In no particular order (thank goodness for browser history)
Monday, December 7, 2009
Cloud exercise
So I ended up with Spencer feeling frustrated in regards to dealing with adults, vengeful towards Timmy, superior to his peers, proud of himself and all his talents, invisible because he's a child, and afraid of not ever being recognized for all his skills and abilities. Situations involved him going to a birthday party with other kids (kind of done with the classroom scene so I tried to think of more interaction with adults), him going to the doctor and getting a shot, him spending the weekend with grandma and grandpa, him tormenting the babysitter when mommy and daddy need a night out, daddy introducing him to the local Very Little League baseball team and trying to get him more interested in organized sports. But I haven't been able to pick a scene yet, although I think someone suggested seeing Spencer and his father interact and Spencer discovering that his father who seemingly speaks to him on the same level really thinks of him as "just a kid." So I want to toy with that idea too, just haven't gotten a chance to do it yet. And I think I should go to bed sometime soon.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Rewriting "Spencer throws a rock"
I realized when looking over my first draft, it is not broken up very well into paragraphs. My writing often goes into stream of consciousness long sentences and paragraphs, something I have been guilty of ever since grade school. So this is a part of a paragraph.
Timmy has just pushed Spencer down the sliding boards and everyone has laughed at and taunted Spencer with their "Spencer is a doodie-face" song.
Original:
So I threw a rock at him and hit him in the nose and he started bleeding and he started crying like a little biatch and told on me. A little blood and he goes all soft, effin loser. The other kids stopped the dumb doodieface song in fear of my mighty arm, and resumed playing as if nothing ever happened.
The Remix:
Timmy was still pointing and laughing at me from the top of the sliding board. More kids were starting to gather around at the foot of the sliding board joining in on the doodieface song as I was hastily brushing the dirt off my face and clothes. Nobody calls Spencer Grigsby a doodie face. I had to set them straight. Let everyone know I was no doodie face at all. GrownUps try to keep the play area free of dangerous materials, so that's why I always bring my own. I always keep a small rock in my pocket for emergencies and now was the time to use it. It's about the size of a gumball so it's rarely detected. My heart was racing as I reached inside my right pants pocket. I felt like I was transforming into a raging beast, kind of like the Incredible Hulk. I growled a deep threatening growl at Timmy, my teeth clenched in anger. I began taking huge breaths and standing up taller and I sensed the kids around me could see and feel the transformation occuring right before their eyes. Timmy was too busy laughing at me to realize it though. With a super quick move (and impeccable aim I must add), I launched the rock directly at Timmy's stupid face. BAM! Got him right in the nose! Owned! He was so shocked he lost his balance and fell back from the top of the sliding board right onto the ground. A hush went over the crowd of kids. Total silence. Timmy started to get up, holding his nose. He looked in his hands, saw what must have been a speck of blood and freaked. Wailed like a brand new baby. I looked around at the other kids, daring them to tattle. They all went back to playing like nothing ever happened.
Now I think that's too long and there's probably more fat to trim. *sigh*
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Crossing the Threshold in Shaolin Soccer
So I've been trying to think of a movie I love that fits the mythic storytelling pattern that is not Lord of the Rings or The Matrix or Finding Nemo...because those were already mentioned in this weeks note and happen to be my favorite movies. Soooo, I had to think about other movies I love that might fit and I remembered this gem, Shaolin Soccer. Brief synopsis: Sing, our epic hero, is a shaolinquan kung fu master who forms a soccer team with his brothers who haven't practiced in 5 years. They are a bit rusty at first but begin beating team after team using their kung fu skills until they battle Team Evil, who have been injected with some drugs giving them way super human capabilities. It's a hilarious flick. I'm gonna go watch it again this week. I bet my almost-3-year-old would like it. She dug Stephen Chow's kid's film CJ7...anyway, back to the point of the post.
Team Shaolin arrived at the soccer field for their first game, surprised that no supporters showed up to cheer them on, as their coach promised they would. The captain of the opposing team surveyed his competition as they assumed their positions on the field.
The opposing team wore official looking black and white uniforms that sported a Puma logo, hinting that they had significant sponsorship. Team Shaolin wore uniforms that looked like a hybrid between soccer uniforms and a Shaolin monk's wardrobe, oversized dark yellow shorts with matching t-shirts tucked in. Their shoes had seen many a practice and needed replacement.
"Look at this guy" the opposing team's captain laughs, pointing to the Team Shaolin goalie, a stock broker whose frail frame made it hard to believe he could swat a fly let alone block a ball. "Or this guy" he said, nodding toward's the eldest brother, smoking a cigarette which was quickly discarded by the referree. He was so busy laughing at the appearance of the team he had no idea what happened when the whistle blew and Sing kicked the ball through the center of the field, curving around the goalie into the goal. crossing the
Team Shaolin arrived at the soccer field for their first game, surprised that no supporters showed up to cheer them on, as their coach promised they would. The captain of the opposing team surveyed his competition as they assumed their positions on the field.
