And I'm not talking about my goals here. I'm talking about that moving picture show that warms up and plays in my noggin once the rest of me passed out from a long day. Dreams.
I very often remember my dreams. My earliest when I was less than 2 years old. I smell things and feel things in my dreams, these amalgams of my day to day, past and future. Although some dreams are just images, emotions or small scenes of much debate, some of my dreams have felt epic in scale and detail, and have repeated over the years. And when I wake, its as if days or months have passed.
As of yet, I have not used any of my dreams for fiction, but I have had my fiction visit me. Usually when I am neglecting that particular story, or when Ive had a long run of good writing.
One night, in my 20s, I remember waking up to the feel of a hand on my foot, and found my MC Logan (shelved WIP Touched) at the end of my bed, is eyes glowing a serene azure. I thought I was awake and then I did wake and he was gone.
Has this happened to any of you, or should I be going back to my old profession as a client...
I coulda not posted today. To tell ya the truth I was looking to have some big topic on writing, some funny home spun yarn about my week, but nope, nada, nothing. I am winging this post, but I am making one.
Regular posting on Blog = WIN!!!!!
I shoulda joined in on the writers challenge with the folks over at Romantic Friday Writers, but I realized I not only didn't have anything that fit the challenge, I also had no time to write something up on the fly and be good enough to share. I am thinking I should have thought about that before entering said challenge, but I was so excited about joining in on something again, here in the Bloggerverse.
= SHOULDA
I AM gonna join in on the NaNoWriMo action next week. Honest Injun, I will take on the 30 days and nights of writing, however I shall be cutting the word count in half at 25,000 words and not 50,000. I am learning my present limitations. This is good. But my limitations will not limit my aspirations. I will continue to write.
= GONNA!!!!
So coulda, shoulda, woulda my writing?!?!?! Not gonna.
"The road to hell is paved with works-in-progress.”
~~~Philippe de Comines
I'd say the road to publication in paved with rejection letters. WIP's are not good intentions to me, they are proof that our dreams can become tangible, viable steps towards our goals. So, long live WIP's!!!!
BTW, check out NPR's website. They are starting up another round of Three-Minute Fiction, Laughing And Crying is the subject and per usual, a 600 word limit. Winners are read on the air and published on the web site. Take a peek.
I think when two opposite forces, beings, cultures, styles collide something beautiful can come from it. I think the world of art and entertainment thrives on this.
"DEAR EDITOR: I am 8 years old. "Some of my little friends say there is no Santa Claus. "Papa says, 'If you see it in THE SUN it's so.' "Please tell me the truth; is there a Santa Claus?"
"VIRGINIA O'HANLON. "115 WEST NINETY-FIFTH STREET."
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8 year old Virginia wrote this letter to the editor of New York's Sun, and the quick response was printed as an unsigned editorial Sept. 21, 1897. The work of veteran newsman Francis Pharcellus Church has since become history's most reprinted newspaper editorial ever.
And although the earnest words of that child touches me, it is the response that warms me each time I read it. My gift to all of you this hectic holiday season. A bit of perspective--a moment to see how we should see this time of year and every day that follows it. Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays to all of you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
VIRGINIA, your little friends are wrong. They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do not believe except [what] they see. They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds. All minds, Virginia, whether they be men's or children's, are little. In this great universe of ours man is a mere insect, an ant, in his intellect, as compared with the boundless world about him, as measured by the intelligence capable of grasping the whole of truth and knowledge.
Yes, VIRGINIA, there is a Santa Claus. He exists as certainly as love and generosity and devotion exist, and you know that they abound and give to your life its highest beauty and joy. Alas! how dreary would be the world if there were no Santa Claus. It would be as dreary as if there were no VIRGINIAS. There would be no childlike faith then, no poetry, no romance to make tolerable this existence. We should have no enjoyment, except in sense and sight. The eternal light with which childhood fills the world would be extinguished.
Not believe in Santa Claus! You might as well not believe in fairies! You might get your papa to hire men to watch in all the chimneys on Christmas Eve to catch Santa Claus, but even if they did not see Santa Claus coming down, what would that prove? Nobody sees Santa Claus, but that is no sign that there is no Santa Claus. The most real things in the world are those that neither children nor men can see. Did you ever see fairies dancing on the lawn? Of course not, but that's no proof that they are not there. Nobody can conceive or imagine all the wonders there are unseen and unseeable in the world.
You may tear apart the baby's rattle and see what makes the noise inside, but there is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even the united strength of all the strongest men that ever lived, could tear apart. Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance, can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it all real? Ah, VIRGINIA, in all this world there is nothing else real and abiding.
No Santa Claus! Thank God! he lives, and he lives forever. A thousand years from now, Virginia, nay, ten times ten thousand years from now, he will continue to make glad the heart of childhood.
