What are writers?
Writers are organisms of evolution. We have to adapt to the changing world of readers with attention spans ranging from horny teens to Buddha. We have to be willing to change, to become better, to push against that invisible wall in our brains that separates us from the next bout of brilliance. If the world asks for fire we must learn how to burn, how to make the words smolder to ash between our fingers. Ice and we must pack it around our hearts and sprinkle over our typewriters.
Then there are spans of time when the fingers have to rest. They feel neither hot nor cold. They feel no vibration. The heart that races in the passion of the scene races now in anxiety because your hands, feet, heart, and brain are chained to a register. Sometimes a writer walks a path that takes them very far away from the keyboard . . . but when you come back you are closer then ever before to breaking that invisible wall. The words are sticky at first, but after a few days of practice they flow with ease. . .
until the chains reappear.
Writers know true sacrifice, true challenge. Because if we didn't you would never read about it. We are the warriors of time. The last knights on the unspoken crusade. We are the artists in a world where art is dying.
So how do we reawaken the written word? What does it take to stop men, women, and children from watching the youtube version of a short story? How am I getting you to read this right now?
Because I am also asking you to start writing. You all have something to say about the world-the only way it will be heard is if you pick up pen, paintbrush, instrument or dancing shoes and use them. Art is only dead when we fail to express it. So please, support your local artists and writers, not because they need to eat and pay rent like you, but because they have a message that may very well change your life forever. Thats why writers still write. The dying artist still has something to say. The word has a specific weight to it. The word puts your own unique version of a scene into your head. The written word makes it your own in a different way
Peace guys,
-Samwise
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Thursday, October 7, 2010
William Haddock Part 3
He had done it.
She was looking right at him. He didn't care too much for her expression- actually he didn't care what her expression was as long as she continued to pump down the window. She was yelling at him, at least she was talking to him even if it was obscenities and threats to sue him if he did anything like that again. She yanked her head back and forth at traffic and then at him while they cruised at the same speed: too slow.
All Billy could do was smile and wave the insults away. It was the smile he used to flash at Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake. Back when he was at the top of his game. It must have worked because she calmed down enough to rationalize.
"Do you need something? Do you need help or something?"
"No, everything's fine, I just wanted to tell you how beautiful your voice is."
She stared at him for a few seconds and then began to roll up the window.
"Wait, I'm serious. I work in music- I'm a scouting agent . . .I know what I'm talking about!" He fumbled in the jacket pocket beside his seat for a few precious seconds and then thrust the card out for her to see. She squinted at it through the glass. Billy thought she must not have perfect vision because she had to roll down the window again and leaned farther out. Her lips moved as she read the words "William Haddock, ARock Records, Tampa, Fl".
They had to slide forward again before she recognized him.
"Oh my god! you guys are the ones who work with Ingrid Michael! I love her!"
"Ha, Ha, yes, we are. Ingrid is a close friend of mine actually. I'd love to arrange a meeting.the glaze in her eye was what Billy was counting on. She was baited. Now all he had to do was reel her in and post for prize money.
He put his car in park and leaned far enough forward that she could take the card from him. I think in the car behind him "Money" by Pink Floyd had just begun on the radio. He smiled to himself as she read over the card.
"Call me. We will set up something with the producers. I can make you big darling." Calling her darling was a big risk, but when she nodded vigorously he know the contract was as good as signed.
That is until she furrowed her brow. Billy swallowed hard and asked her as innocently as a fifty year old can manage. "Is something the matter?"
But by then the cars ahead of them had started to pull forward with increasing velocity. Whatever had been causing this traffic constipation from hell was finally over. She turned to ask him something but as soon as her mouth opened the driver behind her decided to lay on his horn, shaking them both into action. She shook her head and he waved at her and began to roll up the window. She did the same, but not before making the well known sign language combo " I'll call you".
Billy drove off, pushing the Mercedes as fast as it could go, leaving her behind so she wouldn't see him bouncing up and down and squealing like the kid with the transformers doll. He flipped open his phone and called his boss.
"Hey J, I just found you're next Diamond Record slot." As his boss was congratulating him William's eye wandered to the clock 5:53. Looks like he would be late for dinner, but he didn't care.
The price was well worth it.
She was looking right at him. He didn't care too much for her expression- actually he didn't care what her expression was as long as she continued to pump down the window. She was yelling at him, at least she was talking to him even if it was obscenities and threats to sue him if he did anything like that again. She yanked her head back and forth at traffic and then at him while they cruised at the same speed: too slow.