The opposing team wore official looking black and white uniforms that sported a Puma logo, hinting that they had significant sponsorship. Team Shaolin wore uniforms that looked like a hybrid between soccer uniforms and a Shaolin monk's wardrobe, oversized dark yellow shorts with matching t-shirts tucked in. Their shoes had seen many a practice and needed replacement.
"Look at this guy" the opposing team's captain laughs, pointing to the Team Shaolin goalie, a stock broker whose frail frame made it hard to believe he could swat a fly let alone block a ball. "Or this guy" he said, nodding toward's the eldest brother, smoking a cigarette which was quickly discarded by the referree. He was so busy laughing at the appearance of the team he had no idea what happened when the whistle blew and Sing kicked the ball through the center of the field, curving around the goalie into the goal. crossing the
Monday, November 2, 2009
The Date of Our Lives
I was really looking forward to meeting this girl. She seemed really charming from her profile, a gorgeous smile, funny, outgoing. We were supposed to meet at Huey's for a casual dinner at 7. Huey's is one of my favorite restaurants in Memphis. Blues and brews with live music every night. I thought she'd enjoy the upbeat atmosphere. I just wish she would have just told me she had something else going on. At 6:50 she texted me she'd be a few minutes late. And at 7:15 she said she was on her way. She stumbled through the door, frantically looking for me at 7:50. That's the last time I rely on a bust shot for photo. I could tell she had a little meat on her, which was a good thing, but this chick was definitely heavier than I expected, about 30 pounds more. That aside, she still had a gorgeous face, long black hair, enchanting brown eyes, full pouty lips, and a nice rack to top it off. So I figured maybe I can work with that, so I'll stick around. I stand up and wave her over before she asks the hostess for me. So she comes over and gives some lame excuse about car trouble. When I offer to take a look at it, she says "Oh, uh, that's so sweet but no thanks, I don't want to trouble you." I say it's no problem at all, I'd be happy to help. Then she says she's already scheduled to take it in to the shop. So I say, let me save you some money and take a look at it for free. And she says no offense, but she only trusts her baby in the hands of her mechanic. Yeah right, just give up on the lie, nothing was wrong with your car.
Anyway, the waitress comes over and takes our drink orders. It takes her 5 minutes to decide on a drink. She has a question about every beverage on the menu, even the water. "Is it spring or distilled?" Her mouth turned down in one corner for a half-frown when the waitress replied "Tap." She finally decided to go with a drink not even on the menu that the waitress had to check on with the bartender - a mango martini, shaken not stirred (yes, seriously!), chilled to about 40 degrees with "just a spash of triple sec." I joke that she shouldn't be surprised if she finds a piece of steak floating in her glass from the meat thermometer they'll have to use to check the temp, and she stares at me with look of shock and disgust on her face. So I quickly assure her I was just joking, but she just gives one of those fake smiles and says "Oh ok," but I can tell she still can't shake the idea that she should be inspecting everything she orders. I tell the waitress instead of the beer I'll have a Jack and Coke, and make it a double.
We chat for a while about ourselves, where we're from, what we like to do. She warms up again and I start to think maybe she's more easygoing after all. She's genuinely laughing at my jokes and making some witty ones her self. Our drinks come out and she slowly spins the martini glass around, making sure nothing suspect is in her drink. I chuckle and tell her everything's fine, she shouldn't worry about this place it's one of the cleanest restaurants I've been in. But she just smiles and continues to inspect the drink for a solid minute before she takes the first sip. She says they used more than a splash of triple sec, but it's decent. I nearly chug down half my Jack and Coke.
It takes her another 10 minutes to decide on the steak dinner, which I'm surprised she didn't have a set of preparation instructions for. It would have probably helped the waitress out if she did. I chug the rest of my drink and order another with my burger and fries. We resume our conversation, it resumes its warm and congenial flow, and somehow land on the topic of gay rights. While I'm mid-sentence about how I think the whole marriage issue isn't a big deal, she blurts out "I'm a lesbian." At first I think schwing! I hope she has a hot girlfriend who's joining us later! But then I'm reminded her online ad said "Woman seeking Man" and she had posted all the ideal traits of her male counterpart. So I ask her why she placed the ad and she says it was an assignment for her writing class! I'm like what the fuck?! Who gives an assignment to go on a date with someone and impersonate someone you aren't?! Maybe an acting class...but not a writing one! So she actually pulls out her Blackberry and checks her class assignment instructions and realizes she read it wrong. She was supposed to find a personal ad for someone she would never go out with and pretend to go out on a date with them and write about it. Not actually contact the person and go out on the date. What a ditz. Without saying a word I got up and left. She didn't even try to stop me or apologize. It wouldn't have mattered anyway.