Alice: Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here? The Cat: That depends a good deal on where you want to get to Alice: I don't much care where. The Cat: Then it doesn't much matter which way you go. Alice: …so long as I get somewhere. The Cat: Oh, you're sure to do that, if only you walk long enough.
This is sort of how I'm seeing NaNoWriMo this time. And I am very happy with that!
Come one, come all WIP's! As mentioned last week, I will be untangling my present WIP with the help ofNaNoWriMothis November. 30 days and nights of wild writing abandon, how can I resist. And what can I say, my WIP needs the extra attention after the physical neglect I have given it.
Now I didnt say emotional neglect. Maybe I havent been stroking my fingers up and down the keys in a age old dance--writer and filling a blank screen/page. But my story and its characters are always on my mind. I have a steno pad and a computer full of bookmarked info and images to prove it.
I just need to write!!!!!!!!!!
So if ya have a neglected WIP or would like to take the NaNoWriMo challenge, 50,000 words of original story in 3o days, JOIN ME!!!!!!
First, thank you all for your well wishes. I am feeling better. Thank you and I shall be catching up in the blog world this week. I will not bore you with the details of having a cold or sinus issues, but I will say I started feeling sick about a couple weekends ago.
The Sunday before, I attended my first International Woman's Writing Guildmeeting of the season. It was great to be back with the gals. Pot luck treats and writing prompts abound for our season starter.
Unfortunately, I felt the 'walking dead' feeling on and off through that day and by Monday I so knew I was sick. This did not bode well for the rest of my week. Aside from my other obligations, I was in the final stages on getting ready for a area craft show, my first.
So what do WIP's do when they are sick? They improvise and soldier on.
Welcome to my tent at the 34th annual Boardman Rotary Oktoberfest! Sad to say, the day was cold and rained part of it. Not good for getting over being sick. Happy to say I did enjoy the experience, the people and made my space for the day with a little extra. All of this let me ignore the whole wet and cold thing.
The tent is Jim and I camping pavilion when we go to the astronomy field. The pretty little table up front is my great grandfathers. The photos of my wares and said wares are of my creation of course. It was Jim's idea for me to place some of my pics out to advertise (good hubby) and the displays are of my creation. And if you ever wanted another use for a old type drawer, try it as a craft and jewelry display. Just $5 at my local junk store.
And some of my crafty neighbors and patrons milling about old Boardman Park.
Now, be sure to take a card before you go. All not sold at the show will be up onetsy soon enough.
Now, as for my sick WIP Ghost Mountain, I have found some good medicine. A lovely writing pal of mine, Eliza, reminded me that National Novel Writing Month is upon us and NaNoWriMo may be the perfect chance to untangle my WIP while pushing a steady word count towards completion.
I say it sounds like just what the doctor ordered.
My late entry for theShh It's a Secret Blogfest being held by the lovely Summer Ross (BIG congrats on your first Blogfest!) at My Inner Fairy. Under 700 wrds BTW! Stop on by her blog and check out all the other wonderful entries this weekend and have a great day!
From my shelved WIP 'Touched' (Never got to editing stage—so I have 2 POV going in this...bad Nicole). The moment is shortly after Mike(my MC's best friend) blows up and demands Logan (my MC) tell him what’s going on, after Logan uses some of his abilities to help Mike subdue a bad guy on the island (My FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT BLOGFEST ENTRY). Logan has just told Mike about his secret abilities--his biggest secret, and now Mike wants Logan to show him some proof. So Logan shows his friend his mind reading skills. The scene is in the chapter, ‘So Is It a Jedi Mind Trick or What?’
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mike grimly eyed his long lost friend. He still wasn’t sure about any of this, not by a long shot, but this ‘more human human’ before him was still the guy who had saved his life the night before and tried saving his late brothers life those many years ago. Logan was a friend. Hell, to a Mahoning that made you family. And even this new version of Logan, the jaded arrogance, coarse humor and darkness—he was still Logan. Aside from not telling him and his family that he was Seer Islands answer to Superman, Logan had never lied to them or taken advantage. He’d never hurt them...
‘Just kept one hell of a big honkin secret.’
“So what am I thinking now?” The bulky blond challenged, crossing his arms over his uniformed chest in a mildly childish stance.
Honestly, Logan had expected Mike to ask him to levitate a table or prick a finger and heal it. He’d already been witness to Logan’s strength and endurance. But the mind reading?
Quirking a dark brow at his pragmatic friend, Logan pushed off the window sill and stood before the young deputy, holding his friends unremitting stare. “Looking for proof, Sheriff?” Mike nodded. Logan simply shook his head, this moment bordering on a childhood dare. “Okay.”
