Something New

I just thought that I would share something new with you all. You can read it on one of my blogs. ssmarks-crazy.blogspot.com . Tell me what you think.

Seeing Red: Giles' project

I sit, staring at it. The monster glares back; mockingly silent, almost daring me to do something. I can’t help but think how unfair this is; I mean, I worked hard only to be rejected. This wasn’t the first time, either. Rejection has become synonymous with my name.

It started over three years ago when I tried for the first time to gain acceptance. We met in the lobby of slick New York hotel, and she treated me to dinner so that we could chat, discuss the future. I didn’t know then what the monster truly was, so I brought it along, even showed it to her! She simply smiled politely, flashing those beautiful white teeth, and told me we would not work.

Undaunted, I flew to Seattle and met my next prospect in a coffee shop on the waterfront. I showed him the monster as well, and he seemed intrigued. So we met again, for several weeks we would sit and talk over coffee, and it was going well. Until that fateful day when he didn’t show up. I waited for over an hour, only to receive a phone call. He was polite, but he said this would work for him, or the people he worked for.

Denver was even worse: she led me on for almost a year, even working with me in my attempts to create new masterpieces. Every day we labored, sharing in each other’s lives. But she completely ignored my original creation. She would not accept that part of me, and so I could not accept her. They say rejection is easier when it is mutual, but that’s only another lie we tell ourselves to make it easier.

I tried again and again, each time falling flat on my face. It wasn’t as if it was my fault, it was this thing, this monster. So I sit, glaring. Now I’m going to fix this. I will not be rejected again.

I reach into my desk drawer and remove an ancient weapon. Unsheathed, it has the power to destroy lives or make me into a king. Naked, it sits in my hand; I’ve mastered it’s use over the years. I think I can see the monster change before me, but I no longer hear it’s plea for mercy. With due prejudice I slash! It lies before me, bleeding helplessly on my desk, but not dead, so I slash again, over and over! For hours I sit there, butchering the thing that ruined my life.

I cannot recognize it anymore, not as the work I carried with me all those years. I see it for what it truly is: a beast in literature form! To think that I could naively present this abomination to the public makes me sick, so much so that I nearly wretch. But I have found satisfaction so I will lay myself down to sleep.

And as the sun rises on a new day, I will begin anew. The monster is dead, and from the ashes of the creature, I will bring forth a true work of beauty, something they will have no choice but to accept.

Project Time:

You must write about something red and patience, 500 word minimum. Stop signs, stop lights, yield signs, do not enter signs, anything that has to do with traffic.......FORBIDDEN. Go for it. Deadline is Thursday, August 10.

New Posts Coming!!!

Quill & Think is back in the saddle folks!

Giles will be posting this weeks project soon!

Changes Time

OK so it seems we have a dead place here. We seem to no longer be motivated to write for our collective site. A few of us have gathered at a coffee shop now and agian but never in groups larger than three. So if you have not yet been a part of one of these gatherings and would like to join us for a time of writing drop a line to Gabe, Giles, or myself. If you dont care about writing any longer then keep quiet and let the rest of us work.

And yes I know that noone reads this blog anymore.

Summer Approaches

Ok this group has been in hibernation for the later part of winter and it is now spring. Now I have recieved some requests from a few of you to do a get together and write thing. I love this idea and think we need to plan a day in the early part of summer (June or early July) to do this. Please post your ideas here and we will try to make it happen.
One idea that Karina told me was to go to that Body Worlds thing at the natural history museum and do some journal writing. Great idea but I think we should open it up to write whatever. Well Im sure that everyone has a good idea and I am sure that you all still check this site for stuff. So lets have it.

A Writer's Plea

Ok, so I went to London to do research for my mystery project, and things have changed, so I need to meet with as many of this group as I possibly can....in person. I would like to sit down and do a brainstorming session, at the very least with Gabe, Steve, and Julie (since you all are in town and slightly familiar with my project), so if this can be pulled off, I would be overwhelmingly grateful. Let me know what you can do:-)

Giles

New Idea?

Just a suggestion for this week:

What needs changing? How should it be changed? (Where will we start?) Stream of conscience, persuasive, poetic, argumentative, quote-based, etc.

Just been on my mind--the state of things here. People are so wrapped up that they aren't living the life, ya know? Anyway, it's a thought.

Packaging beef [inside propaganda]

Carbon monoxide - it's what's for dinner.
It's also a slogan that will never be embraced by a beef industry blitzed by consumer groups for injecting carbon monoxide, the toxic gas found in tailpipe exhaust, into meat packages.
The carbon monoxide, which the Food and Drug Administration says is harmless at the levels being used, keeps the meat looking red for weeks by replacing the oxygen that would otherwise turn it the color of an old leather shoe.

I can't honestly believe that this is what passes for news these days. But I say that all the time so this should be nothing new. First of all, I disagree with this article entirely as liberal propaganda. The first paragraphs paint an entirely different picture than the way this should have been "pitched" as an easy news story but this was front-page-center of the Denver Post this morning. Luckily, I had the time to chill in Starbucks this morning for about 40 minutes before I had to go to work.

To be completely fair, would you buy meat that looked like shoe leather, whether or not it was edible? Also, who are we to challenge what the FDA says is "acceptable" and if we can challenge it with gas in beef packaging, why can't we challenge it everywhere? I don't even understand why people even want to discuss this and why the people that invoked this article don't just shop at Wild Oats instead. Or be vegetarians.