Anyway, the waitress comes over and takes our drink orders. It takes her 5 minutes to decide on a drink. She has a question about every beverage on the menu, even the water. "Is it spring or distilled?" Her mouth turned down in one corner for a half-frown when the waitress replied "Tap." She finally decided to go with a drink not even on the menu that the waitress had to check on with the bartender - a mango martini, shaken not stirred (yes, seriously!), chilled to about 40 degrees with "just a spash of triple sec." I joke that she shouldn't be surprised if she finds a piece of steak floating in her glass from the meat thermometer they'll have to use to check the temp, and she stares at me with look of shock and disgust on her face. So I quickly assure her I was just joking, but she just gives one of those fake smiles and says "Oh ok," but I can tell she still can't shake the idea that she should be inspecting everything she orders. I tell the waitress instead of the beer I'll have a Jack and Coke, and make it a double.
We chat for a while about ourselves, where we're from, what we like to do. She warms up again and I start to think maybe she's more easygoing after all. She's genuinely laughing at my jokes and making some witty ones her self. Our drinks come out and she slowly spins the martini glass around, making sure nothing suspect is in her drink. I chuckle and tell her everything's fine, she shouldn't worry about this place it's one of the cleanest restaurants I've been in. But she just smiles and continues to inspect the drink for a solid minute before she takes the first sip. She says they used more than a splash of triple sec, but it's decent. I nearly chug down half my Jack and Coke.
It takes her another 10 minutes to decide on the steak dinner, which I'm surprised she didn't have a set of preparation instructions for. It would have probably helped the waitress out if she did. I chug the rest of my drink and order another with my burger and fries. We resume our conversation, it resumes its warm and congenial flow, and somehow land on the topic of gay rights. While I'm mid-sentence about how I think the whole marriage issue isn't a big deal, she blurts out "I'm a lesbian." At first I think schwing! I hope she has a hot girlfriend who's joining us later! But then I'm reminded her online ad said "Woman seeking Man" and she had posted all the ideal traits of her male counterpart. So I ask her why she placed the ad and she says it was an assignment for her writing class! I'm like what the fuck?! Who gives an assignment to go on a date with someone and impersonate someone you aren't?! Maybe an acting class...but not a writing one! So she actually pulls out her Blackberry and checks her class assignment instructions and realizes she read it wrong. She was supposed to find a personal ad for someone she would never go out with and pretend to go out on a date with them and write about it. Not actually contact the person and go out on the date. What a ditz. Without saying a word I got up and left. She didn't even try to stop me or apologize. It wouldn't have mattered anyway.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Meet Harvey J. Mills
notes from the podcast exercise (to be fleshed out later with dialogue and character description)
setting - down the street from my house
what comfortable thing i'm wearing - my jogging suit and sneakers, going out for a walk
weather is autumn, a warm day for october in mn, but not too warm
sound is repetitive huuuuum-huh, huuuum-huh, huuuum-huh (think of how to describe this using more aural sensory descriptions)
turn the corner and see a man in his mid-forties, with a combover of about 12 strands of hair that only draws more attention to his shiny balding head. he stands about 5'9", hunched over, sitting at the bus stop, in a light brown suit from 1980 with diagonally striped dark orange and white tie, white shirt, with not a wrinkle in sight, polished brown dress shoes and socks to match the suit. Glasses that look too big for his face, the kind that have the bridge at the top of the frame, and the top of the frame is a straight line, but the bottom of the frame is more round. The forehead is wrinked, the eyes we can't really see because his head is lowered, he is looking at a crack in the pavement on the sidewalk. His mouth is closed, actually clenched shut. Lips are pressed together, brow wrinkled, as if he's deep in thought. His arms are folded, he is clutching the sleeves of his jacket on either side, his fingers almost forming fists around the fabric. His legs are spread apart at shoulder's width, feet pointed slightly outwards. He is slightly rocking back and forth as he hums, tapping his foot with each rock.
I say "Good morning"
He says nothing. Keeps humming.
setting - down the street from my house
what comfortable thing i'm wearing - my jogging suit and sneakers, going out for a walk
weather is autumn, a warm day for october in mn, but not too warm
sound is repetitive huuuuum-huh, huuuum-huh, huuuum-huh (think of how to describe this using more aural sensory descriptions)
turn the corner and see a man in his mid-forties, with a combover of about 12 strands of hair that only draws more attention to his shiny balding head. he stands about 5'9", hunched over, sitting at the bus stop, in a light brown suit from 1980 with diagonally striped dark orange and white tie, white shirt, with not a wrinkle in sight, polished brown dress shoes and socks to match the suit. Glasses that look too big for his face, the kind that have the bridge at the top of the frame, and the top of the frame is a straight line, but the bottom of the frame is more round. The forehead is wrinked, the eyes we can't really see because his head is lowered, he is looking at a crack in the pavement on the sidewalk. His mouth is closed, actually clenched shut. Lips are pressed together, brow wrinkled, as if he's deep in thought. His arms are folded, he is clutching the sleeves of his jacket on either side, his fingers almost forming fists around the fabric. His legs are spread apart at shoulder's width, feet pointed slightly outwards. He is slightly rocking back and forth as he hums, tapping his foot with each rock.
I say "Good morning"
He says nothing. Keeps humming.
Thursday, October 8, 2009
I'm the Map, I'm the Map, I'm the Map, I'm the Map, I'm the Map!
Inspiration from Dora the Explorer's Map song.
