Thank You

I just wanted to say what an amazing year it's been. A year ago I made a silly resolution I wasn't planning on sticking to because I never do stick to my resolutions. But I tried it out, and I succeeded.. Not every blog was a story. A lot of it was just a paragraph of mumbo jumbo. Why then, did I continue? 'Cause it prevented writer's block from setting it. No matter what I wrote down, I no matter how it came out, there was always something there and as a writer that's relieving to know. I don't know how many people followed them word for word, but the point was I did it for me and I turned blank walls into sentences. I do not think I will continue this this year. Well actually, I very well might. But I think it best to drop this blog in all of its confusingness. I write for myself and I am glad to have been able to share that with you this past year. Hopefully the next will bring just as many stories. I hope to focus more on my novels rather than random bits and pieces that get me distracted. Maybe you will see them in the sores one day. Thank you.

The Final

She sat at the desk, the cat was on the printer and the music playing in the background. It was here she continued doing what she loved best - writing. No matter how short or long the sentences, no matter the time of day. It was amazing really, how many hundreds of stories could be pumped out from the single individual. How many different phrases could be typed in a keyboard's lifetime, how many stories it could share. Already, she could see the letters being worn off, but they had and would last her for many stories to come. She wasn't finished yet. She was only just starting., and with a bang of illegal fireworks outside, why not?

[118 words]

Prisoner's Podium

He stood at the front of the room, speaking freely in front of the other inmates. A guard stood off to the right behind him, another by the door, but he could tell nothing was going to happen here. There was that air of calamity. Everyone in the room was hanging on every word of the prisoner. He looked a smart man, a positive one, didn't look like he really belonged here at all, but Thomas had said there were wrongs in his past, just as there was with everyone here. Even himself, although they were not the same reasons that got himself locked up. He shook the thought from his mind and focused on the inmate, Nick the others called him. For a flicker of a moment, their eyes met and he could swear there was a hesitation in his spoken words, but he looked away quickly and Damien dismissed it as part of his imagination.

"You are only as good as what you let let yourself be."

Absently, Damien found himself nodding slightly, agreeing. He could listen to those uplifting talks all day, if there weren't people out there wanting to kill him.

[195 words]

Part of Life

It wasn't what you expected from a space like that. A place to feel young and be silly, yet still have incredible goals to achieve and the ability to share that with others. To an outsider it wouldn't sound that bad. Probably sound a piece of cake. To those who knew though, they knew it was epic, and troublesome and hard and challenging, somehow worthwhile. You had to give it credit. It wasn't just for children, because it wasn't the easiest game out there. Sure it was fun, competitive. But if you truly engaged with it, it could be incredibly challenging and that, it would appear, to make it beautiful. For while the goals could be so important to you and yet so hard to achieve, they seemed so much closer, much more within reach, than the ones you set yourself in the outside world. You could see exactly where your goals were headed in that space. But not in life. Life was strange and unpredictable. And this was just another part she associated with it.

[176 words]

Two Sentences

Life doesn't always turn out how you want it to.

Deal with it.

[13 words]

Sick Dog

"I'm sick!" he screamed at the two men trying to drag him away. "Go away!"

"We don't care if you're sick. You've got work to do."

"Do you want to get thrown up on?"

Just then, a third man entered the room and Terrier looked away, finger still twirling around the sheet he had in his hands.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"He says he's sick," one of the men advised, grabbing a fistful of Terrier's hair and dragging him into the light, "Does he look sick to you?"

Terrier chanced a glance into the eyes of the man who had turned his world into horror and chaos.

Cameron studied him for a moment, before lifting a hand to touch his forehead. Terrier stepped backwards, stumbling over the mattress but managing to hold himself up.

"If he says he's sick, he's sick," Cameron ensured, and Terrier held in a sigh of relief. "He knows we'll beat the crap out of him if he is caught lying, and he has no reason to lie. Isn't that right Terrier?"

Terrier gave a nod of his head, but stopped at the nausea it caused him.

"Leave him rest," Cameron ordered the other two away, "He'll only have twice as much to do when he's feeling better."