If you actually read the article, the ending isn't nearly as ridiculous as the beginning but if you're just glancing at the beginning you'll (hopefully) become just as enraged as I did, which is why I read the entire article. Give me a break, people, you're complaining about an injection of gas that will not, in any way shape or form, harm you in this instance, but will entice you to buy the product that you should be buying. You can't tell me there's fault in making sure people buy a product that is edible instead of allowing them to pass it up as inedible just for the color. If meat started going "bad" and not being bought, the article is right, the prices would go up, and then we might as well all shop at Wild Oats anyway, right?

I so don't think so...

The other day I scanned this at Wired -

Blogging Is So Punk Rock
"Right now the blog world has the feel of the punk rock scene in the late '70s, and for much the same reasons. The music business in the '70s had become disconnected from its audience. Record execs, busy getting Rolexes from REO Speedwagon, were horrified at kids paying $3 to see the Clash play a benefit for Marxist youth. Punk rock became a beacon for creative people of all walks. We thought that energetic counterculture would last forever, but it didn't. So enjoy the blogs while you can."

There are two things I have to say to this. The first is that the punk ideal is still alive. It is harder to find, the edge is nearer the end, but there is still an energy pushing against the strands of convention. The second thing I have to say is that Blogs will not die. I wrote the other night on the Denver Metblog that blogs are still figuring out how to change the world, and how to do something different. There are those that will be analogized with Green Day (Gawker media being a prime example) for their mainstream turn and supposed abandonment of the punk/blog ideal of independence. But there are those that will do something that no others have tried. On this point I cite this very site, we are doing a community, something that seems to more belong at a forum or something like Urbis instead of a blog format. But we've got something here that underscores the flexibility of this media. Blogs have pushed the edge out further, but they have in no way eliminated it.

- Gabe

Week Ten - Project Nine: Let the discrepancy begin!

Allrighty then! Thanks to everyone who jumped in for the add-along. I think next time I'll pay more attention to the originator of the idea. Todd said that we'd need to commit to an order and I see now that it might have worked better that way.

This weeks project?
Find a story, news article, journal, book, blog, song, political figure, anything.
Link to it, and then tell us why you disagree with them.
Research is good, but if you just wanna shoot it off the cuff that's cool too.
Just make us think that you believe what you're saying.
Ready ... Set ... Disagree!

And Now For Something Compleatly Different

Hokay so. This site is a place to put up anything that is writing related, so i am putting up something that is writing related. This is an 'intro' to a story i have been working on for about 10+ years now and i thought that i should share this little snippit with all of you. This story will probably never be finished in my life time but I like to think that some day this will be my masterpeice.

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Bear Truth

It was a dark moonless night as Nick ran blindly through the trees. He was being hit by branch after branch in this maze of endless trees not knowing his pursuer was closing fast. His foot caught a low branch and it sent him rolling down a hill that earlier he had struggled to climb. As he came to his feet he could hear the sound of something coming toward him trying to run he noticed that the fall had left a deep gash in his thigh. He limped toward a clearing ahead of him hoping that he could make it to his truck but as he entered the clearing his pursuer had caught up to him.

Nick turned to see a hellish looking beast peering over the trees, parting them like one would look through curtains. The size of this beast alone would cause the bravest man past or present tremble in fear. Its claws were like that of grisly and its head was unlike any beast that he had ever seen. Nick moved as fast as he could to get to his truck, and as he entered it there was a jerk as if the truck was being lifted off the ground. He turned just in time to see the tail end of the truck ripped away. In front of Nick was the face of the giant grotesque beast. Its fangs were stained pink from a fresh kill and its breath smelled like rotting meat.

Nick opened the door and noticed that he was at least 15 feet off the ground. With a jerk of the vehicle he fell to the ground. The beast let out a blood-curtailing roar. Nick tried to escape but the fall broke several bones, making moving very difficult. With out warning the truck fell to the ground trapping Nick beneath it.

Run with it, this is your time!

An anonymous Thinker has been overheard saying that the Add-along was taken in an 'undesirable direction'. I have to say that I find that lacking. This is a take it where you want it kind of thing, if you don't like where I took it, and where Karina took mine, and where Steve took hers, then just 180 and do your own thing.

That's what it's all about, your two cents.

Keep it up!

Add Along will roll through the week! It has so much potential!
"Be your own voice." - Anonymous

Yelling Midgets

- I was riding my bike. Downhill? Yes. Too fast? Ummm, Plead 'The Fifth'. Anyway, it was too late to stop when she opened the mailbox. I mean, who knew that those blue mailboxes had swingy doors that open out? So she opens the door, gets behind it, and all I can think is that if I don't kill her, maybe I can get a date, and with a postal worker none-the-less. By the time rationality caught up enough to arrest and detain that thought, it was really too late to stop. So I did what any guy in my situation would do, I aimed the bike into the yard she was kneeled in front of, and bailed onto the grass. Hey, it seemed like a good idea.

- The problem with good ideas in 'too-late' situations is that they're rarely as good as they seem. The first indicator of this was the sprinkler head that was twisting it's imprint into my rib-cage. The second was a strangely slow moving blue Volvo. I swear it wasn't there when I put the bike on autopilot, but now, somehow, there it was. And my red, twenty-one speed mountain bike was making a bee-line for the driveway it occupied. I couldn't look...