So this is Tolkien's world, but I shall endeavor to create my own story using it...
Dialog. Level 3.
A began stroking B's long thick hair and stared into B's sparkling blue eyes. "You make me feel like no one else can." A said. "Its a reflection of the joy you bring me" B lovingly replied. With that they began the course of lovemaking and found themselves playing the game they enjoyed with as much passion as they did the lovemaking itself.
"Oh, don't touch me there idiot!" B squirmed. "What the hell are you doing, checking the fruit for ripeness?"
"I'm just making sure they don't roll off the bed and fall on the floor, lard ass, " A retorted as he smacked B's ass.
"Oh nice, give me a flashback to those heinous nuns smacking me with rulers in grade school. Yeah, you really know how to work me lover boy."
"Like you're doing any better rug, all you know how to do is lie there."
TBC...
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Congratulations! It's a bouncing baby...story!
Kids Think The Darndest Things
by Busola Soyomokun
"Wakey, wakey sleepy head..."
Why the hell do GrownUps always append "ey" to words? It doesn't add any meaning to the word. It doesn't help extend our vocabulary. It doesn't even make the word sound any better. At least not to me. GrownUps are so dumb sometimes. Anyway, I'm gonna just lie still and pretend I didn't hear her.
"Wakey wakey little angel..."
Must... lie... completely... still. Maybe she will remember that hot pot of oatmeal on the stove or remember that she left the water running in the kitchen sink. That'll buy me at least a few minutes. Maybe even more if she forgets about waking me up after she runs off...
"Come on Boo-Boo, time to get up!" What the hell kind of nickname is "Boo-Boo" anyway? It's the same name as poopie, which is clearly the most disgusting stuff in the world. Nobody plays with boo-boo, nobody keeps boo-boo around, nobody wants to show boo-boo to their friends or gives boo-boo birthday presents. Does she really think that low of me? She certainly treats me better than that, but maybe she just feels obligated to. Cause she gave birth to me or whatever. I can't imagine she actually thinks its a cute nickname. But like I say, GrownUps are so dumb sometimes....
"Boo-Boo, let's wake up now and start the day." Christ, Lady would you leave me alone?! You don't even know the hell I went through at preschool yesterday! 10 hours is not enought recovery time from a day like that! Oh nice, she's patting my back again. Not the nice, gentle pat she uses to put me to sleep. But that incessant pat-pat-pat-pat that GrownUps with nervous energy use to tap their feet when they have to sit for a long time. That really grates on my nerves. Usually I just start cryting or throwing stuff to drown out the noise but I can't do that when I'm pretending to be asleep. Ok, the patting is getting ridiculous now. I can't take it anymore! I'll go ahead and roll over.
"Aw, there's my little sunshine! Good morning darling!" Mommy says with the biggest smile on her face.
"Good morneen Mommy" I say with a yawn, rubbing my eyes.
Ok, I'm gonna skip the mundane details of going potty, brushing my teeth, combing my hair, getting dressed and eating breakfast. It's just as boring as it sounds. I'll get right into the good stuff. preschool. It's the best part of the day. I get go to go on a trip and get out of that old boring house and go somewhere where I can play all the time! I get to go to a big building with blue bricks and yellow windows and red doors! And play with other kids! Finally, kindred souls who know my struggle and understand my joys and my pains! I remember when life was easy. Back in the days before they made me go potty. When I just pooped on myself and they changed me. Or I cried and they got me out of a soaking wet diaper. Or I cried and they fed me some food. Or I cried and they put on some soft music and rocked me to sleep. Gosh, that was before they wanted me to follow their "rules." I don't know if I completely get it, but they're like these things that you can't do or that you have to do - for no good reason whatsoever except that they're rules. For instance, there's one called "sharing." Here's an example of how it works: I'm supposed to let some crummy kid play with the toy I just had (MY toy) when I, having had the toy several seconds longer, am more experienced and skilled at playing with said toy and therefore deserve to keep it in my possession for as long as I like. Why would I give it to some bumbling kid who has no idea how to properly handle it? Or here's another: I have to let some other loser kid use MY red crayon (it's mine because I picked it first) when I want everything in my picture to be red. Therefore I need to use it for the entire Coloring Time because I, unlike some other less talented "artists", do my absolute best to stay inside the lines, so of course, it takes me longer. I'm supposed to give up my stuff for somebody else for what? Because it's a rule?? I call bullshit. But the GrownUps are always there to enforce them. Threatening to take something away from me, or even worse put me in Time Out, the most awful thing you can do to someone. It's really dreadful. GrownUps make you stand in a corner by yourself with nothing to play with or look at. And you have to be quiet and stay in that corner for a completely absurd length of time! It has to be against the law to inflict this kind of torture on young people. I'm sure if Officer Steve who visited our class last week knew what these GrownUps were doing, he'd haul them off to jail in a heartbeat.
