            All he wanted was a peaceful moment for tea.

Wednesday, April 6, 2011


            Despite the lingering heat, people were still bundling up; soon a breeze would sweep the warmth out to sea and the cool air would take its place. A radio blared somewhere in the throng, adding to the cacophony of voices. People lounged, anticipating the upcoming show. Anxious parents gave their watches furtive glances.
            He on the other hand, wasn’t planning on watching the spectacle. The last thing he wanted was to be among a crowd. But there Summer stood, arms crossed and standing with Spring. She giggled at something he said, leaning on him as they stood more among the crowd. Looking casually over to Fall, she remained reclined in her chair, stoic and disinterested.
            A loud bang caught everyone’s attention; the darkened sky suddenly lit with a brilliant gold.
            Iron, he thought; other colors started to pop and sizzle, making it rain glitter. The blue of copper made a smiley face; Spring brightened as more colors joined in the display.
            Strontium, Barium and aluminum followed in quick succession, adding more shapes to the smoky skyline. Hearing oohs and aahs, he rolled his eyes. Few people understood the science behind these explosive shows; all they enjoyed were the colors. But it was probably better this way. Fireworks could be dubbed a thing of magic to children and none would be the wiser.
            A rainbow of metals littered the night.
            As the grand finale illuminated the faces, the last bang was a downpour of burning flakes. Cheers erupted from the crowd before people started to gather their things. His mind wandered to why it smelled of rotten eggs. Overhearing parents explain to their children, he snickered when they claimed it to be sulfur. Oh if only they knew the truth, Winter thought.