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Fictional Tendencies

Warrior Horse

Time laughs

as I sit and scroll,

reading what I’ve written

a dozen times already.

It’s good, too good.

(It’s probably crap.)

So I’ll stare at this image,

my attempt at photography,

and contemplate some sort of meaning.

What does it mean?

Nothing. It means nothing.

The rear “Warrior Horse” design looks great,

that’s what I get for liking pretty things.

And the Joker, who’s the Joker?

I’m the Joker. Tossed out, by my own doing.

No one really wants it or likes it. The Joker was only made cool

because of Heath.

(He, The Joker, was great before Heath and he’ll be great after him, except for Jared Leto’s version.)

Out of the entire deck I pick these two cards, I like the “deck” stacked against me.

This mindless rant is making me hate myself, but

the show must go on.

Like the “Warrior Horse” I’ll live to see another day.

Time to play the hand I was dealt.

Time to write what must be written.

Development

Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, I tend to write only when I’m inspired. Writing this way prevents me from forcing an idea or story. But it also hinders my ability to complete larger stories. My goal for this year is to set aside more time to expanded on a story that I started last year, a story that I have slightly more than four-thousand words written. I was writing around four-hundred words a week. This is isn’t sufficient, sure it could be argued that at least it’s productive, but in the larger scheme of things (a book) it would take a decade to complete.

My goal will be to set aside at least three nights a week to write. Hopefully, this will be both productive and inspiring.

What are some of the ways you develop stories, ideas or characters? I would love to read about them. Or do you have any suggestions? Please let me know.

And as always, thanks for reading, get out and create and enjoy!

 

Took a Wrong Turn

I remember this land,

when the desert laughed at the rain

and the hills danced

under the sun.

Long ago, before

the trees were uprooted

and urban decay

scarred the valley with pox.

When the cactus

chased the rabbit

and the Raven conspired

to murder its brother Crow.

As the tortoise yawned,

time played on,

a game of Chess with man.

The Rook took the Queen

as the Pawn took the Knight

while the King lost his crown.

Yet, I remember a time

when the tumbleweeds

gossip was the only

news in town.

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The shadow on the mountain

kept the rain away.

The valley thirsty,

eagerly awaits.

The lark sang

its last song,

as time

wasted away,

and the sky got lost

as it wandered

endlessly

into the night.

 

 

Morning Ritual

Every Saturday morning I wake up with the intention of writing. I walk downstairs, turn on the coffee and then go into the garage to let the dogs out into the backyard. Of course I give them morning loves. I set my coffee mug onto the receiving port, place in a pod, click shut and press brew. While the coffee is brewing I open blinds and crack open the windows, letting in the cool morning air.

I sit down on the couch, enjoying the silence as the house and everyone in it (except me) sleeps. I turn on my laptop, log in and read previous writings. My coffee is done so I add a drop of creamer and then sit back down and stare at the screen. I slowly sip the hot coffee while staring endlessly at the screen of my laptop.

I’m still staring.

Still staring.

Sipping coffee.

Still staring.

Nothing.

I find it interesting that when my world is quiet and I’m surrounded by silence I’m unable to write. Sure, when my world is chaotic and filled with noise I can allow myself to become inspired and I write. But…what is it that holds me back? Ultimately it’s myself. I’m afraid. Afraid of failure. But why? I’ve shared plenty of poems and smaller writings without any regard to whether or not they are accepted or even liked. But this larger story in my mind , which has been growing for close to six months now, I’m afraid of it.

Hopefully, soon, I’ll find the courage to start writing about Chayse Rever again.

What do you do to get yourself out of a writing funk? I’m eager to hear. Please comment below.

As always, thanks for reading, get out and create. Enjoy!

On Rebuking Inertia

Never give up, keep fighting especially if what you’re fighting for is worth it. The only one who knows that is you. An honest account of a hard fought life. Sure it hasn’t been easy because if it had, you wouldn’t be who you are today. You wouldn’t be where you are today. And I wouldn’t be typing this.

Media By Vox

A very dear friend of mine recently penned a piece which you can find here; this piece in particular followed a conversation that we had shared, like many other conversations we’ve shared in the past.