Taking another step closer to Mike, Logan felt his friend flinch, but hold his spot at the center of the old hardwood floor. “You’re sure?”
“Do it.” Mike swallowed hard. Logan smirked then shook his head once more. He’d never been in the position where the person he was reading asked for it.
Taking in a deep breath, Logan raised his hand between them, palm out to Mike’s chest. He could feel the hum of life within his friend’s body—strong and steady like the lapping of warm ocean waves. Slowly his hand hovered to the side of Mike’s curly headed skull and began to see the shades of images sharpen and sounds become words. It was no surprise to Logan that his friend’s thoughts came to him as straightforward as the man who had them—with little hesitancy and no doubt.
“So-so what do ya see?” Mike blurted out.
Logan grinned, his eyes still closed. “I see a pretty brave guy for letting his ‘alien’ friend have his way with his brain.” Logan felt Mike’s entire body go ridged and smiled in spite of himself. “Kidding, buddy. Kidding.”
Logan lowered his hand and opened his eyes. He saw a lot inside the stalwart man before him; more than what he was comfortable revealing to the other man if he wanted to keep him as a friend. Things like how Mike had secretly envied Logan when they were children or the extent of Mike’s present fears—that he would not be able to keep the people of this island safe during the coming storm. No, what needed to be said now had nothing to do with the things he saw within his friends mind, but the reason why his friend had let him see them at all.
“You trust me.” His eyes steady on his friend. “You think I’m a little fucked up and you’re uncomfortable when Anne [Mike’s sister, also Logan’s childhood friend] and I are alone” Logan knowingly smirked when his friend’s eyes fell to his boots “but you trust me.”
Mike raised his head again and silently nodded.
“And that same trust does not extend to my family.” Logan continued.
“I’m sorry, Logan…”
“Don’t be. You are right not to.” Logan turned from his friend and walked back to his view of the mounting snow fall. Hell, he didn’t trust his own family. He was intimately aware of what his family was capable of and viewed mistrust as a survival skill when dealing with anything of his kin.
“And Anne?” Logan felt Mike’s brotherly concern before he spoke it. A pregnant silence fell between the men.
“I’d never hurt her, Mike. Believe that.” Logan just wished he could believe it too.
I believe that the acts, struggles and triumphs of good men and women are not solely owned by the race or nationality in which they came. Although the places from which these individuals hail, should take great pride in and take honest advantage of their native son and daughters greatness, I believe the good works of such good people should be shared with all of humankind.
Humankind.
Do you believe in God? Buddha? The Great Spirit? Allah? Yahweh? The Goddess? Non-denominational? Many Gods or no Gods at all? A city dweller or of country kin? Blue collar or white? Silver spoon or plastic spoon? The list can go on with our differences, but the simplest thing that brings us together is that we are all human and in possession of a soul.
Because in the end, strip it all away and you are left with the fact that we are all human. Try as some may to separate themselves from the rest of humanity, we are all flesh and blood homo sapiens with souls.
I believe that a good person is one who not only understands this but lives by it. This man or woman reaches across race, religion and nationality and inspires ALL of us with their words and actions...
"In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds. Let us not seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred. We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of dignity and discipline. We must not allow our creative protest to degenerate into physical violence. Again and again, we must rise to the majestic heights of meeting physical force with soul force...
...And so even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream.
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal." ..."
~~~Martin Luther King, Jr. Quotes from "I Have a Dream" delivered 28 August 1963, at the Lincoln Memorial, Washington D.C.
I had posted this yesterday, after my Fairytale Blogfest entry. I figured posting it on its own today might be easier for folks to get to. Less scrolling.
And thank you to all who also commented on my Fight entry yesterday! I have written shoot outs, verbal fights, fist fights and even a cat fight. This ‘fight was a bit different for me.
This is a part of scene from my temporarily shelved WIP, Touched. Logan is my MC. He is a telepath, amongst other things. He is helping his childhood friend Mike (a deputy), with a dispute outside of town. The islands dock manager, Stan Murdock, is drunk and taking revenge on Dr. Melbourne, a marine researcher who runsthe science center.
I attempted to give the reader the viewpoints of both Logan and Mike. I am not sure it worked (hence shelved WIP). In this scene, Mike gets a small hint that his long lost friend has something more than money and attitude going for him….
WARNING: Curse words and some crude epithets of a derogatory nature. Do not read if this offends.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Hey, Buddy?” Logan called out just as Murdock slammed the axe into the door hinges. “How about ya call it a day and go sleep it off…”
“FUCK YOU!” Murdock bellowed, now focused on the embedded axe.
“No, I don’t think so.” Logan knowingly smirked, his eyes solidly trained on the axe wedged into the door.
