The New York Times > Books > A New Forum (Blogging) Inspires the Old (Books)

The New York Times > Books > A New Forum (Blogging) Inspires the Old (Books)

Hack Your Way Out of Writer's Block

Marketing to Bookstores - A Waste of Time?

Angela offers some marketing advice for fiction and non-fiction authors.

Marketing to Bookstores - A Waste of Time?

meryl.net articles

meryl.net | writing - editing - copywriting

Blogger Knowledge: How to Get a Book Deal

Did I post this already? I cannot remember.

By the way...



find out more at blog.meetup.com

Short story contest

Deadline is March 12, 2004

Ten Mistakes Writers Don't See (But Can Easily Fix When They Do)

This article comes from > Holt Uncensored :: A Candid Look at Books and the Book Industry : Publishing News : Booksellers : Bookstores : Reviews Interviews.

Mystery Readers International and Mystery Readers Journal

Thanks to Kat Lively for the link!

Happy New Year!

BLOGGER - Knowledge Base - How To Get A Book Deal With Your Blog

I think I could do this.

Discovery on Arrival

He really looked forward to the drive home. For one thing, he'd been at work since 11 am the previous morning. For another thing, he just wanted to be with his family.

It often seemed like the drive home during the early morning hours took longer than the drive to work in the daytime; he didn't know whether it was that the traffic signals were on a different pattern or he just felt that it was different in his mind.

He eventually made it home in one piece and parked the car his family had borrowed in the lot in front of their apartment. After shutting the car off, he sat quietly for a brief moment and got out. He sauntered toward the steps and then was suddenly stopped in his tracks.

He saw what at first appeared to be a large mound of clothes in the stairwell at the bottom floor. Upon closer examination, however, he noticed instead that it was the lifeless body of his upstairs neighbor. Chills ran up and down his spine, and he shook with fear.

He unlocked his apartment door. Since it was so late at night, he was careful not to wake the rest of his family. He picked up the phone and dialed 911.

Some Thoughts

Sometimes when my creativity runs wild, I am usually not in a position to record what I'm thinking. I spend time driving home late at night from work, and I often have the beginnings of mysteries in my mind, like what I see on the TV shows CSI and Without A Trace.

These thoughts are very weird indeed. I guess they are supposed to be that way, since they involve crime. Like the time when I imagined my daughter disappearing from the library because she was in the Children's section and I was in a different one.

The idea of psychological profiling all interests me. I think I'm naturally introspective, and I've read and seen other mysteries in which psychological profiling is used.

Ideas for a Novel

Life imitates art or vice versa. To see what I mean, ask yourself whether you could develop a mystery scene based on the first two sentences in this article from the Dayton Daily News:

A 20-year-old man burglarizing an apartment pried open a tackle box and found nude photos of young girls, including his little sister.

The man turned himself and the pictures into police, who later arrested the apartment's tenant, a registered sex offender now facing a possible life sentence after being charged with rape of a child under the age of 13 and illegal use of a minor in nudity-oriented material.

WritersDigest.com | The 101 Best Websites for Writers

I feel like I've struck gold, thanks to Jenny, the Creative Tech Writer, who points to the link above. I think she does indeed have a life. I think I can waste a lot of time (waste seems like too strong of a word, though) browsing these sites.

Dayton Area Writers!

The Next meeting of the Writers Group will be Monday, October 20th at 7:00 pm, Books & Co. in the Business section near the front table.

Contact me if you're interested in attending. Or, if you go in response to this post, please let Bill know that you found out about the group from this weblog!

Thanks!

Sound Advice for Those Who Want to Write

Roberta, a blogger from Canada, reflects on her own writing career and shares some things she's learned from her own research.

Markets and Jobs for Writers

From the About page:

"WritersWeekly.com is the highest-circulation freelance writing ezine in the world, reaching more than 70,000 writers each week. It has been published continuously since 1997."

Check out the links and other information about how to make money through putting your writing talent to work.

crossposted to Get That Job!