Anyway, Mommy takes me inside this building to the Three Year Olds classroom. It's the best room ever. Very bright and colorful. Lots of windows to see outside. And they are pictures around the room of animals (and letters that match the first letter of the animal's name!) And there's numbers too, and pictures of food in quantities that match the number. Like the number 4 next to four red apples. My favorite number, color and fruit! Then there's toys everywhere! Legos, building blocks, trucks, a trainset, a kitchen, puzzles, a cashier's box and grocery cart, dinosaurs, there's a lot! In the back of the class by the sink, we have paint, crayons, scissors, glue, construction paper, markers, play-doh, all the stuff I need to redecorate the room. It's colorful alright, but sometimes it could use a little more. Like the brown letter 'G' that goes with the yellow and black giraffe. I spruced that up with some red and blue paint yesterday, but Ms. Nancy was all "That's a no-no Spencer" and totally ratted me out to Mommy. And it's not like Mommy had any sympathy for me. A couple weeks back I thought I'd do her the favor of breathing some life into that wasteland of a living room. So I went into Daddy's office and got some of his markers (mine come off too easy) and drew some fantastic pictures of our family, our house, and even my school! I mean it was some of my most brilliant work to date! You'd think she'd be grateful, but no, what does she do? Put me in Time Out. What the hell?! I missed The Backyardigans for Chrissake! And I never miss The Backyardigans. It was cruel and unusual punishment. They say time heals everything, but I don't know if I can ever forgive her for that.
Anyway, back to my morning at preschool. Mommy takes me over to my cubby hole and hangs up my backpack and attempts to take off my jacket. I'm like hold up lady, I'm three years old now. I got this.
"No Mommy, lemme do it!" I insist, pushing her hand away.
"Okay, sweetiekins. You can do it! Mommy's big boy!" She can fit a lot of teeth into that big smile of hers.
Yeah, that's what I thought. I run this show. I pull off my jacket as quick as I can and let it fall to the floor. Now she can hang it up. I have important work to do. I run over to the train set and begin smashing the trains into each other. I need to understand the physics of why there is no explosion. Last night when I was supposed to be in bed, I snuck down stairs to see what Daddy was watching on TV. Two big trucks crashed into each other and kaBOOM! Exploded instantly! I want to make a KaBOOM! Pretending is fun, but the real thing is even better. And there has to be some way to make it happen. So this is my personal goal for today. I think my mom said bye, but I was too intent on the task at hand. She understands I'm a busy guy and can't be bothered with these formalities, so she exists the room and runs of to go to Work, wherever that place is.
"Ok everyone, time for Morning Circle!" Ms. Nancy says, beckoning everyone to come over to the soft shag rug and sit in a circle. She's a tall lady, taller than Mommy but not quite as tall a Daddy. She's got long, straight brown hair, and big sparkling brown eyes. A pretty lady. So when she calls I come over and sit down on the rug. Then we start to sing the Good Morning song where we greet everybody in the circle.
"Let's start with Bailey" Ms. Nancy says with a big grin as she sits down in the big chair at the top of the circle.
"Good morn-ing, our friend Bailey, so glad to see you. Good morn-ing little Sarah, so glad to see you."
And then there was this doodiehead Timmy. You could say Timmy was my arch nemesis. He was always taking my stuff and being a real jerk about everything. Like expecting me to share with him when he never shares with me! Yesterday, he pushed me down the sliding board before I could step onto it, and I fell over and slid face first right into the dirt. I was a little stunned, but managed to get up rather quickly to turn around and confront the little brat.
"Ha-ha-ha! Spencer is a doodie-face!" Timmy taunted. I had brown dirt all over my face, so it kind of looked like doodie I guess.
"I'm not your friend! You're mean!" I stared back at him with the most spiteful look I could conjure up. I started brushing off the dirt on my face
"Doo-die-face! Doo-die-face! Spen-cer is a doo-die-face!" His songwriting skills were lacking, but one or two other kids started to catch on. Funny how the stupidest songs become the most popular.
So I threw a rock at him and hit him in the nose and he started bleeding and he started crying like a little biatch and told on me. A little blood and he goes all soft, effin loser. The other kids stopped the dumb doodieface song in fear of my mighty arm, and resumed playing as if nothing ever happened. And I was the one who got in trouble. My punishment? You might have guessed it - spending the rest of Outside Playtime in Time Out. Completely absurd! But I took it like a man. I knew Timmy got what he deserved, and that comforted me as I stood inside in the classroom in the corner, staring at the blank corner of the wall. Listening to the muffled sounds of my classmates laughing and squealing with delight.
So today during the Good Morning song, when it was time to say Good Morning to Timmy, I was silent. I'm sure he got the message. He knows it's on.
(To Be Continued...)
Bullet to the Brain
So I am trying to play catch up and noticed that the Bullet to the Brain discussion board was still up. So I finally read it and I'm all ready to come back and write my thoughts on it, and wouldn't ya know it, discussion board is gone. So I'll just post a few thoughts on it here.
We saw some use of the Juggling pattern here. Initially the author moved back and forth from the action in the bank to what the main character, Anders was thinking. It helps us understand his actions, like why he laughs after staring at the ceiling. We also get tiny glimpses of his life - what wasn't "flashing before his eyes" in his final moment, which is good use of the Snapshot pattern. It helped the reader connect with the character, as these are things that could have happened in our lives as well. Things we might think we would think about in our final moments:
He did not remember standing just outside his daughter’s door as she lectured her bear about his naughtiness and described the truly appalling punishments Paws would receive unless he changed his ways.