All Billy could do was smile and wave the insults away. It was the smile he used to flash at Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake. Back when he was at the top of his game. It must have worked because she calmed down enough to rationalize.
"Do you need something? Do you need help or something?"
"No, everything's fine, I just wanted to tell you how beautiful your voice is."
She stared at him for a few seconds and then began to roll up the window.
"Wait, I'm serious. I work in music- I'm a scouting agent . . .I know what I'm talking about!" He fumbled in the jacket pocket beside his seat for a few precious seconds and then thrust the card out for her to see. She squinted at it through the glass. Billy thought she must not have perfect vision because she had to roll down the window again and leaned farther out. Her lips moved as she read the words "William Haddock, ARock Records, Tampa, Fl".
They had to slide forward again before she recognized him.
"Oh my god! you guys are the ones who work with Ingrid Michael! I love her!"
"Ha, Ha, yes, we are. Ingrid is a close friend of mine actually. I'd love to arrange a meeting.the glaze in her eye was what Billy was counting on. She was baited. Now all he had to do was reel her in and post for prize money.
He put his car in park and leaned far enough forward that she could take the card from him. I think in the car behind him "Money" by Pink Floyd had just begun on the radio. He smiled to himself as she read over the card.
"Call me. We will set up something with the producers. I can make you big darling." Calling her darling was a big risk, but when she nodded vigorously he know the contract was as good as signed.
That is until she furrowed her brow. Billy swallowed hard and asked her as innocently as a fifty year old can manage. "Is something the matter?"
But by then the cars ahead of them had started to pull forward with increasing velocity. Whatever had been causing this traffic constipation from hell was finally over. She turned to ask him something but as soon as her mouth opened the driver behind her decided to lay on his horn, shaking them both into action. She shook her head and he waved at her and began to roll up the window. She did the same, but not before making the well known sign language combo " I'll call you".
Billy drove off, pushing the Mercedes as fast as it could go, leaving her behind so she wouldn't see him bouncing up and down and squealing like the kid with the transformers doll. He flipped open his phone and called his boss.
"Hey J, I just found you're next Diamond Record slot." As his boss was congratulating him William's eye wandered to the clock 5:53. Looks like he would be late for dinner, but he didn't care.
The price was well worth it.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
William Haddock coming tomorrow . . . promise
yea. life. . .
It's not a slow thing as of late. Between school and work this week I have had ZERO time to write . . . which is a total qq factor because I was writing not just a few days ago that writing only takes a half an hour to produce material. The pressure set in today, and after a way too long day at work (1-9:00) I find myself shoveling food faster than is deemed healthy, and cutting through a mountain and a half of work that is due at o'dark thirty in tomorrow's AM. . .
Yea, I realize I'm making excuses. This should stop.
William Haddock continued later.
<3 Guys, thanks for your patience.
-Sam
It's not a slow thing as of late. Between school and work this week I have had ZERO time to write . . . which is a total qq factor because I was writing not just a few days ago that writing only takes a half an hour to produce material. The pressure set in today, and after a way too long day at work (1-9:00) I find myself shoveling food faster than is deemed healthy, and cutting through a mountain and a half of work that is due at o'dark thirty in tomorrow's AM. . .
Yea, I realize I'm making excuses. This should stop.
William Haddock continued later.
<3 Guys, thanks for your patience.
-Sam
Good evenin'
You are probably wondering what has happened to William Haddock eh? Well, safe to say he is still stuck in traffic, terrorizing local girls . . . just frozen for the time being.
The post didn't happen tonight and I apologize about that. He will definitely return to you tomorrowish. Sleep well guys! And stay on top of your assignments!
Peace
The post didn't happen tonight and I apologize about that. He will definitely return to you tomorrowish. Sleep well guys! And stay on top of your assignments!
Peace
Monday, October 4, 2010
Writing exercise
in exactly one minute, I am going to write for exactly half an hour. lets see where this gets me.
Last night in my dreams I left work and went out to eat with some friends. What was meant to be a five minute leave of absence ended up being close to an hour. So, of course, in my dream I had no concept of time, and it may have very well been five minutes later when I returned.
And much to my dismay the front door was unlocked, and the entire 300 lbs Iron safe was gone. Just picked up and walked out. And even thought it was a video retail shop, some jewelry was gone from the glass casing, as was my jacket. I called the police, my boss, and they all stumble through the door like drunken maniacs. Their eyes are red and my boss, Gary's tone is rasped and short.
He is beyond mad.