Reflection

I sit at the keyboard
Thinking about
My time tomorrow
With the therapist

I wonder about
What to say
How've I been
What's going on
Inside My Mind

Sometimes
I go in
with nothing
to say

Sometimes
I have a lot

I hurt and
I feel joy
I laugh and
I cry

A creature of habit
One, many bad ones
Hard to break

Why the picking
Why the obsession
Why the self-harm

Why not just leave
myself alone
with time to heal
Impatient, I

I look
for other
ways
to keep my hands
busy

Left to myself
I could seriously harm
Is it only my hands
Or do I bite as well?

I hurt myself and then
I care for myself
I feel regret
I feel anger
I feel relief yet

Whirlwind of Ideas

Lately, it seems that most of my creativity happens when I'm driving home from work. I wish I had the ability to record those thoughts because some of them have been very interesting. I want to work on remembering them so that I can include them in future writings.

Mystery Writers

Jenny, aka, the creative tech writer, thinks this information may be useful to mystery writers.

My Calling

We are called to live lives full of adventure. I especially crave it. I regret having been afraid in my earlier years to venture outside my comfort zone. My current circumstances have forced me out of it, and I am able to see more possibilities and have more joy and excitement.

Yet I know well that I am holding back a bit. I would love to write for a living, yet I know that it's not easy to make a living from doing that. Not as easy as getting a bartending job at a restaurant, for example. I also would love to teach young children. English. That was my favorite subject in high school. I didn't take it in college because I tested out of it.

I want to remain receptive to whatever life has in store for me. It may be something different from what I see now. We'll see.

Newswriting.com - The 100 Worst "Groaners"

"A 'groaner' is a hackneyed, overblown, stuffy or just plain silly cliché that turns up time after time in news scripts. Groaners show laziness on the part of writers, disrespect for the folks watching, and a general contempt for lively English. Here are some of the worst offenders. You’ll recognize them immediately, so get ready to groan!" Read more...

I got the link from another writer in my blogroll, but I forgot which one it was. Sorry!

Renaissance Sistah

I found this blog in my referral logs. Pretty cool. I've often thought of myself as a Renaissance man, ever since high school English, in fact.

Da Beard Is Gone

An impromptu telling of my newly found clean-shavenness.

The Key to a Successful Freelance Career: A Diary crossposted to Get That Job!

A humorous account of a day in the life of a freelance writer.

The Great Flood

As some of you may know, the Ohio River Valley was deluged with rain earlier this month. While browsing blogs on my blogroll, I noticed that Jen had linked to The Great Flood. It was too funny!

Blogroll Highlight: Come On, Get Lively

I enjoy stopping by Kathryn Lively's weblog. According to her "About" page, she "is a woman of many responsibilities and very little time. She is an author, book editor, book reviewer, webmistress, newsletter editor, Catholic, Beatles fan, and an avid reader. In her spare time she sleeps, and even then her dreams are so vivid that she often wakes in the middle of the night."

She was recently named the Virginia state coordinator for EPIC, a professional organization for published and contracted e-book and print authors. I emailed her to see if she knew how I might find out if a chapter exists close to the Dayton, Ohio USA area.

She also mentions an article about the Flight Humor contest to celebrate the 100th anniversary of flight in Dayton, Ohio. I've got to read this!

Recommended Reading

Andrew posts a list of recommended reading for writers.

Book 'em, Dano!

This is the first post to this blog using the new version of Blogger, Dano. I'm excited.

Migraine Pain... Again

I suppose inspiration has to come from somewhere. I posted it (the blues song) at Journey Inside My Mind, in case you haven't already figured that out.

"I like to work in coffee shops. There are too many distractions at home -- four kids under 9 and not one of them has a job!" -- Harlan Coben, crime writer, on the writing process, via Oddly Enough Notable Quotes, crossposted to QuotesBlog

Keisha and Sagwa

Background: I made up this story on the spot for Keisha last night when we went to Steak and Shake. I often like to make up stories involving Keisha and some of the characters she likes to watch on PBSKids or NickJr. One of her favorites is "Sagwa," which is about a Siamese cat that can write Chinese.