-So I shut my eyes. (Blue.) It was shortly after I crashed that I began to feel the philosophical section of my psyche awaken and growl. Well, I thought, the mail slot is blue, the Volvo is blue, the sky...my knees are wobbling and knocking now. They soon will be blue. The postal worker noticed my spread eagle, contemplative position on the lawn. She let her eyes wander over me without appearing to be examining me at all. Maybe she noticed the azure socks I was wearing. Probably not. By this time my arms felt more comfortable under my head so I rested them there. My ankles were feeling stiff, so I crossed them. The neighbor's blue healer began to sniff at my socks. The postal worker walked away, her blue pants creased at the knees. Not that I could see her knees, she was walking away--I noticed this more clearly when she was kneeling and looking at me with her deep cobalt eyes, which weren't really looking at me at all. She was just rechecking the house number. Really. I feel I'm losing my point. The philosophy. So here it comes. The hill, six blue houses lined it. The bike, blue spangled handlebars (okay, so my sister pranked me and I haven't gotten around to defangling the sparklers). The mailbox, well, postal blue. Her eyes, ah yes, her eyes. They too. Mesmerizing. Tantalizing. But they weren't looking at me. Just philosophizing the house number, really. My socks, well said. The dog's collar, sapphire-studded, but I wasn't looking at the blue healer. I was for the duration gazing at the sky. Which needless to say, is the entire reason--not the girl, forget the girl--for my accident. And for my depth of thought. And perhaps for all of the meaning in my very, very, simple life.

-You thought I was done! Aha! But here is the most winsome part of all. It is the part when four of my comrades emerge from blue house # 5 and begin a straight-forward but reminiscent conversion of textile (movable, philosophical) grammarian terminology with me...

-The conversation went way over my head. Most of what they said was no more then gibberish. As they proceded through the conversation I stared at them blankly. These were not my friends. My friends never spoke this way. They were staring at me as I remained quiet during the entire conversation. After a moment of silence I shared with them my philosophical view of the color blue. And I pointed out all the blue items around. Now it was my friends who stared blankly. Then they revealed that the houses were in fact green and that my socks were mismatching shades of orange and maroon. I was about to ask them why I saw everything as blue when I remembered that I was colorblind.

-As my friends laughed at my realization, the door to the house whose lawn I had been occupying opened and out walked a fat bald midget with a pair of socks over his ears. He looked at me and then at my friends. Back to me and then at the red mountain bike sticking out of the side of his blue Volvo. His high pitched voice began screaming in French as the socks on his ears flopped up and down. My friends began laughing uncontrollably…

"Mind The Gap"

Ok here we are the moment youve all been waiting for. well mostly the moment eric has been waiting for. Karina has joined the group (Jane Eyre) . Give her a warm Q&T welcome.

The Conversion of Blue

- I was riding my bike. Downhill? Yes. Too fast? Ummm, Plead 'The Fifth'. Anyway, it was too late to stop when she opened the mailbox. I mean, who knew that those blue mailboxes had swingy doors that open out? So she opens the door, gets behind it, and all I can think is that if I don't kill her, maybe I can get a date, and with a postal worker none-the-less. By the time rationality caught up enough to arrest and detain that thought, it was really too late to stop. So I did what any guy in my situation would do, I aimed the bike into the yard she was kneeled in front of, and bailed onto the grass. Hey, it seemed like a good idea.

- The problem with good ideas in 'too-late' situations is that they're rarely as good as they seem. The first indicator of this was the sprinkler head that was twisting it's imprint into my rib-cage. The second was a strangely slow moving blue Volvo. I swear it wasn't there when I put the bike on autopilot, but now, somehow, there it was. And my red, twenty-one speed mountain bike was making a bee-line for the driveway it occupied. I couldn't look...

So I shut my eyes. (Blue.) It was shortly after I crashed that I began to feel the philosophical section of my psyche awaken and growl. Well, I thought, the mail slot is blue, the Volvo is blue, the sky...my knees are wobbinging and knocking now. They soon will be blue. The postal worker noticed my spread eagle, contemplative position on the lawn. She let her eyes wander over me without appearing to be examining me at all. Maybe she noticed the azure socks I was wearing. Probably not. By this time my arms felt more comfortable under my head so I rested them there. My ankles were feeling stiff, so I crossed them. The neighbor's blue healer began to sniff at my socks. The postal worker walked away, her blue pants creased at the knees. Not that I could see her knees, she was walking away--I noticed this more clearly when she was kneeling and looking at me with her deep cobalt eyes, which weren't really looking at me at all. She was just rechecking the house number. Really. I feel I'm losing my point. The philosophy. So here it comes. The hill, six blue houses lined it. The bike, blue spangled handlebars (okay, so my sister pranked me and I haven't gotten around to defanging the sparklers). The mailbox, well, postal blue. Her eyes, ah yes, her eyes. They too. Mesmerizing. Tantalizing. But they weren't looking at me. Just philosophizing the house number, really. My socks, well said. The dog's collar, sapphire-studded, but I wasn't looking at the blue healer. I was for the duration gazing at the sky. Which needless to say, is the entire reason--not the girl, forget the girl--for my accident. And for my depth of thought. And perhaps for all of the meaning in my very, very, simple life.
You thought I was done! Aha! But here is the most winsome part of all. It is the part when four of my comrades emerge from blue house # 5 and begin a straight-forward but reminiscent conversion of textile (movable, philosophical) grammarian terminology with me...

Add Along, Part 1: 'Too-late' Situations

- I was riding my bike. Downhill? Yes. Too fast? Ummm, Plead 'The Fifth'. Anyway, it was too late to stop when she opened the mailbox. I mean, who knew that those blue mailboxes had swingy doors that open out? So she opens the door, gets behind it, and all I can think is that if I don't kill her, maybe I can get a date, and with a postal worker none-the-less. By the time rationality caught up enough to arrest and detain that thought, it was really too late to stop. So I did what any guy in my situation would do, I aimed the bike into the yard she was kneeled in front of, and bailed onto the grass. Hey, it seemed like a good idea.