What I really would have liked to see though, is the Aha! pattern at the conclusion that would have made this story hit home. We knew from everything he did not remember, that what he did remember would seem trite in comparison, but I hoped it would have more meaning for the character and reveal some insight into his behavior perhaps or the life flashbacks he didn't have, but that's not what happened. Clearly it's the start of his career as a book critic - the improper grammar "strangely roused" him. But who cares? Does it explain why he is so sarcastic and disparaging? I guess we have to assume that he was just a die hard critic (rimshot!).
The Super Sweet Sixteen
Party of the Century. 2120 Landon Grove. Saturday, September 21st. 7:30pm. Be there or...of course you'll be there! I re-read the invitation about 20 times. I just couldn't believe it - Sarah Jeffries, the most popular girl in the history of Lincoln High, had just invited me, plain ol Twila Sheldon, to her sweet sixteen!
"Are you still reading that damn thing?" Henry rolled his eyes. "I bet you they have some crazy fucked up scheme planned to embarrass you. Jeffries and her goons are just a bunch of snobby bitches. With fabulous hair. And flawless makeup. But still ultra bitches."
Henry was right. For the most part, Sarah had always been a total bitch to us. In elementary school she and her two flunkies, Becca and Tracy, would trip us in the hallways, call us names. In middle school, they spread rumors about us being brother and sister in an incestuous relationship. In 8th grade when I gained most of my fat girl weight, she spread the rumor that I was pregnant with Henry's retarded lovechild. But so far in high school, they've been so busy building their status as the most popular girls in school, they haven't bothered to pay us any attention. So I figure, maybe they want everyone in the school to like them and know how awesome their parties are, even the social misfits. Hell, I saw one of the dorkiest Mathletes got an invite. Why should the fat girl be left out? Maybe they ran out of invites before they got to the fag.
"Whatever biatch you're just jealous of their fabulousness!" I teased.
"Of those skanktastic hags? Bitch please, I look better in drag any day! Plus I have my own plans that night. Fuck Sarah Jackoffs stupid party."
"But what if they're not so bad? Everyone raves about Sarah's parties! And this is the Sweet Sixteen! Silverpop is gonna play at her party - I mean hello?! They're making a detour from their nationwide tour to stop here and play at her party. Seriously - you think I'm gonna miss this?! Plus I heard she's gonna have really fancy hors d'oeuvres by that chef who won Iron Chef, ice sculptures, DJ Kid Fresh is gonna be the official DJ, and get this - Sarah's gonna make her entrance by flying down in a helicopter!"
It was the most exciting thing that had happened to me in my life. Forget all the times I had been called 'Shamu', 'fat ass' and 'wide load'. Saturday night I was gonna live it up with my favorite band and party with the cool kids. Saturday night I would be a cool kid. But just one thing bothered me...I thought Sarah lived in Pinecrest Hills and Landon Grove was in Sugarland Valley...
Saturday, September 26, 2009
The Gas Station Killer
Leann Driscoll was on her way to Atlanta, GA from Buckshot, TN. She was 20 years old, full of a passion for life and ambition to become more than anyone in her small town had ever been. It was time for her to make her mark on the world. She didn't quite know how she would do that, but she knew Atlanta would be the place to do it.
"It shouldn't take more than four hours." her best friend Penny said. "Those directions I gave you should bring you here in the least number of steps so you shouldn't get lost. I get concerned about you being without a cell phone. But I didn't have one either when I left town. You'd think at least one cell phone company would have coverage by now! Just make sure you leave early in the morning and beat the Labor Day weekend traffic. And be careful! I know it's a short trip, but just be on your guard."
Penny was starting her third year of Women's Studies at Georgia State and lived in downtown Atlanta near the university. Buckshot was always too small-town for her. Penny had dreams of forming her own non-profit to specifically seek out women in small towns who were victims of violence. She knew all too well that these women never sought out help at the same kind of facilities in the cities.
"I can't wait to get there Penny!" Leann said. "I wanna go to al the places you have been - Underground Atlanta, that Little Five Points area - I wanna check out the campus too!"
"We'll do all that and more! I can't wait to show you around either! You're gonna love it!
She was supposed to leave Buckshot Saturday morning, but she had made up her mind Friday night that she couldn't wait any longer. Her station wagon was loaded up - the trunk and a couple of bags on the back seat. She had already had a farewell dinner with family and neighbors. As everyone was cleaning up after dinner, she slipped out in the stillness of the night. She knew it would be dangerous traveling all that way by herself at night, but she thought she could still make it by midnight if she hurried.
After about an two hours her gas light came on. "Shit! I should have filed up before it got so dark!" Originally she had planed to fill up at Buck's Stop N Go Saturday morning, but at night, she couldn't risk old Buck trying to stop her from leaving at night. Everyone in town knew she was leaving and they had all warned her at some point in time, that city life was a lot more dangerous and that she needed to be extra careful. They were already worried that she was driving by herself, but nobody would have let her make the trip at this time of night.