When the big man reached for his weapon of choice and pulled, the axe stayed put by the sheer strength of Logan’s telekinetic stare. Murdock’s hands slipped from the handle, sending him staggering back from the door and into a table top.
Taking the opportunity, Mike moved to Logan’s side. Murdock found his unsteady footing and was reaching for the axe once more.
“Come on Stan, let the axe alone…” Mike calmly ordered the bleary eyed dock manager. At this point, a voice could be heard from behind the mangled door.
“It’s Deputy Michael Mahoning, Doctor. We are here to help…”
“You people get this deranged Neanderthal out of my lab!” The muffled sound of authority bellowed from behind the door. “To protect and serve, my ass…”
Logan could only feel indignation and a over bearing sense of entitlement emanating from Murdock’s target behind the door. (through his ability) For a half second, he considered allowing the big brute to bag the snooty intellectual and call it a day.
“FUCK YOU TOO, YA MURDERIN TREE HUGGIN FAG!” Murdock yelled his unoriginal epithets to the scientist behind the door. “I told ya I’d get ya for burnin my boat, ya freekin fairy…”
“You stupid, half breed ogre.” The doctor retorted. “I don’t give two shits about your precious rat trap skiff. Why would I burn it?”
“Shut up! SHUT. UP.” Murdock’s screamed at the top of his lungs and pulled angrily once more on the axe handle, becoming more frustrated with each try.
Logan took the opportunity to step away from Mike and walked closer to the exit door, cautioning his friend the deputy to stay put.
Mike watched his friend with raised brow, his gun now trained on Murdock who was still trying to move the strangely unmovable axe. ‘What the hell is Logan doing?’ And then he realized and his stomach went sick.
“Hey big guy…” Logan could almost taste the immense swell of anger and frustration swirling in the alcoholic whirlpool that was Murdock’s head. It was familiar and it tasted bitter, but it was strong, too strong for the man to stop the path he was taking now.
‘Need to focus that nasty elsewhere. Need to distract…’
“Tell me, what kind of man will your girl think of you for killing this guy…” Logan nodded to the storage vault. The large man abruptly turned and let out a bull snort, focusing his full attention on Logan. “Then again, I guess it wouldn’t matter much anyway, being that you’re not much of a man to begin with, being a wee thing and all…”
Mike’s eyes grew wide when Logan raised his thumb and pointer finger to demonstrate the size of the large man’s questionable manhood.
Murdock screamed with rage and lunged, knocking Logan into the emergency exit he'd purposely positioned himself. Logan had hoped to take the party outside.
‘Oh, shit.’
Logan realized the flaw in his plan too late. The door was locked. Something he was quickly remedying with his ability, while trying to avoid getting smashed like a bug by the larger man pinning him into the door.
Mike joined the tussle, throwing his own body weight onto the man to try and subdue him. And then the lock on the emergency door disengaged, and all three men went sprawling out into the back parking lot. The door alarm blaring.
“Holy hell, Stanley. Knock it off!” Mike yelled, reaching for his cuffs, trying to sit on Murdocks flailing legs.
Logan pushed his weight into the man’s head and shoulders and into the ground, trying to get his arms. “Mike. Cuffs!”
This needed to end.
Logan closed his eyes, before they began to blur, the hand he held down on Murdock’s head began to hum with everything—all the anger and humiliation and even pain that drove the man struggling under him. The fast frightening beat of the mans heart became Logans own and he focused on it, held it within his own mind as tight as his grip on the mans body. ‘Slow…’ Logan breathed out, eyes squeezed tight. ‘Rest. You are done, here.’
Mike could feel the large man slowly begin to still under him, giving him enough time to catch the hands that now lay limp on the snow and gravel. Finally cuffing the man he sat back on the now listless man’s legs, and looked to his friend who had rolled off the big man’s body and was now on his back in the snow.
The young deputy felt a shiver go down his spine; the light blue of Logan’s eyes almost appeared white when he opened them to the overcast sky. Something had just happened here and Mike was damned if he knew what.
Before he could say a word, the frazzled but no less indignant Dr. Melbourne walked through the alarming exit door, reaching up with his key to shut off the sound. “So you got the son-of-a-bitch…”
Logan sat up, wiping the snow off his body and out of his unruly hair. Mike turned his attention to the scientist and the large axe in his shaking bony hand.
“How did you get that out of the door?”
The doctor continued to eye his ex-captor, now trussed up on the ground like Christmas Turkey. “Found it on the floor.”
Mike turned back to Logan and found his friend’s cool crystalline blue eyes dulled and settled upon him. His expression unreadable.
“Keys? I’ll pull the Jeep around and help ya load ‘Gigantor’.” Logan snarked, his voice calm and even while Mike still found himself panting for breath.