- The problem with good ideas in 'too-late' situations is that they're rarely as good as they seem. The first indicator of this was the sprinkler head that was twisting it's imprint into my rib-cage. The second was a strangely slow moving blue Volvo. I swear it wasn't there when I put the bike on autopilot, but now, somehow, there it was. And my red, twenty-one speed mountain bike was making a bee-line for the driveway it occupied. I couldn't look...

Number Eight, Just a bit late.

Some good ideas here, let's keep at this, remember you don't have to just post a project, you can post ideas, sites for writers, links to work by others, anything of interest to Quill & Think. This is a community, let's keep it up.

It looks like Todd's idea is moved, seconded, and a two thirds vote for this week.
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Project 8: Add along.

The rules are as follows:
- Not everyone gets around to posting each week, so it's first come first serve. If you're not going to get in this week and you know it, just comment here and we'll skip ya. Shoot, everyone just comment with IN or OUT and we'll know that way.
- You can post twice only if we get all the way through participating writers, and then it's going to be a free-for-all, you just can't post back to back (let someone else in, word-hog).
- As for the actual writing there's a two paragraph minimum and a four paragraph maximum. When you post be sure to include the entire story, including your part, in your post (that way readers get the gist up front without having to dig through several posts).
- Write up!

Good idea, Bad idea

Ok take this as a good idea or a bad one. For five days everyone write two lines per day. The lines can be a thought of the moment, a feeling, or even what ever it is that you are working one at that particular moment. One of the rules with this is that no names are mentioned, in other words no proper nouns. I did these a few years back and I wish I still had what I had written.

'Nother Idea

I like Todd's idea...it would be interesting to see what kind of story is created with so many contributors with so many different ideas.

Another idea...pick a piece of artwork and have everyone write something using it as the inspiration. Could be fiction, poetry, song, or someone's opinion of the art piece. It would be neat to see how many different works are created based on the same thing and how that can change how we see the work of art itself.

And another one rides the bus...

Everybody, everybody. Now class, PAY ATTENTION!

Welcome Julie, aka Silis (pronounced She-liss [right?]) to the ranks of Quill & Think.

Idea #1

I think it'd be fun to do a chain story although I think I've already mentioned this. It'd only work if we could all commit to an entry and then we'd choose the order of the entries. It'd be fun to see where the story goes between someone and someone else.

Well that sucked...

Thank You Todd!
The rest of us didn't do squat, and it seems to me that we're losing steam here
What ever are we going to do?
I have an idea!
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Project 7: Project Projection
(BTW, that rhymes, sorta.)

This weeks' project is to share ideas for projects, and for Quill & Think in general. Be creative, brainstorm, post anything that you think might be in the future for Q&T. Let's see where this thing can take us. Don't be afraid either, you just might have the idea that changes the world (or Q&T, which then lets us change the world, either way). Let's be a Quill & Think-Tank this week.

I live in Colorado

Colorado is like no place I've ever lived before. It is a beautiful state, made so by its terrain and its people. There are a great many things here worth seeing.

Once, a few months ago, I was coming home from hanging out with Micah. It had snowed a few days prior and the moon was full. In Golden, so near to the foothills, it looked like the mountains were glowing. It is still one of the most beautiful scenes I've ever witnessed.

Colorado is not like Utah. Utah is drab, boring, brown, and salty. Colorado has trees and grass to add color to it.

Did I mention the people? There are so many pretty people here that it is almost crazy. It is worth mentioning, of course, that I found one of them and am dating her. Regardless, there are a great many beautiful people here and she knows some of them. I've even MET some of them. I've never been around so many good-looking folk.

Of course, it's not all fun and games. Driving is quite a chore and that feeling is compounded by the hellish traffic that precedes you everywhere you go. On top of that, the streets have names (instead of the number/grid system of Salt Lake City) so I have to go by landmarks which means I get lost even more than usual.

The bars here are much more fun and the beer here has twice as much alcohol. There's something to do on every block and someone new to meet every time I turn around. I love Colorado. If you don't feel the same way, try living in Utah for 10 years.

Six weeks into O-Six

Project #6:
Ok boys and girl (if you're reading this Karina) This weeks project is to describe somewhere that you've lived. It can be a house, street, neighborhood, town or even describe the city you lived in. The point here is to be descriptive, so remember to show and not tell. - Go for it!

Gabe's Story Poem

I've chosen the song 'The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald', a true story turned into a classic ballad by Gordon Lightfoot. Click here for lyrics, a short history of the song, and even a brief audio clip. And now for my own poem...

The Big Thompson Flood.
- Gabe Thexton

On a clear summer day at the end of July,
Near Estes that town in the Rockies so high,
Folks had their fun and were headed for home,
They poured into Big Thompson Canyon,
A road that wound down through the valley to town,
Near the river with homes right beside it.

Clouds soon would gather a light rain would fall,
Most there would say they weren't worried at all,
Thunderheads rolled in about half past seven,
The weather service issued a warning,
The Olympics were on and many were home,
These folks that lived in the valley.

Around nine-o-clock came a warning more stern,
They said that the floods were a coming,
Four hours had passed nigh twelve inches fell,
The water out-bounded the river,
It tore through the canyon a twenty foot wall,
The Big Thompson had had it's disaster.

When up the sun came on the very next day,
Almost nothing was left in the canyon,
One hundred and forty four perished that day,
In the flood in the Big Thompson Canyon,
With ages from two up to ninety plus four,
I only hope that they all went to heaven.
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- Hope you liked it, I really like this, and though it's a first draft I think I'll go back and rework it and flesh it out (maybe for posting on the 30th anniversary coming this year)
- For more on the Big Thompson Flood (which is known in Christian circles for the lost lives of several Campus Crusaders) go here (it's really cool)
- Also check out the post on my blog regarding this one.
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Ideas for this weeks project welcome, call me and I won't post one. Cheers.