She got off at the next exit at a nice well lit place called QuikTrip. She had never heard of it, but it was right by a Residence Inn and a McDonalds, so it looked like a reputable establishment. She got out of the car and was about to go inside when she realized her money was in her purse (duh!). So she went back and opened the back door on the passenger's side and grabbed her purse. She didn't bother locking the door since she was only gonna be inside for a minute. Leann paid for her gas and an energy drink and went back out to pump her gas. She heard a deep voice call over to her "Hey, excuse me..." she turned around at saw at the opposite pump a heavyset black guy standing about 6'4" with baggy jeans and an oversized black hoodie pumping gas at his tricked out '09 Escalade. Keeping her guard up, she decided to ignore the guy. "Excuse me, miss?! At pump 4?" He began walking over to her. As soon as she saw him charging at her (at least that's what she thought), she removed the pump, jumped in the car and sped off. Whew, close one! Not half a minute later did she see the headlights of his Escalade in her rear view. "Oh my God, he's after me!" she thought aloud. Leann had no idea where she was or which direction she was going now. She was just speeding down a dark 2-lane highway in the middle praying to God that highway patrol car would pull them over. Her heart was racing, pounding out of her chest. Her mind was flying at a thousand thoughts a minute towards the brink of sanity. Why me?! What is this guy's problem?! Has he been following me this whole time?! Could I have made it to the next stop? I could've, gas wasn't all the way past E. Wish I had a cell phone. If I wasn't from a stupid small town with no reception. I would have been better off going to a rundown gas station by a truck stop bar in the middle of nothing. What is he gonna try to do to me? Rape AND kill me? He's definitely gonna rob me. These thoughts consumed her so much she didn't even notice the small town highway had a stop light. As a car was crossing the intersection, she crashed right into it.
"Oh my God. Oh my God. Oh my GOD!" Leann was safe in her seat, she had managed to put her seatbelt on in the middle of the high speed chase. Her station wagon was a tank, the front bumper was gone and hood had been crushed to about half its size, but otherwise, the car was still in tact and so was she, save a few minor bumps and bruises. The other car was altogether different. The impact of the crash had left a deep impression into the passenger's side of the car. Glass was Bright red blood spattered against the windshield of the other car like bright red raindrops. She could make out through both her and the other car's cracked windshields the figure of a man slumped over the wheel in the driver's seat and a woman laying across the dashboard - the woman had not been wearing a seatbelt and had been slammed into the windshield. She paused and heard the sound of a crying toddler wailing like a tiny fire truck siren. In the backseat was a tiny little girl, no more than 2 years old, screaming "Mommy! Dadda!" at the top of her lungs. She heard a car door slam behind her and a man on the phone. She turned around to see her supposed "attacker" coming toward her and remembered why the crash happened in the first place. She went for her seatbelt but it was stuck. Panic set in. "Oh my God, he is still coming to get me! Even with there being an accident?! Oh for Christ's sake!" She tried to wriggle free from the seatbelt but it was too late. He was already at the car.
The man went straight for the back door on her side of the car. "Great he's going to rob me first" Leann thought. He pulled out some bags that had fallen on the floor, and much to Leann's surprise, a man, apparently unconscious from the bags falling on his head in the crash. Leann was speechless, eyes widened and mouth agape frozen in shock. Her attacker turned savior approached her door. "This was what I was trying to warn you about at the gas station. This guy slipped into your backseat while you weren't looking My cell phone finally got a steady signal so I could call for help. Police and an ambulance are on the way. Are you ok?"
That was a lot for Leann to absorb. She shook off the shock and gave a delayed response, "Yeah...I'm...I'm ok." She looked in his eyes, they were not the cold eyes of a killer, but the kind eyes of a good samaritan. "Ok good", he said with a comforting smile, and ran over to check on the family in the other car. "Thank you." she whispered as she closed her eyes, embarrassed about her assumptions and her naivete in allowing an intruder into her car. Finally she was safe.
Story from What's In A Name (Pt 2)
Cecil Wantsital made his way toward the front of the line to place his bet at the last minute. "$5000 on Pissing Like A!" This was his last chance to turn around his fortune. He knew this was his lucky day.
There was once a time where he didn't have to rely on luck for huge wads of cash. Back when he was a regular on the popular soap "As the porno film," he made good money as one of the star actors. Even though he made money he was still a gambling man. He'd bet on absolutely anything. Even when Planet Bill was first discovered, he bet on what they'd name it. The odds were usually in his favor, but that time "Earth 2.0" ended up being the second choice of the astronomers. He took that as a lesson learned and shied away from risky bets to focus on his career. He went on to land big screen hits like "Deep Impact", "Fun with Dick and Jane" and "Grindhouse", to name a few. But instead of investing his money or even saving it, he spent nearly all of it on frivolous crap that he could never maintain without steady income. Case in point: his yacht, the "The SS I Make TONS More a Year than You Do." There was only one time he actually uttered those words. At the peak of his career, an indie film producer, Sam Smalltime, approached him to do a project that he was submitting to the Sunpants film festival; it didn't pay much and the role was a supporting one, so Cecil told him "Look buddy, I make TONS more a year than you do. Did you really think I was gonna take a crappy role in your crappy movie?" Ironic that he ended up selling the yacht to that producer after the film became an international blockbuster.