I shake uncontrollably as the police ask me questions
[two minute break to pour out some tea]
My voice is as far from being hysterical as a hair's decent on a knife. My eyes are on Gary as he paces back and forth on the phone with his boss, Raymond. The police seem to fade as ghosts into the background as I stand and walk through their filmy presences and stand before Gary and Raymond, who is now miraculously here. They are standing inside the back room, which was left untouched for lack of key access. It crosses my mind strange that the robbers would lift 300 lbs of dead weight
[4 minute break for kitty pettings and retrieving tea]
...lift dead weight and still not rip the door off the hinges. They are talking about me, and standing there makes me remember what Gary asked me when he got through the door "where were you when this was all happening"
I tell him.
He looks at me incredulously. "What are we going to do about this?"
"Sir, before you let me go, please salvage any respect you have left for me and give me the opportunity to put my two weeks in first."
That gives you till november. In my dream we were in March. Some notice.
It was here that I begin to cry hysterically-remembering the conversation, realizing that I didn't want to leave my job, and knowing that I had absolutely no control here whatsoever.
What's interesting is I am strangely invisible to their conversation. Raymond is weighing the loss over the mistake, and for some reason, thinking it not necessary to let me go. Gary has no choice but to agree. He polarizes between what he said to me and what he is now saying to Raymond.
I stand ready to be dropped into a boiling pot of oil at any minute. When the drop is made I am jacks shattered kidneys. Raymond leans around Gary and stares straight at me. Without moving his lips I know already what he has asked.
There is no escaping the dream now. There is no way to avoid the truth. At this point its a dangerous battle against your subconscious. To lie to the Regional Manager is to lie to your very subconscious. The deepest cut.
The hair falls upon the blade.I respond with the truth of where I was.
I am told to get out. But I do not leave. They do. The surroundings do not change but the season does. I am leaning against the wall of the abandoned building, looking down the sights of a rifle. The broken in doorway is silent for a few minutes . . . but then I hear it. The soft "Ssssssssssss" of a creeper.
It slides across the doorway, aiming right for me. With a sad smile I squeeze the trigger and the creeper explodes, caving the old store and me into a silent crater.
This is when I woke up into another dream.
[30 minutes have gone by, and look at how much was written. There were a few points to this exercise, one is to show you what its like to take breaks while writing, the other is to show you how much can actually be done in just a few short minutes a day. Hopefully this encourages you to realize all it takes is a small block of time, preferably the same time everyday. Just write what comes naturally to you at that moment. Soon, with practice, this should help when it comes to writing essays and other papers for school. Thanks for reading guys, catch ya on the flip side.]
Last night in my dreams I left work and went out to eat with some friends. What was meant to be a five minute leave of absence ended up being close to an hour. So, of course, in my dream I had no concept of time, and it may have very well been five minutes later when I returned.
And much to my dismay the front door was unlocked, and the entire 300 lbs Iron safe was gone. Just picked up and walked out. And even thought it was a video retail shop, some jewelry was gone from the glass casing, as was my jacket. I called the police, my boss, and they all stumble through the door like drunken maniacs. Their eyes are red and my boss, Gary's tone is rasped and short.
He is beyond mad.
I shake uncontrollably as the police ask me questions
[two minute break to pour out some tea]
My voice is as far from being hysterical as a hair's decent on a knife. My eyes are on Gary as he paces back and forth on the phone with his boss, Raymond. The police seem to fade as ghosts into the background as I stand and walk through their filmy presences and stand before Gary and Raymond, who is now miraculously here. They are standing inside the back room, which was left untouched for lack of key access. It crosses my mind strange that the robbers would lift 300 lbs of dead weight
[4 minute break for kitty pettings and retrieving tea]
...lift dead weight and still not rip the door off the hinges. They are talking about me, and standing there makes me remember what Gary asked me when he got through the door "where were you when this was all happening"
I tell him.
He looks at me incredulously. "What are we going to do about this?"
"Sir, before you let me go, please salvage any respect you have left for me and give me the opportunity to put my two weeks in first."
That gives you till november. In my dream we were in March. Some notice.
It was here that I begin to cry hysterically-remembering the conversation, realizing that I didn't want to leave my job, and knowing that I had absolutely no control here whatsoever.
What's interesting is I am strangely invisible to their conversation. Raymond is weighing the loss over the mistake, and for some reason, thinking it not necessary to let me go. Gary has no choice but to agree. He polarizes between what he said to me and what he is now saying to Raymond.