Giles' Submission: Ol' Topply's Tears

Tinfang Warble by J.R.R. Tolkien:

O the hoot! O the hoot!
How he trillups on his flute!
O the hoot of Tinfang Warble!

Dancing all alon,
Hopping on a stone,
Flitting like a fawn,
In the twilight on the lawn,
And his name is Tinfang Warble!

The first star has shown
And its lamp is blown
to a flame of flickering blue.
He pipes not to me,
He pipes not to thee,
He whistles to none of you.
His music is his own,
The tunes of Tinfang Warble!

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Ol' Topply's Tears

Old dear Topply plays his fiddle quick as a sprite
While young sweat Brynly dances on his right
Gaily they sing of days gone by
While tears of great joy stream out of me eye

I sit and sip on pint glass o’ beer
Rememb’rin’ the love of a summer last year
She’d orn’ment herself in the lilies of spring
And dance in the center of mystic Faery rings

Topply now changes to a tune of despair
Sweat young Brynly unties her red hair
The fiddle it moans of a winter gone past
And a love and a loss of Topply’s Ol’ Lass

Her name was Faer Finola, her hair was bright as gold
But the heavens came and took her as the air grew still and cold
Nine months she’d been with child, nine months she’d swelled joy
For Topply and Finola thought they’d raise a grand ol’ boy

But as the snows start fallin’ on roofs of our small town
Finola’s pain came on her so the midwife laid her down
“Oh no the pain ain’t stoppin’,” cried the nurse with much alarm
Poor Topply ran in prayin’, but the birth had done its harm

Finola laid there cold in bed not a breath left in her breast
But Topply stemmed the flow of tears and held his baby to his chest
He looked down at the newborn child with curly lock o’ red
“I think I’ll call you Brynly, dear, from a book that I once read”

As I remembered Sweat Brynly’s tail, I rose up to my feet
“Ol’ Topply, here’s you good man,” and I swallowed my liquid peat
Ol’ Topply raised his hand to mine as I walk on toward the door
Brynly smiled her thanks to me, like her mother years before

Erik's story poem

Ok, so I know Gabe's read this... but it's probably been awhile... Robyn probably has too... but I immediately thought of this poem when I read the 'rules'

To An Athlete Dying Young - A. E. Housman

My version -

Where have you gone -

Years ago you knew where to go
Life was full of promise and possibilities
All it takes is a step in a different direction though
Now life's all about the small victories

You saw yourself making loads of money
Finished college with a great degree
You would have married your college honey
And despite success the best things came free

Instead you decided college wasn't for you
You thought working and living was a noble goal
Now it's college you wish you could drag your self to
You do your work but you always feel like you're in the hole

Maybe someday you'll finally go back
You'll learn different things and meet a sweetheart
All these years after taking so much flack
You'll learn again- the best things in life were always the free part.

Project #5

First off, I would like to welcome DAN!! I also have a project for us.

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Project 5:
First: You must submit a poem that tells a story. You MAY NOT use Poe, that's cheating. Dig deep, find something interesting that we may not have heard of before.

Second: Write a poetic story inspired by the one you post, and post it as well. No word limit, you don't have to rhyme every line, have fun.....and........GO!

Erik's late Haikus

Drinking and Haiku
Creates logistical problem
The second line? Eight!

Football is soothing
Watching other people run
Then it ends- sadness

Work is essential
Just a portion of your life
Shouldn't ruin free time

My time is money
Yet I am a salary
My time is mine now

Technology works
Makes life faster and quicker
More time is mine now

Blogging can be hard
And dial-up is only worse
Haiku with interest

Re-Writer Animadversion - Gabe Haikuzes!

this is just a start
from here things just get deeper
like Alice you know

brushing snow off ice
scratching at the surface now
all I see is white

white gives way to dark
deep and foreboding the thoughts
pensive I wait still

still for the presence
of the one who is holy
giving light to all

Steve's Haiku

She is in my head
I see her everywhere
Yet I don't see her

Need to make it stop
It is driving me crazy
Why can't I see her

The girl of my dreams
Her face has eluded me
I want to see her

If I try to see
My vision becomes blurry
I'll never see her

Giles' Haikus

I do hate Haiku
What a big waste of my time
Who's bad idea

Why must I do four
Gabe is getting really bored
Must have lost his mind

Pointless excersize
Trying to expand my style
I'm getting quite tired

Final one is here
Enjoy my writing attempt
Great! I am done now!

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Heh, that was fun:-)

My [extended] Haikus

I stand here, disturbed
By the things in front of me
Too many lie dead

Battle makes no oaths
No promises, guarantees
It gives you a chance

Whether man or beast
Each of us shall meet his end
And find salvation

Why is it each time
That I am victorious
Covered in their blood

It's wrong to want death
But is wanting mercy wrong
Am I to be damned

I face them again
And I stand alone, alive
All 'round me, silence

How long will this last
Tormenting me, forever
Will this ever end

When killing is all
Life loses all the meaning
Becomes death, itself

Sorry, I got going and just couldn't stop until I had some kind of pseudo-resolution. The character is a bit scary. I blame Giles because ever since the shoehorned "I am immortal" in his story I've been having all these weird anti-hero thoughts.

Late Again! Crap!

Ok, last week went well, good submissions methinks. This week is another simple one.
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Project 4: Haiku to You!

Ok, four standard, American haiku that relate to each other somehow. Remember the rules of American Haiku are 3 lines with 5, 7, and 5 syllables respectively.