When Cecil caught a case of Acute Flesh Eating Buttrot after his last film "Hancock", he knew it was all over. He couldn't work, so he couldn't afford all the lavish lifestyle, let alone the medical expenses. And it was all because he wanted to go back home to his tiny hometown of Kill Me, Alabama and show off his fine clothes and fast women. Little did he know there was an AFEB outbreak right in the middle of town. He had to be bedridden for months in a quarantined facility, where the CDC was performing tests on patients to diagnose the disease and come up with a cure. They managed to keep him alive until they found a treatment that completely reversed the Buttrot effect. But by then all his riches were gone. He was in major debt. Classic MC Hammer case. No scripts came his way. There were new actors on the scene with bigger and better talent. People in his hometown looked down on him. He had alienated all his old friends and his new Hollywood friends ran out as soon as the money did.
Now was Cecil's last chance to turn his luck around. He had been around in the biz long enough to figure out how to act, write, AND direct or so he thought. He had an idea for a film that he just needed a small budget for and he nearly could do the whole thing by himself. He'd probably have to approach Mr. Smalltime for production help, but he was prepared to do that. He got a $5k loan from a local loan shark and made his way to the race tracks. After placing his bet, he sat down to watch the race anxious for the results. He could feel the change coming, and he knew there were greater things in store for him.
Authored by: Joshua Fargusson
Authored on: Sep 21, 2009 8:37 PM
Subject: Late names
Authored on: Sep 21, 2009 8:37 PM
Subject: Late names
A race horse--Pissing Like A--"In the lead is French Fried Bacon followed closely by Abscessed Tooth with Aw F*&K I was Reincarnated as a Racehorse in dead last. Wait, out of the shadows comes Pissing Like A barreling toward the lead...
A new planet--Planet Bil--astronomers have found what they believe to be the new ninth planet since the still controversial reclassifying of the planets reclassifying Pluto as a "dwarf planet". astronomers have affectionately named this new Earth like planet Bill. THe astronomers were inspired by the Quinton Tarinteno flick Kill Bill.
A new disease--Acute Flesh Eating Buttrot- The CDC has issued a level five aelert for a new pandemic of acute flesh eating buttrot. The desease is running rampant in the south.
A desert town--Kill Me--The name sums up most small desert town life...
A soap opera-- As the porno film--Follow Saphire, Hosey, and Ginger in this penertrating (ba dum bump) look into the overly dramatic world of adult entertainers.
A yacht--The SS I Make TONS More a Year than You Do (The print would have to be small or the aft of the ship disproportionatly large)
Sunday, September 13, 2009
In all honesty...
I am a horrible hoax detector. I scored 3/10 on the first test, and showed slight improvement on the second one with 5/10. What these photos say about the world around us is that people with too much time on their hands love Photoshop. It also says that we'll believe it when we see it. People are very gullible! Like you really have to tell some folks "You can't believe everything you see on tv!" But it is way easier to debunk hearsay as myth when we haven't seen it ourselves. But when you have supposed "evidence" right in front of you, it's much harder to distinguish the truth from fiction.
The ones I could figure out were hoaxes were usually obvious: The Oprah Winfrey pic was a horrible fake! As was the shark and aircraft blend. I had to look closely at the Big lady/small lady pic to notice her shadow was too small and no part of it was cast on her friend who was right beside her. The WTC photo, the plane just looked very cut-and-paste. The lighting, the smoothness of that image versus the graininess of the tourist's image, the size and position of the plane - all looked out of place.
For us as storytellers - still finding it hard to think of myself as a storyteller or a writer - but for us, it means we have an audience who is more and more skeptical of the truth. We have to be detail oriented and not make any mistakes in our details in order to win the trust of our audience. They will break down each piece of our story looking for errors or omissions, anything to call our bluff and discredit us as unbelievable. So we have to craft everything well, settings that the reader can relate to or imagine, characters that would fit within the setting, dialogue that the reader could actually hear the characters speaking, elements that we could borrow from real life events perhaps. Similar to Nicole Helget's piece, "The Turtle Catcher." Whenever we blend a real story with fiction, because of the details we have from real life experience, it seems to become more believable than simple fiction alone.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Trackers
"I typically only hunt two-legged creatures," Reese said. "But tonight my stomach will eat itself if I don't feed it." she told her partner Kane. They had been stuck in the Jeep for five days going through small towns, back woods and dirt roads tracking the most dangerous reptilian the world had seen. She would go down in history for this one. Reese was tall and lean but unusually strong and fast. It would only take minutes to make a kill but cooking it would slow them down. "No time to waste, eat this protein bar." Kane replied.
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