Once upon a time, when Keisha was in the third grade, she went with her Mommy and Daddy to the Meijer to get some pictures developed. When they were finished and returned to their car, Keisha looked inside and exclaimed, "Mommy! Daddy! There's a cat in our car!"

Sure enough, her Mommy and Daddy saw the cat in the car, sleeping. "It must have just slipped in the car before we closed our doors," Keisha's Daddy said.

"Can we keep it, Daddy?" Keisha asked.

"I don't know, sweetheart," her Daddy said, looking to her Mommy for her opinion.

"Hey, it looks like it's a girl cat," Keisha said.

"Why don't we call your Nana," Jennie said. "She's got a lot of experience in raising different animals."

"I'll stay here with the cat while you two go make the phone call," Keisha's Daddy said.

"I want to name her Sagwa," said Keisha.

"Okay. Come on, Keisha. Let's go call Nana," Keisha's Mommy said, reaching for Keisha's hand.

Some time later, Keisha and her Mommy returned. "Nana says that we should take it to the vet to see if she is sick and has her shots and everything," Keisha said.

"Well," said Keisha's Daddy," looking to his wife, who was smiling, "I guess we'll need to get some pet supplies, huh? Why don't you both head back into the store and get some kitty litter, a cage, some food -- you know, all that stuff. Sagwa and I will stay out here and wait for you."

"Okay, Daddy," said Keisha. "Come on, Mommy, let's go!" It was hard for her to contain her excitement.

Later, when Keisha and her Mommy came back, Keisha made sure that Sagwa was next to her as they drove home. She was very careful about setting up her cage in her bedroom. Her Daddy and Mommy instructed her about the responsibilities that came with taking care of a cat. For one thing, she would be responsible for making sure that Sagwa had food. Also, she would have to make sure the litter box was kept clean. Keisha agreed to take care of all of these things.

Daddy contacted Dr. Armstrong, the veterinarian, and made an appointment for Sagwa. Keisha went along and helped Sagwa stay comfortable while Dr. Armstrong took her temperature and gave her a shot.

The neat thing about having Sagwa was that, even though she had her own cage to sleep in, she loved sleeping on Keisha's bed. In fact, when Keisha came home from school the next day, she went to her bedroom to change out of her school clothes, and there, on her bed, curled up into a little ball, was Sagwa!

And that's the story about how Keisha met Sagwa.

WriteThis 2

Rasmus has announced that WriteThis 2 is available to download and use. For those that don't know, he has developed this as a "writer's tool for inspiration." I've used previous versions of it, and I'm looking forward to using this version.

The new tool boasts a customizable database with over 25 million exercise combinations. It also contains the functionality to open, save, print, and edit your exercises and other "rich text files".

Also, Rasmus would love for you to send him some examples of how you've used the tool.

One important thing to note: the download file is 9.73 MB, so if you do not have high-speed capability, you may want to use something like Download Accelerator Plus.

Climbing the Wrong Ladder

Donald couldn't explain why he was obsessed with getting his project done, except that it would perhaps give him a small sense of accomplishment. The project was always available for anyone to see, and he was convinced that its imperfections reflected badly upon himself as a person. He in effect got his sense of self worth from what he accomplished.

So he toiled for several nights, getting very little sleep. In the back of his mind he knew that his striving was futile, but he plowed ahead nevertheless. Perfectionism had always been a hard habit to break. The fear of failure made him anxious, and it manifested itself into self-destructive, self-mutiliating behavior. He would punish himself for being imperfect.

This intolerance in himself naturally spilled over into his relationships with others. He became intolerant with imperfections in others, too. Perhaps, he thought, if I'm going to suffer, then everyone else will.

Attention Attenuation

He tried as hard as he could, but he wasn't able to shake that song from his head. It kept chasing him around in circles. His eyes tore around the room, looking for something to get his attention, but no matter what he did, the combination of lyric, melody, and rhythm was too intoxicating.

Then he saw it: a glimpse of leopard skin fabric. But it was already too late. The new song jumped into his mind. It was as though it and the earlier one were dueling for control of his mind. The added combination of melody, lyric, and rhythm created yet a new song entirely. Somehow they complemented each other, like bread to butter.