Akire's Journal - side project for Erik

Ok… This is going to be rough because it’s pure concept and it’s not going to actually be written until I get a little further in my story. The idea is actually inspired by Gabe’s Flatiron Jack; A separate blog that advances the main story. What I hope to do is actually have two of them going for the two main characters. The rough part may be when I decide to change who the main characters are. Take for instance this first entry, Akire is devious… how long will she last? I aint sayin’. I wouldn’t update them that often, probably every 4-5 posts or so… about one ‘day’ in the story. They’d be journals for the protagonists. Like I said, this is as rough a draft as it can get because developments in the story will influence it. It will be a nice escape for me… get in the character’s heads. Help me understand them better. It will also be a complete change of writing style – third person to first… and I won’t be as obsessed with painting a picture with my words. (Note: I’ve passed my 110 word minimum… so I’m not sure how much effort I’ll put into this now :-D)

Akire’s Journal entry –

Journey day 45.

My attempts to track my target down have been much harder than anticipated. I assume that’s why the idea of a mobile business and home was so attractive to him. My plans were almost foiled by those drunken idiots tonight. Someday I’ll have to go back and clean up that stupid death letter that’s out on me. Dead men can’t pay warrants. Despite the fact that these men recognized me, I was taken in to my target’s own lair, and now I am excrutiatingly close to finishing what I set out to do. I’ll have to pick my time carefully though, because it would only be worse to have another death letter out for me. I’m slowly working towards completing all my goals, and I do hope to find a home someday. Can’t do that if I leave too long of a crimson trail in my wake. I’m playing fairly innocent for now, so I have to head off to bed… I can’t sleep… Haven’t in days… but playing the beautiful-weary-traveler can only help my goals.

Ok… so I’m not overly happy with what I’ve written, so it’ll probably be entirely different when I do write it.

And why would someone like Akire keep a journal that could condemn her? Writer’s convenience.

Gabe is thinking too hard.

Pathetica Poetica
- Gabe Thexton

Rhyming all the time can be a boring game,
Line after line all sounding the same,
Feeling like your words are getting lame,
Like your poems are flowers tame,
Writing so bad you'd change your name.

Pen and paper, keys and screen,
Thought you had rhyme and rhythym mean,
Something rare something unseen,
To make 'em go 'Wow, that's keen',
When all you did was split their spleen.

Letters and words to stanzic disaster,
Hung up the hat, you're not the master,
Shamed by wit thicker and lips much faster,
Left you hanging like drywall plaster,
Finding that nothing else rhymes with the last word.

Gave up on poems and moved on to prose,
And don't really care if the whole world knows,
Writing for papers and speaking at shows,
Still find yourself staring at your Frodo toes,
Wondering how you got so deep in word woes.

Take back up your pen and pad,
Write not caring if it's good or bad,
Like some PhD or Oxford grad,
Knowing that it makes you glad,
Knowing that it's not half bad.

My answer to this week's assignment

Ok, so a few months ago, this movie about two famous brothers who wrote stories about the adventures they had in Europe inspired me to write. This is what I came up with....or to be more acurate, what I've polished it into. I want to do something with this eventually, but it may be a while.

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An early night, I guess. Sun's just barely setting, but I think I'll turn in. How did I get here anyway? Oh! That's right; it all started six years ago, on a warm, starlit night.

She sat with her back to me; the lanterns grew dim as the fuel ran low. The innkeeper hollered out, "Time to go, the lights are low, now get out, or I'll kill you!"

He sang that every night, I taught it to him, learned it in my traveling days. He thought it was funny, so did I. Where was I....oh yeah, the girl. As the tavern patrons made their way home, she just sat still, head bowed, her beautiful red hair concealing a sad smile. "It's time to leave," I said. "Rooms are all full, and I know you're not renting a single one."

A tear dropped onto her table.

"That's not going to get you a room-"

"You knew my father, didn't you?" She looked directly into my eyes, I nearly fell over.

Yeah, I'd known her father. We were bounty hunters together, but that was another life, I didn't even fight anymore, and I said as much.

"Please help me," she smiled.

I had to choke back tears; her green eyes glistened in the fading light. "I can't help anyone any more." I turned to go to my room, but she placed her hand gently on my arm.

"I don't need much. Please, for my father."

I motioned for the innkeeper to bring us another pitcher of ale. I told him I would close up when we were done. I sat across from her and looked in those pretty green eyes. "Tell me what you need."

She reached up her hand and placed it on my cheek. She leaned over the table and kissed me. Not as a lover, more like....a...sister! My heart nearly stopped in my chest. I'd never experienced this kind of tenderness from someone before. "Just give me a place to stay."

What can I say? You'd like to think I would do the right thing. Did I? Many people would say I did, but I’m not sure I would agree. I took her back to my room, gave her my bed and curled up on the floor for the night. In the night, I heard screams, both of pain and of sorrow. Soon, I heard a sound that chilled me to the marrow: the cry of a banshee!

The light of the moon faded, and the windows flew open. A raging wind swept through the room. The girl sat up in bed. “What have you done?” I asked. I knew the banshee cried not for me: I’m immortal.

“The lord of the manor desires my company,” she smiled calmly.

Not exactly what I wanted to hear. They say that when the lord searches you out, you never return, and I’d just pledged my aid to one of his victims. Sure, I only gave her a room, but I couldn’t let her turn into the walking dead now, could I? After all, I had known her father, and I owed him my life!

“You are of no consequence to me!” I heard a bone-chilling voice outside the window. “Leave the girl for me, and I will let you live.”

“Like hell!” I screamed, drawing my sword.

The banshee matched my scream and swooped through the window. “You will soon know the cold hand of death!”