Mike nodded and flipped him the keys. “Thanks.”
Logan nodded and turned, feeling his friend’s eyes and questions follow him into the falling snow….
Thanks for reading folks. I will be around to ya soon!
I am unsure if the story I chose these characters, can be considered a fair tail, but I definitely have two genre's colliding. You be the judge.
My Fight! Fight! Fight! entry is right after. Scroll down!!!!!! Thanks all!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Shahryar!” The old Vizier squinted mirthfully at his youngest grandchild, stalking him just outside the kitchen backdoor.
“Come child; give your grandfather an ear.” The old man heartily patted the edge of the fire hearth beneath him. “I have another tale for you.”
The Viziers smile grew wide while watching the small prepubescent quietly acquiesce and step obediently inside. He’d found his entertainment for the evening, a perk of being a grandfather.
“It’s not another sea monster tale is it Pa Pa? The boy cautioned, dark wide eyes reflecting in the late evening light. “Mother said I cannot listen if it’s a lie about sea monsters and such. She said I might have nightmares...”
“No monsters, only facts child. Besides, your mother would not deny a good story telling. Your father can attest to that fact. ” The old man winked at his would-be audience. The child quietly took the offered seat.
“Besides, I told your mother you are made of the stronger stuff—I know it! And to be honest, it’s tales of the truth that’s scarier. My ‘monster tales’ as your mother calls them can be given a happier ending if I see fit. A story can be as kind or as sensible as you wish in its telling. But the real can be just as dangerous and unexplained as it pleases. And if you wait long enough, the real becomes story with each new generation of tellers...” the Vizier rambled on.
“Grandfather?” the child questioned.
The old man ceased his lecture of the real and make believe and smiled conspiringly at his young charge. “If your mamma asks, just tell her I was saving your soul, a thousand and one tales at a time.” The small boy raised his brow but dutifully nodded. The old man began.
“This story goes back a while and it starts simple enough. A boy, not much older than you, was helping his Uncle on his fishing boat, the Dunyazad. Two days into the trip, the crew saw a man afloat upon the sea. They pulled him aboard—naked as a newborn babe and so very pale. They weren’t expecting the man to have breath left in him. It was all a shock when they were proven wrong...”
“So he was alive, grandfather? How did he get out there? Was there a ship?”
“Now you get talkative with all your questions, huh?” a twinkle lit the old storyteller’s eye. “Of course there had to be a ship, child—man out in the middle of the ocean—and yes he was living. What did I say? Now listen.” The old man smirked unperturbed and began again.
“Well, when this man started to come around he began to mumble things in some sort of foreign tongue unfamiliar to the boy or the men. It wasn’t long before the stranger opened his eyes-pale silvery grey eyes...” the old man trailed off into silence for but a moment, his own eyes reflective and far away.
“Well, after talking to the man and clothing him, the man began to make more sense. He told the crew about his ship and its crew. Said it was in trouble and demanded the Captain take the Dunyazad out of its way—out into the great sea near a coming storm. A dangerouse storm, growing red and angry with each passing hour. ”
The old man leaned back against the far corner of the immense old fire place and breathed in the supper cooking there.
“A day glides fairly quick when you’re heading to somewhere you don’t want to be.” The old man nodded to the child. “It felt that way to the crew of the Dunyazad. It didn’t help that the pale man sending them on their present journey took to pacing the bow of the ship—faster and faster with each knot they came.”
“It was around about supper time, the storm promised itself just over the horizon. Clouds taking out the last of the sunset and the glow of lightning taking up where the stars should have been. It was about this time did the stranger stop pacing on the bow and stood dead center, his eyes out over the sea.”
“By then the crew was busy batting down the ship, for the storm had picked up, but the boy kept watch on the stranger. Even with the ship tipping and rolling, the man stood at the front of the ship, steady legged and sure. And then, just before the ship hit another wave, the pale man turned to the boy and smiled...” the old man trailed off while he held the frozen and attentive stare of his grandchild.
“And then he looked to the sky...” the old man looked up to the ceiling and then back to the wide eyed child.
“It was in the light of the next lightning strike, did the boy see something he would not forget to this day. The strangers eyes, those pale grey eyes had taken on the glow of the lighting—the lightening that now seemed to be steadily following the ship over the waves into the night. Before the child could blink another bolt of light shot across the bow of the Dunyazad but at a strait vertical, sending the boy for cover. When he turned back to the bow, both the stranger and dancing lightning were gone.”
A silence fell over the kitchen, the crackle and pop of the fire filling the space. “What ha-happened to the stranger Pa Pa?” the young boy finally spoke. The old man gave the child a quiet smile.
“Some say he fell overboard, maybe got hit by the lightning. No one but the boy was watching him at the time, but no one believed what 'I' told them when we got back to port...”