After a few moments of struggling, he finally gave up. The song would have to run its course and leave. It would happen eventually. He resolved to try to enjoy the moment for what it was worth.

THE MESSAGE OF THE CROSS
by Dan Johnson, Jr. 8 May 2001

(verse 1)
Nothing at all is hidden in your sight
You see through the darkness of night
You know my deeds, you know them well
You have the power to send me to hell

(bridge 1)
I don't know how you do it
In my wisdom I can't explain it --

(chorus)
The message of the cross is foolishness
To those who are perishing
But to us who are being saved
It is the power of God

(verse 2)
I was sitting over there right under that tree
When you sent him to come talk to me
It took a while before I could see
You knew the message of the cross was meant for me

(bridge 2)
It's clear that my ways
Are not your ways
It becomes clearer every day --

(chorus)

You have humbled me time and again
Because you want me to repent of my sin

(chorus)

Without a Trace - Nana

It was the first time this Christmas season that they all went shopping. Really it wasn’t quite like any Christmas that they had ever had before. For one thing, they were all older, but the big thing this year was that Nana, or Dan’s Mom, was living with the family. Dan, Jennie, and Keisha welcomed their Mom, who moved up from Texas, back in October.

“I need to go back home to get my wallet,” Dan said. “Otherwise I can’t drive.” They had been using Carl and Sheila’s car to get around, since Sheila was at home on bedrest. After Keisha got buckled in, Dan strapped himself in, and they headed back home.

Dan pulled into the driveway, stopped the car and pulled the emergency brake. “I’ll be right back,” he said as he got out. Inside the house, Jake, their nine-month old puppy greeted Dan. He found the jacket that had his wallet and put Jake in his cage.

“You know,” he said, climbing back into the car, “the way this car is on the driveway reminds me of a roller coaster heading to the top of a hill.” The rest of the family agreed. Dan put the car in gear and headed for the Meijer in Englewood.

“Let’s park right there,” Jennie said pointing to the open space next to the cart corral. They got out and started briskly walking toward the store entrance. Keisha, Jennie, and Nana all went to the ladie’s room first.

“Anyone want something to drink?” Dan asked as they all walked inside the store. He knew that Keisha probably did, and he felt he needed some caffeine to help him stay awake. “I’m okay,” Jennie said. “Me too,” said Nana.

So Dan and Keisha each got a pop, and they looked for a single-use camera. “That’s so that we can take pictures of each other while inside the store.”

After they bought their sodas and the single-use camera, Dan and Keisha stopped to open their soda bottles and the camera. “First, we’ll take a picture of us,” he said to Keisha. So they each took a drink of their soda as Dan aimed the camera and shot a photo of them.

“Good. Now let’s go find Mom and Nana. But let’s be real careful, so that we can sneak up on them.” They headed toward the back of the grocery area to the dairy department, looking down each aisle for Jennie and Nana. Then Dan spotted them in the dairy aisle and said, “Okay Keisha, let’s sneak up on them from behind.” Needless to say, Jennie and Nana weren’t that pleased to have gotten their pictures taken.

“Okay, I think that’s about everything,” Jennie said, as they headed away from the grocery section of the store. She spotted some hearing aid batteries at the pharmacy. “We need some of these.” Nana and Jennie each had their own carts. Dan noticed that all the pharmacist’s licenses were posted on the wall in front of the pharmacy. Keisha stuck by Mom, and Dan was left pushing Jennie’s cart.

A little while later, they headed down the back aisle toward the general merchandise area of the store. “I wanna read some books,” Keisha said, heading toward the children’s book section.

“We’ll be able to look at lots of books tomorrow when we go to the library,” Nana replied.

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Dan said, helping Keisha put the Caillou book back. Jennie and Keisha headed out of the children’s book area, while Dan took the rear, pushing the grocery cart.

“Where’s Nana?” Dan asked later, as they headed toward Toy City. They decided that perhaps Nana had gone into Toy City to look at the toys. Keisha loved Toy City. Dan loved Toy City, too. They all loved Toy City.