Terrier shut his eyes as they left the room, before collapsing to the mattress and pulling the sheets tight around him. Cameron had a soft side? No. Things were only going to be twice as worse when he was next checked up upon.

[257 words]

Writing Woes

Writing comes and goes. Certainly, unless you're in the mood to write, a lot of it can turn out poor, or even horrid. Quality should be valued over quantity, but sometimes, you have to give yourself permission to write badly. That way you can learn, edit and improve. It's the will power more than anything that keeps you going, and it is a hope to avoid such long, writing droughts that stories, or random thoughts and musings, can be written down - whether in ten or a thousand words. It's is not so much the stories or the whatever you classify them as that are important, but the value of what you are doing. What you are trying to achieve and prove to yourself you can do. It is an exercise to keep the blood in the typewriter keys and the ink in your veins. It is one hell of a task.

[152 words]

If You Believe

Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer played softly in the background as the overexcited child bounced around the room.

"And I hope he gets me that doll I wanted, and-"

"He won't be getting you anything at this rate," her mother warned, "not until you're fast asleep."

The girl practically jumped into bed at the words, pulling up the quilt and grabbing her Christmas Bear from the side."Did you put out the milk and cookies?"

"Yes," her mother assured, tucking in the folds of the sheet.

"And the letter?"

"Yes."

"And the carrots for the reindeer?"

"Yes." She moved around to the other side of the bed now, "Everything's ready. Now go to sleep. It'll be morning before you know it."

She kissed her daughter on the forehead, before switching off the lamp.

"Mum," came the voice through the dark, "Santa is real, right?"

She paused at the door, her words processing for just a moment before they flowed out. "He's as real as you want him to be. If you believe, he will come."

[174 words]

Change in Christmas

The best Christmases are when you are young. When you go to bed so early, for fear Santa will not come, when you wake up before the sun has risen and sneak a look at the presents under the tree. Peek through the window, the carrots for the reindeer are gone, and the milk on the table is drunk, crumbs still left on the plate. The Christmas movies seem so real, and the carols you sing as loud as you can. Something changes in that over the years. I'm still trying to work out what that is.

[97 words]

Merry Christmas all!

Sleep or Lack Of

No matter how much he tried to rub his eyes, the sleep remained in them, that tired feeling, drowsiness and wanting to sleep all day. His nightmares were getting worse and did little to help his sleep pattern. Not until he could stop looking over his shoulder every two seconds, wondering when the worst was gonna come or if it had already. He needed to get out before this place ruined him. It already had ruined him. He just wanted to go home, have one night of peaceful sleep and keep it that way.

[94 words]

Light and Dark

Life was what you made it, or so the saying goes. If you were feeling blue, or grey, if there were clouds that carried rain, it was up to you to pick up the umbrella and dance. To make patterns out of the raindrops or prance into the puddles with glee. To hear the music in the sound of the pitter patter on the roof or get the popcorn when the lightning shows. And when the sun comes out again, you have to enjoy it as long as you can. For should a light go out one day, there's always a chance the dark will stay.

[106 words]

Air of Nothingness

He stared at the shadows making lines on the cement, a cage he was trapped inside of and one he wasn't sure of the escape route. This whole thing had turned into a mess. A complete and utter mess. Now he couldn't tell which way was right and wrong, who to believe and what to follow. The metal bars were cool against his skin as he rested his forehead against them and waited for a time he wasn't sure would come. A time when the problem would sort itself out, without all the worries and hassles it was supposed to bring. Just for it to evaporate into an air of nothingness, and he wouldn't be happier.

[116 words]

Handle It

He couldn't do it. He couldn't play the part of a criminal. He didn't know what he was supposed to say, and it wasn't like he could start rehearsing. They wanted answers now, ones he didn't have. Had Cameron really expected him to pull off something like this, or was he actually wanting Damien to tell on him? How he'd love the courage to do that. To tell his story, to tell every last fact. But how could he? He'd never truly trusted anyone after that, too afraid of getting hurt. It had impacted on the rest of his life, and would continue to do so for as long as he lived. The question was how long he'd be able to handle it.