I grinned; the demon flew toward me, taking an ethereal form. A white flash filled the room and the banshee froze. A great gash spread from her left hip to her right shoulder.

Freestyle...?

Here goes. I wrote a poem.

Untitled

At first I thought that we were destined to be at odds
O, The many days we fought over right and wrong
And why shouldn't a person disagree or misunderstand
When they have no one to help explain the "why"

When innocent and guilty were the same as heaven and hell
Things were more simple than they are today
We hid behind our enmity and bathed in our anonymity
Though there was nothing to make us clean

There were tears back then and angry words
Cries and no relief in sight
If there is something more horrible than being alone
It is the length of time that one must feel that way

Should you hate someone for making you who you are
Is it proper to begrudge someone for shaping your life
If one used encouragement rather than misfortune
Wouldn't we praise them instead of curse

We constantly search for meaning and resolution
But we refuse to appreciate the things we already have
Though our pantries are full and our stores overflowing
We are always on the hunt for a tastier morsel

Each day I hope we are reminded what it is like to be without
So that we can appreciate the one force that makes it possible to "have"
Without a desire no understanding can be reached
And without sacrifice nothing can be learned

Whoops! ... Wait a minute, that's a good idea!

- So we went with a pretty hefty project last week, and I was glad to have some of us get in on the action. Steve and Todd missed out, but that's ok. This week we're getting a late start on things, and I couldn't for the life of me think of anything. Erik and I have an idea, but it needs some work. Steve has one, but it too needs work.
- Where does that leave us? With what I originally thought would be an excuse project, but now seems like a good idea. I think this will be a recurring thing...
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Project 3: To each his own.

- Not having an idea for the project, I thought I'd cheat and have everyone write something that they wanted to write. Anything! That makes it easy for us to contribute along the lines of whatever we're working-on/dealing-with this week. Then it came to me that we're a writers group, and projects can help us refine, but sometimes we need to share freeform. Let's do this monthly. 110 words min. (Including explanations/descriptions etc.) Ready ... Set ... Think!

Gabe would never write this because he'd hate to read it.

- Nathan Persimmon is fabulously wealthy, he comes from old money and an established family. They've been in New England since the earliest of times and come from England with a history that goes back to a valiant hero on the losing side of the invasion in 1066. He has a beautiful girlfriend named Alayna Shathmore that comes from an equally wealthy family, but they're of new money.
- The conflict comes when Nathan decides to be the common man and forsake his wealth and family history. He's tired of being the rich kid and wants some adventure. Alayna leaves him because of it, and though he loves her he gives up on it because it's part of all that he doesn't want to be part of.
- Nathan goes west to California and meets a young artist named Mary who shares his new worldview. She loves his fancy body and she is shallow, but she's not what he came from so he believes that fortune has smiled on him and takes her as his wife.
- When Mary dies of an unfortunate disease, Nathan returns to the now-vacant family home and searches for his lost love Alayna. What he finds is that she's married his arch-playground-enemy and that they have a litter of six children. Nathan is shattered anew and sells the mansion, goes back to California, exhumes Mary, has her embalmed and sleeps next to her glass coffin for eternity.

- The whole story is filled with the high-talk of the Old-New-Englanders and with contrived attempts at Artist-speak that reek of the wrong era and shallow research. It's one of those books that makes you squirm once a page because the characters are such hollow a$$-holes and have a completely unrealistic worldview. They seek an Earthly Utopia when none is possible. I hate when writers do this, it shows that they completely don't get our world. Perfection will not happen in our world, it's not possible. Rant, rant, rant.

Erik's horrible novels

This is actually almost too easy for me. I’ve had a few failed novels… and they weren’t just ones that I never got off the ground. I actually started writing a novel twice and gave up both times. I know exactly why I failed, too. It was a mixture between being too self-centric and a lack of imagination. The two are almost completely intertwined. I have a hard time coming up with ideas for stories on my own, so I was doing the easiest thing and trying to write something at least partially based around myself. The first try was at least partially imaginative. Gabe and I have discussed my problems getting unique ideas for writing. We decided that my strength would actually be in writing fan-fiction, or stories based on someone else’s original ideas i.e. Star Wars novels. That’s not something that I’m really that interested in doing, but it’s exactly what I tried to do when I was about 15.

Back when I was a much more obvious nerd, I (and my friends) were very into the Star Wars Collectible Card Game. At one point, someone realized that we could use a regular pencil eraser to change the cards. We started making funny cards and cards that were doppelgangers of ourselves. I made a card named ‘Lord Erik’. It was a simple Imperial Pilot card that I modified to be invincible. Twisted, I know. The funniest thing that happened while I was making the card though. I ended up exploring this made up character’s back-story. I had so much of it mapped out. Where he was from, how he got where he was… the whole thing. So during the summer, I actually did attempt to write it. I don’t recommend a Texas Instruments calculator as a medium for writing though. It’s slower, and that can really curb your inthusiasm.

Despite all of this, I did push out maybe a chapter and a half’s worth, if I remember right. It’s hard to remember because I really had so much of it in my head. Anyway, two words: Horrible Plot. The whole thing would’ve ended with Darth Vader defecting to Lord Erik’s side after the first Death Star blew up, and it was really a clone that died in the battle with an emperor. Retarded stuff, really.

The second failure was self-serving by the very definition. I had just been blown away after a failed relationship and was very depressed. I started writing a mix between a retrospective on all my past relationships, and a look into the semi-near future. The story actually took place about a year from the time I started writing. That was really the only really horrible part of the story… it was like a utopia… it was my hopes and dreams, for the most part. I don’t consider this writing to be a total failure though. I was writing because I needed to regain perspective on my life. I was looking at my past relationships, and looking at where I wanted my life to go. It was really a good thing for me, and I think I completed much of what I needed to in this instance.