I stand ready to be dropped into a boiling pot of oil at any minute. When the drop is made I am jacks shattered kidneys. Raymond leans around Gary and stares straight at me. Without moving his lips I know already what he has asked.
There is no escaping the dream now. There is no way to avoid the truth. At this point its a dangerous battle against your subconscious. To lie to the Regional Manager is to lie to your very subconscious. The deepest cut.
The hair falls upon the blade.I respond with the truth of where I was.
I am told to get out. But I do not leave. They do. The surroundings do not change but the season does. I am leaning against the wall of the abandoned building, looking down the sights of a rifle. The broken in doorway is silent for a few minutes . . . but then I hear it. The soft "Ssssssssssss" of a creeper.
It slides across the doorway, aiming right for me. With a sad smile I squeeze the trigger and the creeper explodes, caving the old store and me into a silent crater.
This is when I woke up into another dream.
[30 minutes have gone by, and look at how much was written. There were a few points to this exercise, one is to show you what its like to take breaks while writing, the other is to show you how much can actually be done in just a few short minutes a day. Hopefully this encourages you to realize all it takes is a small block of time, preferably the same time everyday. Just write what comes naturally to you at that moment. Soon, with practice, this should help when it comes to writing essays and other papers for school. Thanks for reading guys, catch ya on the flip side.]
Sunday, October 3, 2010
Part 2:
Billy stared in disbelief at the Hispanic man in the van leaning so far up against the wheel that it might very well have been attached to his abdomen. His wife and kids sat half hidden behind him.
None of their mouths moved.
On the other side of him was a fat faced pustule looking kid was slamming his transformers doll against the dashboard. His mom behind him was running her fingers through her hair in exasperation and clearly seemed to be considering throwing the child onto the highway. Or at least Billy was. "No, No, No . . . where the flying fuck is it?" The cars all contained faces that neither matched the savior's voice or sex. And then the cars began to move again, along with the voice, which seemed to be drifted further and further away.
Billy harassed the car in front of him like he was trying to get barrier at an ACDC concert. The voice was getting fainter and fainter. He threw his head from side to side, jerking the car this way and that in an attempt to find where she was.
Then the voice stopped. Billy's eyes may very well popped out of his head at that point. He was being ridiculous and he knew it. The silence seemed to unveil the insanity of the matter. There was no way he could have heard a voice. He could barely hear the American Flag toting Harley that guttered by the car twenty minutes ago. Billy was so concentrated on keeping his heart wrapped inside his chest that he almost hit the Hispanic family's van as it cut in front of him.
The Mercedes' breaks squealed to a stop just centimeters away from the rusted fender. His heart and eyes somehow managed to stay attached to his body this time, but Billy had had enough. In submission he let his forehead sink down onto the steering wheel. His mind started to draw up a rough draft of what his resignation letter would look like when suddenly he thought he did hear Amy Lee on his radio. Some sick joke from God probably. Billy lifted a salt and peppered eyebrow so he could glance at the traffic ahead of him and the CD Display. But it was off. 5:39 pm.
The girl was singing again. And this time it sounded as though she was sitting right next to him on the faded leather. His head jerked up in desperation and rested on a slender girl in the car just next to his.
She was sitting up straight in her seat, cocking her head back and singing as though there was nothing else in the world that was more important. Billy stared at her with jeweled eyes and licked his lips like she was a roasted chicken that he had been starving a week for. He was frozen in captivation. The world seemed to narrow in on this girl and stay there. Slowly Billy pressed on the automated window button so that he could be closer to the sweet Muse singing just five feet away.
The sound of the highway rushed into his car, flooding him with heat, exhaust and mufflers vibrating, all vying for his attention but Billy paid no heed. All that mattered was the strawberry haired muse, singing just slightly louder as the song entered a bridge. He had to get her attention. He called out.
But the sound was lost in the rush hour outside.
He called louder, but the sound was absorbed by the rolled up window of her green VW bug.
He tried waving frantically but she was too absorbed. He had still not understood why he heard her voice, and only hers, but he didn't question it. He only knew that this was his ticket into ten more years in the music industry. If only he could get her attention!The cars ahead were starting to move .
William Haddock had to think of something fast.
There was a lound Thunk as the three year old blackberry connected with the window of the bug, and a lound scream that nearly burst William's ears.
Hey guys
So it's Saturday night, and I'm still trying to figure out this whole blog thing. Establishing a schedule of what to write when and so forth.