[123 words]

Twelve Hours

She wondered what the day would be like when she would finally just sit there one day, and write. All day. Without a distraction. Without a writer's block. Just sit, for twelve hours a day, and write. She wondered if it would ever happen, that day of progress she longed for so much. Naturally, it was up to her. The task lied within her hands and she was the only one stopping herself from that, but it would be a difficult thing to pull off, no doubt. There was always something lagging, something tugging at that wishful desire. And when the day came, perhaps it would make it easier on every time after that. Perhaps the meaning of leaving blood on the typewriter keys and ink in those veins would begin to sink in.

[134 words]

Regret or Relief

Did he regret his actions? That was a hard question and one he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to answer. He couldn't have predicted how either outcome would turn out, but if it was as simple as 'I'm going to do this or this' then no, he didn't regret his decision. He was able to live. His brother was able to live. The situations weren't ideal, nor pleasing. But seeing the outcome now, he knew. Everything happened for a reason, that's what he'd told the inmates. And things were start to look up. Look worthwhile. They'd seen more than a lot of people ever would in their lives. That would enable them to help, to give. To love. That, at least some what, outweighed good from bad.

[128 words]

All Failures

17 December 2010

The cool air greeted his face, refreshing and to an extent, calming. He steadied himself and his breathing as they pulled up at the front of their destination. It was dark, evening. Isolated. That was the scary part. Who knew what could hide out here without being seen? Well, he knew, again to an extent. They wouldn't. They'd never see it coming. And worry and guilt began to set in again. Why him? He didn't even know what was in store, or for who. He only knew his part in it all, and whether that would result in success or failure, he didn't know. He saw all outcomes as failures. Nothing good could come from this. Could it?

[118 words]

Certain Prediction

It required a well thought ou plan - or at least, the character's plan did, so the writer's needed just as much. Otherwise, how was the character supposed to play out a perfect plan, if the author hadn't planned it out first? It needed to be done, it was just doing it. It was just getting into the mind of that character and seeing exactly what he saw in the whole situation. Why on earth he would want to perform it in such a way, so unpredictable as it was... How was he to ensure it as predictable as possible? What made him so certain that this was the best way? Only he and the author knew - or at least, would know, when she could think it up in the first place!

[133 words]

Run and Snarl

He ran, hoping his sister wasn't too far behind, leaping over low bushes and ducking under low hanging branches as whatever it was that was behind them continued to tear up everything in its path. It wasn't an ideal situation to find themselves in. He ran zig zags through the shrub, darkness closing in everywhere he ran and it occurred to him he could no longer hear his sister's panting and he stopped in his tracks and looked around through the trees. He called out to her. She couldn't be lost. They couldn't afford to lose each other now. And then came a snarl from one of the creatures that took him running again. Now what was he to do?

[120 words]

Wonder

Sometimes it makes you wonder,
Through all your mistakes and all your blunders,
What life is truly meant to be,
Away from all those DVDs.

A fantasy world, a life in dreams,
Reality though, it never seems,
To meet those expectations,
Filled with too many minor frustrations.

A single day, a single thought,
Another battle to be fought,
Nothing is as it is told,
Many things you too, withhold.

A story, a tale,
A glory, a fail,
A life may be taken,
While another awakens.

A smile, a cry,
A worthwhile lie,
Until death do us part,
Hold together a broken heart.

Sometimes it makes you wonder,
What life is truly meant to be.

[114 words]

Worth It

It was the night everything had come together, piece by piece. The beginning of what would be a long and hard journey through the trails of words and letters. A single scene, a single idea, followed by another, which would soon lead into the thousands of words of a manuscript draft. Now, would she have to change that? Not all of it, but an important part. A core. Could she do it? Was she up to it? How would it change the novel and would it be for the better or the worse? How many more months or years would it take, how many nights spent lying awake, eagerly thinking of all these crazy ideas... and the ones not quite formed that frustrated her. It'd be worth it in the end, whatever it took. She was determined of that.

[139 words]