Fictional Tendencies

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.


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…

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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.


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

Gossamer’s Fountain

The tangled web


Save the droplets of dew.

A home long


With the thought of you.

A garden left


With each morning new.


When the sun rises,

Be ready.

The day isn’t promised.

You aren’t owed anything.

Go out and…

Earn it.

Live it.


Photographic Central Highlight

Today in Fictional Tendencies I wanted to highlight something non-fictional, Photographic Central.  Carl takes the classic Sunday drive, mixes in the old, adds some new and appreciates everything in between. He felt inspired and decided to meditate, reflect and create. Moments like these in today’s busy lifestyle are rare and it’s such a blessing to be able to get out and enjoy it. Thanks for sharing Carl.

To enjoy, and hopefully be inspired, click on the Sunday Drive link.

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


I ran my fingers down your spine,

I knew you were mine.

Your name?

Didn’t matter,

I held onto your every word.

You’ve taken me places

I’ve never dreamed of

and I hold you in my arms

Embracing you as if this was our last goodbye.

I ran my fingers down your spine,

One last time.

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