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

Friday, June 24, 2011

Unforgotten Feelings

           They sat across the table, the blonde woman before him staring at his face. He wasn’t sure what was wrong—she seemed to be speechless but he was unsure why. All he knew was that this was the woman he had sketched, filling up two drawing books. She’d been the one to absorb his thoughts and enter his dreams. And now here she was in the flesh, and all either of them could do, was stare.
            Smiling, he sat, hoping he would speak. His heart beat out of his chest at the sight of this woman. She was everything he drew and more. Glancing at her hands as she clutched the glass of water her knuckles were white, he reached his hand out. Placing his hand on hers, he grinned. The simple wedding band on his finger gleamed up at her as he squeezed her hand gently to ease this tension she seemed to be overcome with.
            Her lips, having been pulled into a taught line, finally turned slightly, a small smile finally slipping on her fa├žade. Returning the expression, he started to pull his hand away, but was stopped when she took his. Following her eyes, he saw her gazing at his ring. He had no idea where it was from, but that it signified his union with someone. The inkling at the back of his mind that they were married made his heart race. She must have been the one.

Monday, June 20, 2011

A Boy's Determination

I'm determined to pen a script for a Hey Arnold movie about him discovering his parents. Heck, it could be live-action, or another cartoon. But as long as we finally learn what happened to them in San Lorenzo. Major cliffhanger that I can't get out of my mind.

A Boy's Determination            

             Cloud slid overhead, moving in the distant wind. He’d been observing the movement for a time, no intention of vacating his spot anytime soon. Sighing, he rolled on his side and stared at the corkboard across the room. It was covered in pictures, paper articles he couldn’t quite read, maps, and other small trinkets. Reaching on his bedside shelf, he pulled down a simple framed picture. As many times as he’d heard the stories of his parents, he loved to hear how they met. His father grinned up at them, his goofy expression, arm in a sling, some band aids covering his cheeks, and sporting quite the black eye. Meanwhile, he mom stood by his side, laughing and holding his good hand gently. Together, they stood by a large tree, her head resting on his shoulder. Brushing his thumb across the glass, he set the picture aside.
            Perking up as he heard his friends laughing and playing some game in the street, he peered out his window into the alley. Having lost their baseball, it appeared they were playing a similar game with a crushed soda can. Resting his head on the sill, the boy gave a nod to his best friend, who waved at him. Departing the window he returned to his bed and snagged the journal that sat adjacent to the picture frame. Flipping through its contents, he sighed and took a long look at the map his father had scrawled on the final pages.
            Every night he’d stare at the images, burning them to memory. It was his ritual to remind himself where his goals were and what he needed to do to accomplish them. He’d find them in San Lorenzo, even if the sleeping sickness killed him to do it.

Tuesday, June 7, 2011

Wandering Mind, Yearning Heart

 This is definitely going to be longer. But for now, a shortened version of what's to come! And it's part of the #royalty series!

Wandering Mind, Yearning Heart

            Nothing in the pages made sense. Every turn of the sketch book continued to puzzle him. The faces were familiar, but he couldn’t put names to them. He could guess and call these strangers whatever he wanted, but that’s all they were; strangers. Two months in this hospital and he’d filled up four books with the same people. Each book now spread across the table before him.
            Flipping the page of one, he watched the people change. Expressions of the same person filled one page before shifting to someone new. The facial features were similar, which lead him to believe they were all related. But kin to whom, he wasn’t sure. His next book had three children, happy, carefree and grinning up at him. However the final two books were his biggest mystery. A woman stared up at him with penetrating eyes despite her smile.
            Tentative, his finger traced the pencil, leaving a small smudge. No one could tell him who these people were; they were as clueless as he. Sighing, he closed the other books and continued to stare at her. Flipping a few pages, he stopped again, staring at another joyful expression gracing her delicate features. Still nothing signaled he knew her name. Inhaling deeply, he tried to calm his pounding heart; some part of him remembered her, yearned and loved her.
            He just wished the rest of him would catch up with his heart.