So there is a guy on the internet who does a live show on Ustream Sunday through Thursday for about an hour. Some of you may know him, he does commentary for Starcraft II, Day[9]. Good guy. Funny stuff. Not the point though. Point is that he takes weekends off. This sounds like a good thing to do, since I am trying to graduate and work a steady job. So tonight is just a lackadaisical night. Reading "A Game of Thrones", drinking some wine, and just generally relaxing.
There will definitely be a post tomorrow though, stay tuned guys, and thanks again for the support.
-Samwise :)
So there is a guy on the internet who does a live show on Ustream Sunday through Thursday for about an hour. Some of you may know him, he does commentary for Starcraft II, Day[9]. Good guy. Funny stuff. Not the point though. Point is that he takes weekends off. This sounds like a good thing to do, since I am trying to graduate and work a steady job. So tonight is just a lackadaisical night. Reading "A Game of Thrones", drinking some wine, and just generally relaxing.
There will definitely be a post tomorrow though, stay tuned guys, and thanks again for the support.
-Samwise :)
Friday, October 1, 2010
William Haddock
It was a sweltering summer afternoon on the interstate. The sea of cars spread out like a river of writhing, screaming heat. A fifty five year old William Haddock wrung his hand on the steering wheel and glanced at the clock every time his car inched forward and slammed to a stop. 5:33 pm . . . .still 5:33 pm ... and still so far until the drive home. But that wasn't all on Will's mind. His cell phone went off.
"This is Billy" 5:34pm
"Billy! how's it goin' dude?"
"Currently in traffic at the moment sir, is there anything I can do for you?"The 2003 Mercedes' breaks were going with each slam and so was his mind.
"Listen Billy, Lexi Starfighter fell through, they're just not what the label's looking for right now."
"Oh is that so? I'm sorry to hear that, she was supposed to be the next Hayley Williams." Fuck. . . and the leathered band slammed down onto the leathered steering wheel. That was is best client.
"Yea, well, not so much, look Billy, we need your back up."
There was no back up.
"Oh yea, sure Dan, I'll have a meeting set up next week,"William's heart splashed into his chest.
"Awesome, thanks Billy, see you tomorrow-oh and don't forget those contracts you said you would write up"
"not a problem sir, they're as good as on your desk right now."
"Thanks Billy, this is why you're the man!" and the cell phone lit up when Dan disappeared. William threw it onto the dashboard and looked around in despair. He would have to look for a new job, and soon his would be replaced by someone half his age, like what they did with Richard . . . who was now the cocky 27 year old who dangled Williams job above his head like a worm on a hook. What the hell am I going to do? the words sang out in his head, reverberating past the car and joining the waves of heat.
It was here that William Haddock heard the most beautiful voice in the world. She was belting to a broadway song he had never heard before, but the clarity and tone was spot on. He looked to either side of him, eyes mad with desperation.
He had to have that voice.
It was perfect. It was the next Amy Lee. It was going to be his next idol.
But the cars around him contained neither rolled down windows or women.
(To be continued)
"This is Billy" 5:34pm
"Billy! how's it goin' dude?"
"Currently in traffic at the moment sir, is there anything I can do for you?"The 2003 Mercedes' breaks were going with each slam and so was his mind.
"Listen Billy, Lexi Starfighter fell through, they're just not what the label's looking for right now."
"Oh is that so? I'm sorry to hear that, she was supposed to be the next Hayley Williams." Fuck. . . and the leathered band slammed down onto the leathered steering wheel. That was is best client.
"Yea, well, not so much, look Billy, we need your back up."
There was no back up.
"Oh yea, sure Dan, I'll have a meeting set up next week,"William's heart splashed into his chest.
"Awesome, thanks Billy, see you tomorrow-oh and don't forget those contracts you said you would write up"
"not a problem sir, they're as good as on your desk right now."
"Thanks Billy, this is why you're the man!" and the cell phone lit up when Dan disappeared. William threw it onto the dashboard and looked around in despair. He would have to look for a new job, and soon his would be replaced by someone half his age, like what they did with Richard . . . who was now the cocky 27 year old who dangled Williams job above his head like a worm on a hook. What the hell am I going to do? the words sang out in his head, reverberating past the car and joining the waves of heat.
It was here that William Haddock heard the most beautiful voice in the world. She was belting to a broadway song he had never heard before, but the clarity and tone was spot on. He looked to either side of him, eyes mad with desperation.
He had to have that voice.
It was perfect. It was the next Amy Lee. It was going to be his next idol.
But the cars around him contained neither rolled down windows or women.
(To be continued)
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