“So the boy was you Pa Pa!” the boy exclaimed in awe. The old man gave a nod. He’d only partly meant to let that bit of information slip.
“I told you I tell stories about the real—it’s what I saw.” The old man leaned in close to his grandchild, placing a wide palm on the boys shoulder. “And I say that the stranger didn’t drown or get burst apart by a lightning zap. And he wasn’t looking for his ship that night out on the sea. I say he wanted to be taken back, so his ship could find him and take him up and away into the stars...”
“Father, Shahryar...”
The steady foot falls of the lady of the house neared the kitchen threshold. The Vizier’s daughter had come to take away his young audience.
“In here, Scheherazade.” Quietly, the storyteller raised a finger to his lips and winked at his grandchild. “Tomorrow I shall tell you the one about the giant squid...”
(One Thousand and One Nights or Scheherazade and the 1001 Arabian Nights and a visitor from anther planet tale.)
I have written shoot outs, verbal fights, fist fights and even a cat fight. This ‘fight was a bit different for me. This is a part of scene from my temporarily shelved WIP, Touched. Logan is my MC. He is a telepath, amongst other things. He is helping his childhood friend Mike (a deputy), with a dispute outside of town. The islands dock manager, Stan Murdock, is drunk and taking revenge on Dr. Melbourne, a marine researcher who runsthe science center.
I attempted to give the reader the viewpoints of both Logan and Mike. I am not sure it worked (hence shelved WIP). In this scene, Mike gets a small hint that his long lost friend has something more than money and attitude going for him….
WARNING: Curse words and some crude epithets of a derogatory nature. Do not read if this offends.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Hey, Buddy?” Logan called out just as Murdock slammed the axe into the door hinges. “How about ya call it a day and go sleep it off…”
“FUCK YOU!” Murdock bellowed, now focused on the embedded axe.
“No, I don’t think so.” Logan knowingly smirked, his eyes solidly trained on the axe wedged into the door.
When the big man reached for his weapon of choice and pulled, the axe stayed put by the sheer strength of Logan’s telekinetic stare. Murdock’s hands slipped from the handle, sending him staggering back from the door and into a table top.
Taking the opportunity, Mike moved to Logan’s side. Murdock found his unsteady footing and was reaching for the axe once more.
“Come on Stan, let the axe alone…” Mike calmly ordered the bleary eyed dock manager. At this point, a voice could be heard from behind the mangled door.
“It’s Deputy Michael Mahoning, Doctor. We are here to help…”
“You people get this deranged Neanderthal out of my lab!” The muffled sound of authority bellowed from behind the door. “To protect and serve, my ass…”
Logan could only feel indignation and a over bearing sense of entitlement emanating from Murdock’s target behind the door. (through his ability) For a half second, he considered allowing the big brute to bag the snooty intellectual and call it a day.
“FUCK YOU TOO, YA MURDERIN TREE HUGGIN FAG!” Murdock yelled his unoriginal epithets to the scientist behind the door. “I told ya I’d get ya for burnin my boat, ya freekin fairy…”
“You stupid, half breed ogre.” The doctor retorted. “I don’t give two shits about your precious rat trap skiff. Why would I burn it?”
“Shut up! SHUT. UP.” Murdock’s screamed at the top of his lungs and pulled angrily once more on the axe handle, becoming more frustrated with each try.
Logan took the opportunity to step away from Mike and walked closer to the exit door, cautioning his friend the deputy to stay put.
Mike watched his friend with raised brow, his gun now trained on Murdock who was still trying to move the strangely unmovable axe. ‘What the hell is Logan doing?’ And then he realized and his stomach went sick.
“Hey big guy…” Logan could almost taste the immense swell of anger and frustration swirling in the alcoholic whirlpool that was Murdock’s head. It was familiar and it tasted bitter, but it was strong, too strong for the man to stop the path he was taking now.
‘Need to focus that nasty elsewhere. Need to distract…’
“Tell me, what kind of man will your girl think of you for killing this guy…” Logan nodded to the storage vault. The large man abruptly turned and let out a bull snort, focusing his full attention on Logan. “Then again, I guess it wouldn’t matter much anyway, being that you’re not much of a man to begin with, being a wee thing and all…”
Mike’s eyes grew wide when Logan raised his thumb and pointer finger to demonstrate the size of the large man’s questionable manhood.
Murdock screamed with rage and lunged, knocking Logan into the emergency exit he'd purposely positioned himself. Logan had hoped to take the party outside.
‘Oh, shit.’
Logan realized the flaw in his plan too late. The door was locked. Something he was quickly remedying with his ability, while trying to avoid getting smashed like a bug by the larger man pinning him into the door.
