Ssmm• Show stories

i want you to come with me. open your mind, and follow me on a journey.

first, we're going to a little house in the suburbs. it's a beautiful, sunny day. all of the neighborhood children are out playing in the gorgeous weather. well, all except one. have a look through that window over there.

there's a seven year old boy, sprawled on the carpet. he's obviously not afraid of physical activity, as would be obvious could you see the callouses on his fingertips, fueled by a knack for scaling trees and other objects. or the scratches on his knees, minor casualties of his adventurous exploits.

but today, this boy isn't neck deep in mud, or tempting fate by hurling himself from high branches. no, on this glorious day, this rough and tumble child is sprawled on the soft carpet. what is he doing? what is holding such rapt attention? look closely. he's reading. the title of the book is "The unabridged Three Muskateers." and he's over halfway through. now look around the room. the floor is covered in legos and hotwheels. but there, amidst the rubble, what is that? it's a severely dog eared addition of "Moby Dick."

and this, my friend, is where my story begins. it was at this point that a lifelong love affair with literature began. when that seven year old devoured the classics in their original form. for the next years of his life, he became a voracious reader. his favorite days we're equal parts water park and library. he grew, he got stronger, and all the while he never stopped reading. he plowed through Jacques, Horowitz, Henty. he devoured Perretti and Dekker. he read every Tolkien book he could get his hands on. LOTR, the histories, the silmarillion, roverandom, the hobbit (of course). he read straight fiction, thrillers, mysteries, fantasy. he read non-fiction. volumes on military history, biographies of politicians.

he spent enough time at the library that the entire staff knew him by name. soon, the kindly librarian upstairs had to work to find books he hadn't read. the librarian would escort him about, filling his arms with books, and his head with knowledge.

somewhere along the line, this love of prose stretched towards its logical conclusion: the boy began to write. he wrote essays and stories, he filled journals with observations. he excelled in any course involving writing or reading. he found that his monolithic reading habits had given him the tools a good writer needs. he instinctively grasped grammar, without a technical knowledge. proper punctuation and sentence structure were never consciously sought. they just happened.

which brings us through an early graduation at 16, through two years of community college, to Texas A&M university. it is his eighteenth year on this earth, and his thirst for literature has not faded.

that boy, that's me.

hello.


-------------the more boring stuff----------------

i write mainly action. i can't help it, it's just the way my mind works. i can't say how most of the world sees their surroundings, but i imagine my view of them can't be very common. you see people, i see potential combatants, obstacles, and witnesses. and after those things, then i see people. you see architecture and buildings, i see angles, fields of fire, lines-of-sight, and escape and evasion routes. you see a problem in the world, and a path to solve it. so do i, but the way i see the problem is a metaphorical enemy force that i must overcome and route, and i see the level to which i overcome it as an indicator of whether or not i'll face it again.

i didn't choose to be this way. it wasn't something i wanted, something i worked for or selected in any way. it's just the way God wired me. and seeing as He's got some experience on me, i figure He knew what He was doing. and so I've run with it, as my writing will no doubt show.

other items:

I do not write erotica. ever. not my thing, never will be. i think that's the business of the people involved wherever they do it. when it arises in a story, i'll try to deal with it tactfully and cautiously, but don't expect any details. if you're looking for that, look elsewhere.

you might notice that in my more recent writing, two things are cropping up:

Language

and lack of capitalization.

the second can be explained away with my lack of a respectable word processor, and my laziness.

the first is the result of an Epiphany. the path of logic is thus:

(1) humans are innately flawed. one of the results of such flaws is foul language. it happens, people use it in times of dire circumstances or extreme stress.

(2) the proper goal of the writer in creating and cultivating characters is to give them life. in order to avoid two-dimensional robotic characters, and author must attempt to encompass the entire spectrum of humanity. weaknesses must be examined alongside strengths. emotions of an unsavory nature must be exposed as well as the pleasant ones. through the acknowledgment of true human nature, an author can create not mere characters, but people.

so we slap the two together and learn that in pursuit of the creation of genuine and real characters, these characters must, by need sometimes... cuss. i try to keep it minimal in my writing, i avoid all but the most basic curse-words, and i don't overuse them. no run-on rants here, just a single word where it is required by the situation. to my mother, for this, i apologize. this is not the way i was raised, not the value instilled in me, but i feel it helpful in my pursuit and improvement of the strengths God gave me.

and so without further ado, my writing.

(postscript: i do have several non-violent pieces. find these in the list entitled "the random writs" and one in the list "story
beginnings.")




High Flight:

Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth
And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings;
Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth
Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things
You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung
High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there
I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung
My eager craft through footless halls of air.
Up, up the long delirious, burning blue,
I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace
Where never lark, or even eagle flew -
And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod
The high untresspassed sanctity of space,
Put out my hand and touched the face of God.

~John Magee Jr.



Per Ardua
(To those who gave their lives to England during the Battle of
Britain and left such a shining example to us who follow, these
lines are dedicated.)
"They that have climbed the white mists of the morning;
They that have soared, before the world's awake,
To herald up their foeman to them, scorning
The thin dawn's rest their weary folk might take;
Some that have left other mouths to tell the story
Of high, blue battle, quite young limbs that bled,
How they had thundered up the clouds to glory,
Or fallen to an English field stained red.
Because my faltering feet would fail I find them
Laughing beside me, steadying the hand
That seeks their deadly courage -
Yet behind them
The cold light dies in that once brilliant Land ....
Do these, who help the quickened pulse run slowly,
Whose stern, remembered image cools the brow,
Till the far dawn of Victory, know only
Night's darkness, and Valhalla's silence now?"


------------------------------------------------
more about me:

I am the watcher in the shadows. i am the observer. i am two parts perpetual outsider, one part life of the party, and one part sullen and unwilling participant. show me a group of people having fun, and i'll show you a group i'd just as soon remain on the fringes of and watch. i am a conscious and constant study of all that is around me, while at the same time trying to distance myself from it. what would make me happiest? invisibility and a notebook that never ended to fill with observations.

I'm the guy in the corner, on the roof, huddling on the outskirts, and hidden in that tree. i like it this way. i can mix it up, elicit laughter and applause and affection as well as any other. but i choose my own path over that one. i have set myself upon the road of solitude, and have every intention of following it stubbornly. and don't try and stop me, because not only have i been watching you...

...Iv'e been taking notes.



-----------------------------------------------

9:20 PM, November 2.

i've been fighting this enemy for hours. i've thrown every weapon i've got at it. and it's barely even cracked. my playlists have expired, multiple times over. my head is sore from repeatedly being slammed against any hard surface available. iv'e delved deep into my creativity reserves, only to find them empty. i just sit here and stare at the words on the screen, random and meaningless series of black lines to my weary brain. this is a long road. i've taken but a few steps.

2,083 words.

welcome to NaNoWriMo




a great influence on my work of late has been Webcomics: Sam and Fuzzy, GunnerKrigg Court, Gone With The Blastwave, Everyday Decay, The Zombie Hunters, and Questionable Content. check them out if you haven't.



Also, I'm Blogging about my experiences trying to write a "Real" novel. check it out here: http://thewordsmithsunion.blogspot.com/