The novel was a failure (would’ve been boring anyway), but my project wasn’t.

Giles' "unfinishable" project

The story about a young man torn between his dream and the woman he loves. The hero (let's call him Max) wants to become a translator in Japan, but his girlfriend (we'll give her the name Jill) wants to be an English teacher in Paris. Max currently works for a local electronics company, translating instruction manuals for imported video equipment. Jill is about to finish school and has a job waiting for her in France.

On the day of Jill graduation, Max approaches Jill, saying that they need to discuss their future. Jill absolutely refuses to go to Japan, breaking Max's heart. She breaks up with him saying that if he really loved her, he would do whatever it took to get the job of his dreams while supporting her wholeheartedly.

Dejected and confused, Max goes home where he finds an e-mail in his inbox from a large electronics manufacturing company offering him a job translating their manuals into English. They would e-mail the files to him, and he could work on them from anywhere in the world, he would only have to fly to Tokyo for four weeks a year to meet with the board at the home office.

Thrilled, Max calls Jill telling her he has to talk to her. She agrees to meet with him, and Max starts to drive to her place. Unfortunately, he gets hit by a large semi on the way, breaking his neck and putting him in a coma. His condition declines over a few short weeks, and he dies without having the chance to patch things up with Jill, who waits next to his bed until Max is gone. The end!

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Unfortunately, garbage like this actually exists, and because I realize this, at some point (in a few years, mayhapse) I'll probably put this into action, and become so disgustingly rich that you all will become sick....as will I. This is what we like to call Classic Liturature....garbage that has NO plot whatsoever, and really leaves you feeling like you want to kill yourself, partly because the ending doesn't resolve itself, and partly because you wasted AAAAALLLLLLL that time reading the stupid thing. If I sound cynical, it's because I HATE THIS KIND OF WRITING!!

Wilkommen!

Welcome Todd to the crowd. Leave comments or something, just don't scare the guy off!

Success and Continuation

- Last week has to be considered a phenomenal success. All four active members made it in with at least one contribution, Erik even put two up. What is even cooler is that two not-yet-members (hehe) were inspired to write 69ers alongside us (Robyn via Erik in a comment, and Todd on his MySpace blog). The only thing missing was Karina, and we'll blame that on Steve because (we can) he is supposed to show her the ropes in this world of blog (when they get a chance, I know, I know). Way To Go Quill & Think!!!

- On to this week. Let's go for two in a row! Erik says that he has an idea for a project, but needs to formulate it further, and I haven't gotten around to asking Giles or Steve if they have ideas yet. So I will gladly bear the burden of providing the project for a second week (If I like it this much, just wait until we get the ball really rolling, we'll be fighting for the right!)
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Project 2: It'll never happen! -

- I often sit and contemplate how to write a novel, more specifically, how a slacker like me would even halfway finish the job. I usually end up with the thought that I would have to have the perfect idea, that's the only thing that would motivate me enough. But what happens to all those imperfect ideas? Are they trash? And who among us hasn't read an imperfect novel or ten? Or even an utterly crappy one, even if you never finished reading it, it still counts as a crappy novel that was completed. This week we'll address the crappy novel. You'll do it by writing a description or synopsis of the novel that you will never write, or the one you will never read. I'm thinking 150-300 words is reasonable. This one should be good for some laughs.
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“You could compile the worst book in the world entirely out of selected passages from the best writers in the world.” - One of my favorite authors and theologians - G.K. Chesterton

“A book may be compared to your neighbor: if it be good, it cannot last too long; if bad, you cannot get rid of it too early.” - Rupert Brooke

“It is far better to be silent than merely to increase the quantity of bad books” - Voltaire
I must stop there, but there are about a hundred more quotes that I could use for today.

- Gabe

Steve's 69er

Alone In The Garden

At least that’s what I thought. My back is to the stairs. I hear a noise behind me. I speak to the one who comes for me, “I know who you are and why you are here. I am sorry for hurting you and I forgive you for what you are about to do.” As I turn to face her the world goes black. I drift into eternal sleep.

Giles' 69-er

It’s a good day, I guess. The people are nice, they don’t complain. It’s just coffee. “Do you want whipped cream?” The woman shakes her head. “Enjoy,” I smile as she walks out the door. I grab a wet rag and wipe down the counters, another rush will come in a few minutes, I need to prepare. Looking around, the tip jar’s full. That’s what a smile will do.

Gabe's 69er ... Yeah.

Snowday
- Gabe Thexton

There were seven of them. They exhausted the snow from four driveways and six yards. They exhausted themselves. Four real mugs and three improvised from heavy plastic cups were filled with steaming hot chocolate. Marshmallows replaced snowballs. The dogs had their fill, threw up, and at mothers insistence the marshmallows went only into human mouthes and human mugs. This is a snow day, this is winter at it's best.

First feeble attempts

The 69er -

He sits there, reading and reading. He goes to this site and that. Finally he does what he promised. He opens up a word document and tries to think of what to write.

Nothing comes, nothing comes.

He does his regular blog instead.

Eventually he decides to write something.

Harder than it sounds, he doesn’t get anywhere.

The Boss comes in – “What in blazes are you doing?”

Er… Um….


Quill and Think

It’s worked – everything has ever dreamed of came true – What luck!

He writes with a bunch of friends, just to be better, just to support others.

Discovered by publishers, their combined works make the bestseller!

Things couldn’t be better – simple life, but much more money. Finally a good car.

Money doesn’t buy happiness, but not having debt does help!

He opens his eyes… damn dreams – shouldn’t sleep at work.