Mike joined the tussle, throwing his own body weight onto the man to try and subdue him. And then the lock on the emergency door disengaged, and all three men went sprawling out into the back parking lot. The door alarm blaring.
“Holy hell, Stanley. Knock it off!” Mike yelled, reaching for his cuffs, trying to sit on Murdocks flailing legs.
Logan pushed his weight into the man’s head and shoulders and into the ground, trying to get his arms. “Mike. Cuffs!”
This needed to end.
Logan closed his eyes, before they began to blur, the hand he held down on Murdock’s head began to hum with everything—all the anger and humiliation and even pain that drove the man struggling under him. The fast frightening beat of the mans heart became Logans own and he focused on it, held it within his own mind as tight as his grip on the mans body. ‘Slow…’ Logan breathed out, eyes squeezed tight. ‘Rest. You are done, here.’
Mike could feel the large man slowly begin to still under him, giving him enough time to catch the hands that now lay limp on the snow and gravel. Finally cuffing the man he sat back on the now listless man’s legs, and looked to his friend who had rolled off the big man’s body and was now on his back in the snow.
The young deputy felt a shiver go down his spine; the light blue of Logan’s eyes almost appeared white when he opened them to the overcast sky. Something had just happened here and Mike was damned if he knew what.
Before he could say a word, the frazzled but no less indignant Dr. Melbourne walked through the alarming exit door, reaching up with his key to shut off the sound. “So you got the son-of-a-bitch…”
Logan sat up, wiping the snow off his body and out of his unruly hair. Mike turned his attention to the scientist and the large axe in his shaking bony hand.
“How did you get that out of the door?”
The doctor continued to eye his ex-captor, now trussed up on the ground like Christmas Turkey. “Found it on the floor.”
Mike turned back to Logan and found his friend’s cool crystalline blue eyes dulled and settled upon him. His expression unreadable.
“Keys? I’ll pull the Jeep around and help ya load ‘Gigantor’.” Logan snarked, his voice calm and even while Mike still found himself panting for breath.
Mike nodded and flipped him the keys. “Thanks.”
Logan nodded and turned, feeling his friend’s eyes and questions follow him into the falling snow….
Thanks for reading folks. I will be around to ya soon!
Again, I recommend entering one of these bits of entertainment, socialization and dare I say challenge to your writing skills.
While reading through many of the other entries, exchanging messages with other participants and browsing others blogs, I was reminded of what a great comfort having this creative outlet has been to me. I know I am not alone in my creative journey. That I have all of you--most I have never met face to face but found something in your entries that talked to me and made me a follower of you. You give me thought provoking articles, links, words of wisdom and folly. I enjoy or am moved by your stories and pictures. And I am given warmth when I get a personal message outside the blogisphere, showing me you have become more than a follower or followed, but a friend.
Having a blog, having followers (and I do not care if its just 5 or 500) has provoked me into being more aggressive with my writing schedule and my writing goals. Now that I have others eyes on me (paranoid much?) I feel more compelled to finish projects on time. 'Gettin er done' has taken on a more professional vibe for me--a good thing for a procrastinator.
And having this blog has sorta become my own version of mom's fridge. I cut, paste, link and write here, the things I have accomplished, things of pride and things I see as solid stepping stones on a right path.
So I raise my fresh brewed to you from under the steps and thank you for reminding me that I am not crazy! I am just a writer...
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BTW, a few upcoming blogfests to enjoy. If you have one coming up or know of one I do not have, drop me a line. I think when I hit my 100 mark, I will toss one of my own. *thinking*
Welcome! First, a shout out to Jen at unedited, for throwing this wonderful Blogfest, the Guess That Character Blogfest. What a great way for all us to introduce our characters to the blogger world AND test our own view of what we want our characters to be.
Today will be the introductions to our characters. Just a bit of story to give ya a taste. Please take a peek at mine below and then tell me who you think my character is. What does he look like? How does he see himself, his world? And then check out all the other wonderful entries listed here.
Tomorrow, all participants in the fest will unveil our take on the characters in question and give you a visual of the faces that haunt our imaginations.
Have fun and happy reading folks. Thanks for stopping by!
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And now, may I once again introduce Wyatt Paxton from my WIP, Ghost Mountain...
Down went the wood gavel in fast and furious succession. “Folks, we need to start this meeting…”
Wyatt closed his eyes before he had the chance to roll them. Mayor Jenkins attempt at order had rapid fired through his skull one too many times tonight. So quickly Wyatt stepped from his inconspicuous vantage point outside the crowd and stealthily moved to the front of the meeting hall, and then took the small stage in one leap.
A shrill whistle rented the air. Wyatt lowered his fingers from his lips. The roar of the room quickly faded to a few whispers and coughs from his friends and neighbors.