“C’mon, Keisha,” Jennie said, “let’s go find Nana.” They all headed toward the front of the store. Dan wanted to got to the electronics area to price MP3 players, but he decided against it, especially since they needed to catch up with Nana.

“Do you see her?” Dan asked Jennie, who was also looking around the check out area. “Me neither. Okay, let’s do this. Keisha, you stay here with Mom and see if Nana turns up. I’ll retrace our steps back around to the grocery area.”

Dan took off back toward Toy City, looking down every aisle. This was a big store, but not big enough for someone to get lost that easily, he thought. As he trotted past the books and the pharmacy, he still didn’t see Nana. Hmmm. He thought. Well, maybe she was trying to find us and headed back through the grocery area. So he walked down every grocery aisle. Still, no Nana. He made his way toward the checkout area, feeling a bit apprehensive. Where could she have gone? It was as though she was right there with them, and then she wasn’t.

“Did you see her?” Dan called out to Jennie.

“No. Did you?” Jennie asked.

“No.” Now he was feeling rather anxious. “Let’s go back to the pharmacy area.”

Back at the pharmacy area, they asked the pharmacist on duty if they’d spotted Nana. “She’s about 4 feet 11 inches tall. She’s wearing a jean jacket.”

“We can page her for you, if you’d like” the pharmacist said.

“Okay, sure. That’s fine.” That should work Jennie thought, since they’d already heard a couple pages for other people. It was the Christmas season and the store was rather full of shoppers getting ready for the holiday.

“Attention Meijer guests, if there’s a Margie Wilcher in the store, please come to the pharmacy to meet your party.”

“No! It’s Welker. W-E-L-K-E-R. Welker.” Dan knew that they would probably get the name wrong. He was really starting to feel anxious now. He looked at the time. Nana had been missing since 8:30 PM, and it was already 9:15. He also knew that he really needed to take his medicine.

Then he saw someone who looked like store management. “Excuse me! Excuse me!” he called out to the manager. “Can you please help us?”

“Yeah, what can I do for you?”

“My mom and all of us got separated. We haven’t seen her in over 45 minutes, and we’re starting to get worried.”

“Did you try to have her paged?”

“Yes, but she hasn’t responded. Do you have any in-store security people that may be able to help out?”

“Yes, and we’ve also got in-store video. I can call Englewood police if you’d like, too. But why don’t you follow me to my office?” the manager said.

A half an hour later, they were still sitting in the manager’s office. They’d talked with Englewood police, too.

Where could she be, Dan thought. It was cold and windy, and she’s not really used to this weather up here. Could she have gone on her own volition, or was she kidnapped? He didn’t like that thought.

Important Note from Dan Johnson crossposted to all my blogs

Hello, readers of this weblog! For the past year, this blog has grown in enormous popularity on the Internet, as illustrated by the number of hits. I am proud to inform you that this blog, along with the others that I maintain, have been trademarked! So, look forward to seeing the ™ symbol behind the blog title!

It's great when you can become so well known that something like this is possible.

It's all thanks to you guys, the readers and visitors to this blog.

Dan Johnson

Update: This was my... um... poor attempt at an April Fool's Day joke. Thought you'd like to know.

He Set Me Free
In December 1994, I came up with twelve presents to give my wife Jennie for Christmas. The last present was to be an engagement ring. I wrote the poem below, rather quickly, in fact, to be one of those presents.

He set me free
From all my guilt and sin
From my despair and hopelessness
From the chains that bound me tight

He gave to me
A chance to start anew
A purpose for my life
A life with so much fullness
A love that never ends

He's changing me
I'm not the man I used to be
I'll never be the same anymore
He's changing me more and more
His Spirit at work within my heart

I'll cling to him
It's the least that I can do
I wanna show him more and more
I love him so much
I'll never leave him

He set me free

Yahoo! Messenger

Now showing... to the sidebar... whether I'm online or not. That way you'll be able to chat with me in real-time!

Overcoming Writer's Block - One Writer's Comments

Erma Bombeck Writers' Workshop

Write This Way!

Already added it to the blogroll.

