I'm a bit of an aspiring writer. For this reason, I created a blog where I can post snippets of stories that I'm working on. At the same time, though, I also want a place where I can entertain passing thoughts that sprout up in my head. This is it. Whatever I post, I hope to get your feedback (positive, negative, constructive, or otherwise). I hope the ongoing dialogue with you will help improve my writing. Enjoy!
Here's something that I finally decided to write down. It's part of a storyline I've been mulling over for a while. I'm debating whether or not I want to delve far enough into my dark side to actually write it or not though. Let me know what you think of it.
The thing's name was gone. The name had taken all identity with it. The thing sat in the dark corner, muttering in its mind, trying to coax identity back in. But instead, the name sat there, mockingly, on the corner of recollection. Like something you should remember and can describe with intimate detail but cannot recall the name of. Trying more intently to remember does nothing but force those details further into the realm of doubt. What kind of car was that again? It was blue, had two doors, was a convertible ... no, maybe it was red ... or green ... I don't think it was a convertible after all ... I think now that it had a flat tire ... oh, right! It was brown ... definitely not a convertible ... hatchback ... four door sedan maybe? Before realizing it, your mind has twisted the fire-red Corvette over which you had been drooling earlier that day into an outdated, dented family station wagon. Not even something you would have noticed. You forget what it was and reality lies down next to the fantasy you have created in its place and dies. The thing's name was gone.
Here's a snippet from a story I tried writing back in High School. The original draft was never quite finished, and this is version 2.0 from ... wow ... from 2002. From reading back over it I can tell I'd rewrite it, but the flow and spirit is still there.
Rays of moonlight painted the side of the palace like strands of the Almighty’s great paintbrush. A cool breeze in from the mountains stirred outside the main gates, forcing the guardsmen to adjust the lay of their heavy robes. Silently, a shadow drifted past closed storefronts and between the boxes aligned on the street for the next day’s recycling. The shadow seemed to tiptoe behind the first guard, mocking his inattention. A whisper floated along the wind, and the guard dropped and disappeared into the shadow. The second guard shivered at the foul whisper in the breeze and chuckled to himself to break the tension. He turned to his companion to share the joke just in time to see his own fate pounce.
The shadow drifted unhampered past where the guards had been and slipped elegantly through the gates and past the palace’s high walls. Ghostly footsteps echoed faintly and then more noticeable on the marble walkway as Ker Nasad Alchar removed the hood of his inky black cloak, a pentalla. Walking through the open door of the palace, he smiled to himself, reveling once again at the simplicity of his plan.
So this is the introduction to a story that's been bouncing around inside my head for the better part of 2 years now. I think it would be interesting to develop into a larger story, but I have absolutely no desire to explore this storyline at this point in my life. It's just a bit too dark for me, especially while I'm so busy with school.
Shattering glass. That was all he ever heard anymore. Once, it had been the proud ping of his bullets striking the metal backing behind the targets on the firing range. After that had been the satisfying thud of the enemy’s life leaving his body on the battlefield. Now it was the shattering of the glass fronts of picture frames on the mantle. Picture frames that held snapshots of the future; unfulfilled expectations of a life that should by all rights continue beyond the moment where he had shattered them. Firing again, there was no loud retort of the rifle. Another man fell in the woods a few hundred yards away and all the pictures on the mantle fell with him and shattered.