“Mayor.” Wyatt nodded to his flustered but relieved Major, knowing and not caring that the man was annoyed at his assist.
Mayor Barney Jenkins had been Deputy Mayor only five months before. But after Mercy Corners much loved Mayor Branagan passed on unexpectedly of a heart attack during a fishing trip, the job fell to Jenkins to finish the remainder of the term. It didn’t take a rocket scientist or a leader of men to see that the new title was chafing the less experienced man in spots that were bound to make Wyatt and the rest of the town uncomfortable for the next six months.
“Thank you Sheriff Paxton.” Mayor Jenkins acknowledged through tight lips without looking at him. “Now lets begin this meeting by introducing…”
Impervious to his Mayors slight, Wyatt made to step down from the low stage, forgetting all eyes had fallen obediently to him earlier, including Mary’s…
‘Damn, she’s still beautiful.’
In that moment, Wyatt felt like his boots had been nailed to the steps and at some point between restoring order to the room and finding his old high school sweetheart staring up at him, his heart had stopped along with his motor skills. Wyatt felt like he was falling and he didn’t like it one bit.
Maybe if he'd been thinking strait, he would have noticed just how struck Mary had been seeing him too. It had been fifteen years. But then again, Wyatt's sniper vision had always been a bit blurry when seeing himself through others eyes.
What does a Work In Progress get happy about? What made me happy this week?
2,000 more words added to my WIP Ghost Mountain yesterday. (Check out the simple but happy little word counter on the left column. Watch her climb!)
My Focus on Fiction Group at my local B&N is this Sunday. A WIP--or at least this WIP, always looks forward to my writing groups.
Two jewelry pieces picked to be on Etsy Treasury this month. HERE and HERE!!!!!! It's nice being noticed by your creative peers. The newest pick was my Regal Beach Pearls and Crushed Velvet Multi-Strand Necklace.
Here is a BIG ;-D for the week. I won a $15.00 Gift Certificate for Barnes and Nobles for my entry and advertising of DL's High Drama Blogfest at Cruising Altitude. THANK YOU DL! And a big congrats to the other six winners! It was a blast!!!!!
How about the opportunity to join in on another wonderful Blogfest in the VERY near funture! Remember Jen at unedited, is throwing the Guess That Character Blogfest August 19th and 20th. That's tomorrow kids!!!!
I am thinking I may use that new bit of WIP that I was going to use for the Weather Blogfest but then said I was going to use today for WIP Wednesday. That will work.
I have also enjoyed new blog designs and Etsy Widgets this week. The Blog header was a pic I took of some of my things lain about--WIP sorts stuff, and then I used Adobe to play with the image a bit. And I do like the wider look of this new blog design a lot better. And the Etsy Widget can be found just under my followers and traslator. Cool, compact and useful I think. I know a few of you who follow have a Etsy shop, so check it out and see if ya want one for your own.
So what got the WIP in you all geared up and cheery. Share! It's good for the creative ego. Ya know ya wanna!
As stated in my About Me, I am a WIP who is juggling a few WIP's at present. My Jewelry Design Business, Salvaged Beauty, is definitely one of those.
I've never had a business of my own. It can be a lot of preparation and planning. It's a lot of multitask check off lists throughout a week. It can be frustrating and sometimes lonely even. But I like having something that is all mine. And I do like being my own boss. I mean--my boss may be a bit lazy sometimes, but she lets me drink as much coffee and eat as much chocolate as I like. AND she doesn't even blink when I show up in my comfy clothes for work or when I'm late finishing an assignment. Okay, she rocks!!!!!
Good things I have accomplished recently:
Applied to enter one of my area's largest craft shows. *Crossing fingers*
Collecting craft show set up equipment (displays, tables, a sign, etc...)
Created a business card...
(Just image on linen textured and colored paper with a decorative red inked stamp in the right corner.)
And I am working on a new jewelry project. Painted wood beads for Halloween. Eyes and planets so far. Maybe skulls later?
And today, the decider of this post, was a lovely message I received on Etsy, telling me I have once again been chosen and placed in another sellers Treasury. A Treasury is where members create curated lists of enjoyed or favored items and share them with the Etsy world. And it's another way to get free andvertising for your shop. So thank you Lizzie Caye of Lizzie Caye Uniquely Made Handbags!
The chosen piece is my Bollywood Disco Pendent Necklace. My mind had went strait to good old fun lively glittery Bollywood when I found this fun bit of salvage at the market.
Measures at at 31 inches, not including the 3 1/2 extension of chain and 1 inch ball pendent. Suspended on brass crossover chain and accented with two gold Czech beads and black glass beads, this is a easy wear necklace for summer, fall or winter.
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