To say that my life can be tumultuous at times is a bit of an understatement, and oftentimes my attitude doesn’t aid me in any way, shape or form.  It would be easy to blame it on the various events of my life that have led me to where I am now – sitting in front of my computer typing this – but blaming everything on consequence and history seems incredibly irresponsible, not to mention ineffective for change.

From a very early point in my life I was faced with difficulty and hardship, thanks in no small part to inattentive and abusive parents and a broken social services system that viewed me as little…

View original post 653 more words

To Walk a Mile

When the sun rises but after the dust settles,

the journey begins,

the long and arduous adventure

called life.

I came from hell,

enrolled and went back again.

This dust doesn’t taste the same,

it tastes acrid.

Bitter with the blood of my would be life takers.

My vision, that white light, blurred.

Blinded by the silence of death.

The agonizing screams, the fear of the unknown.

The horror of the reapers cold grip.

And then blackness.

The pomp and circumstance,

the idyllic staged parade,

for the boy who no one cared enough to celebrate.

Waving flags and going through the motions.

Hell is more welcoming than this false revelry.

(The liquor is better too.)

The winds shift West

and with them escape.

Or was it the false promise of citrus

scented panties.

Another hell. This one cancerous.

The silent pain of failure

burns white-hot, yet I smile

the bravery smile.

I would be remiss,

this mission, toxic.

My toxicology shows signs of life.

And the dust settles.

I sigh, why me?

The phoenix rises again.

This generation’s Job.

The phone rings.

The son rises,

but only after the dust settles.

Photographic Central: Poetry Highlight

Today at Fictional Tendencies I would like to highlight a poem by a dear friend of mine, Carl Garrard. Please head over to his blog and read A Surrender to Light.

As always, thank you for reading and get out and create. Enjoy!

A Moment…

What does it take to write? What does it take to create? My answer to these questions is a moment, it takes a moment. For the last week or so I’ve had the thought in my head that I should drive down to the local Barnes & Noble during my lunch break and wander through the aisles and judge the books by their covers. Yes, I’m aware of the old adage “Never judge a book by its cover.” but that’s how you end up surprised, sometimes. Don’t get me wrong, I still gravitate towards my tried and true (read proven) authors, but there’s something exciting about not knowing what you’re getting yourself into. Before I go too far off on this tangent of book shopping habits let’s return to the beginning. That moment.

This morning I was expecting, hoping, for clouds but instead I was greeted with clear blue skies. Despite the disappointment in the beautiful clear weather I brought my camera long with me on my way to work. I didn’t notice anything on the drive in and certainly I was too busy working to pay any attention to my camera or possible photo opportunities but when lunch time came and I stepped outside I notice something. There was a chemtrail in the sky. It had been there some time and an atmospheric breeze had smeared it across the sky. And as my luck would have it, it was smeared right across the sun. Inspiration instantly struck me. In that moment I decided to take a few pictures. In my mind I was thinking this might not work being that I’m looking directly into the sun but what the hell, might as well. When the headache I earned from staring at the sun finally faded I looked at the results of my photography session in the camera and came away surprised. I was excited, almost giddy.

It takes that one moment of inspiration to create. Observe everything but make sure to take the time to also enjoy the quiet times.

For those of you interested while perusing the aisles of Barnes & Noble I picked up the following books:

  • The Origins of Creativity by Edward O. Wilson – The title intrigued me. Being that when I’m not sharing prose or poems I blog about being creative I thought this would be informative.
  • 1984 by George Orwell – I’ve never read this book. It’s a book that’s been on my radar for quite some time and since I recently finished The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger (I didn’t like it too much) I should finally read 1984.
  • No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy – The first book of McCarthy’s I read was The Road and it was haunting. It stuck with me. Within the last six months I came across more of his novels and recently read Child of God and Outer Dark, both books stuck with me.
  • The Crying of Lot 49 by Thomas Pynchon – I picked up Gravity’s Rainbow years ago and couldn’t get through it. I then tried to read V. three separate times and couldn’t finish it. I was determined to get through a Pynchon book and luckily for me Inherent Vice came along and I loved it. Pynchon’s next book Bleeding Edge was another book I couldn’t put down. Sometimes I get stubborn and even if I don’t like some works I’m determined to read them all.

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Thanks for reading. Get out there and create. Enjoy!

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