Society for Technical Communication - SouthWestern Ohio Chapter

I met a gentleman from this organization yesterday, and he gave me some information, most importantly of which was this URL. I know that this is a creative writing weblog, but this appears to be a pretty good networking organization for technical writers. I'm sure that anyone visiting this weblog may either be themselves or know of technical writers who would be interested in learning more about this organization.

I know I am.

WritersWeekly.com - Freelance Writing Jobs, Markets, Self-Publishing, Courses

Words as Weapons, Sharper Than Knives

(Use
Kiddie Gloves --
He
can't handle
too much.)

I hate being weak because
those whom I've trusted
in the past
have walked
all over me
when
I've trusted them
("So-called" friends.)

I don't like
being ill and
expected
to perform
up to par.
(Can't afford it.)

(What
have you been doing
with your life,
you bumbling idiot?)

Harsh
words

Mean
words

Hurting
words

Words
from myself
To myself

Words
To cut down
not to build up

Words
of frustration
and anger

Self-inflicted
words

Words
that kill
the spirit

Sin and Punishment

God doesn't want us to sin
He listens to us attentively
God is upset when we treat sin
(in ourselves and others)
lightly

God refines and tests us

Boast about God:

O Lord God Almighty
Great are your deeds
Awesome in power
Grand in splendor
Your name is to be praised
All through the day and
All through the night

I rejoice in knowing you, my Abba
My cup of blessing overflows
You've been so merciful
You are holy, righteous,
A God to be feared
Let me never take you for granted.

Thanks for everything

based on a bible study I had on Jeremiah 8-9 on August 2001

Now That's Just Weird

Browsing through the referrer links, I found out that this blog came up in the search results for

• mommys who pull kids pants down

Of course, by listing that here, I'm probably increasing the chances that it will come up again.

Who are you blogging for?

This question has come up around the blogging world lately, and it's one I have to ask myself often. Am I blogging to get the attention of several people, so that they will visit my site and maybe link back? Am I eager for someone 'important' in the blogging world to comment about something I've written?

I have purposely refrained from adding comments to my "Letters to God" blog because my intent is to focus on writing to God, not to get some kind of reaction from someone who might read it. I have, however, recently, noticed myself checking my other blogs too often to see whether someone has noticed something I've written.

I need to remind myself the original reason why I started blogging: for myself. Miles Davis said, "An artist's first responsibility is to himself." And it was Toni Morrison who said

There's a difference between writing for a living and writing for a life. If you write for a living, you make enormous compromises, and you might not even be able to uncompromise yourself. If you write for life, you'll work hard; you'll do what's honest, not what pays.

I pray that I keep these thoughts in mind as I write.

The Rumor Mill

Just got the link.

A Relentless Passion

Three dollars rest on the table, each folded in half. The finished lunch dishes, on the light green tray have been pushed to the other side of the table to make room to read and write. An opened quotation notebook sits nearby, the ink drying -- recent treasures gleaned from the wisdom of others. His Men's Devotional Bible, with many accidentally dog-eared pages from years of rough handling, sits to his right. The cover would no longer close all the way. A 5-by-7 index card lays just inside the front cover. It's this index card that maintains his present focus, for it describes thoughts written down at a turning point in his life:

He grew up with hurts, just like anyone else, and effects of them continued with him throughout his college years and into the early years of his marriage. Then, some years after their first daughter was born, they attended some foster parent training. That's when the bubble burst. All the gushy, sappy feelings for wanting to foster-to-adopt in the first place were, in a way, violated by the realities of abuse and neglect.

As he listened intently to the descriptions, the definitions of abuse and neglect, and the illustrative examples, he felt the pain in the core of his heart begin to rise. Damaged emotions, never allowed to heal, were making their way back into his consciousness. He didn't want to feel the pain. He tried to deny that this was going on. He wanted to be able to forgive, forget and move on.

But he couldn't. He found a blank 5-by-7 index card and quickly scribbled his thoughts, his brief memories, and, especially what he knew was right -- he'd need to surrender these feelings to God.

Another, smaller 3-by-5 index card marks his current page in the Men's Devotional Bible. A few inches away rests the library book that was his current muse. He'd have to return it by next Saturday the 15th. He wasn't quite halfway through it yet. Each chapter and verse were being meditated upon. He was, after all, learning from the wisdom and experiences of others, and he was yet more inspired to become a writer.

Well he already was a writer and has been for some time. But it was the measure of success he desired, to be published, to experience the joy of knowing that others valued his work enough to pay him for it.

He is an artist and the written word his artwork. He recalls the wisdom of the late Miles Davis: "An artist's first responsibility is to himself." The words of one Benjamin Disraeli also remind him: "When I want to read a good book, I write one." And finally, the late Oscar Wilde chimes in: "I never travel without my diary. One should always have something sensational to read on the train." Whether on the train or somewhere else, the work lies within him and it will indeed soon emerge, as long as he continues to write.

Planet Relish E-zine | Meet the Editors Chat

Check out Jennifer's blog, the Tuesday, February 4, 2003, post for the link to the chat session, which will be this Friday, February 7, 2003 at 10:30 PM EST. Why not check it out? I must consider this myself.

Nulla Dies Sine Linea

Oh, that's right, you don't speak Latin. Neither do I. I'm not even sure whether that phrase is Latin. Whatever the case, I just found another snippet of good advice on how to write every day. And, since you're really interested now, 'Nulla Dies Sine Linea' means 'never a day without lines'.

So, write every day. In a handwritten or computer journal. Record your memories. Create characters; dispose of some. Keep it private or make it public. Let's all do it.

Idea Generators

There are perhaps times when one is at a loss for ideas about which to write. Jen has written some articles about this, which are well worth reading! Also, some of you may know that I am a regular contributor to the Topics Blog. Rasmus, a cool dude from Denmark, has developed a tool to help stimulate your writing senses, called WriteThis.

There are many, many reasons to write, just as there are many things about which to write.

If We Only Have Love

Broken Things

The handle of a homemade clay cup
The broken bike reflector
The torn piece of fabric
The white, small piece of a strategy game
And so many other pieces

Mistakes
Mistakes that were made
Emblems of mistakes that were made
Reminders of my own fallibility
Every time I look inside that old cigar box
My mistake box

I threw it away
I didn't want it any more
Tired of the reminders
Of the things I'd done wrong
It became more of a thorn
Inside my flesh

It outlived its purpose
Forever etched in my mind
Like a splinter
Reminding me of my fallibility

Haunted by the doubts
Anxious about how I'd done
Perfection sought
Obsessed with perfection
I would not give in that easy

Yet now I'm realizing
I don't need to be perfect
God's not interested in perfection --
Only He is anyway

God take my broken spirit
And mend me, make me new

This Afternoon Snow

The snowflakes dance and dart about
Wandering from their heavenly home
Carried by Winter's chill
To destinations unknown

Each one survives but a minute
But many together, amidst Winter's chill
Last awhile more
Painting the landscape white

Winter is better this way
More tolerable
Than with Winter's chill only
And nothing with which to paint

For this afternoon snow reminds me
How beautiful
How peaceful
How pure and white
The world can become

A Note to my Subconscious

Hi. I just wanted to say, I think you suck big time. I know that you enjoy having me be idstracted, see I can't evenr type the word distracted... bah!

Anyway, I would like to say that all my distractiveness comes from the holiday, but I think I'll just fire you, instead. So maybe you're not really my subconscious, but rather some other, mindless entity within me wanting to keep me from doing my job. Well, enough! I win, you lose. You see, I'm the boss of me. You're not the boss of me! I consciously fire you and have put up a sign in my mind that you're not allowed to hinder me from doing my work! Until I let you come back, that is.

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Running Out of Time

Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 12/16/02 9:23:35 PM

Criteria:

• Duration: 30 minutes
• Keyword: vehicle
• Main character: sad
• Setting: live television
• Special clause: end the story with the sentence: "I should have known."

Dayton, OH - “We're live at the Montgomery county courthouse, where Steve Richardson is coming out from the courtroom as we speak," Charles Moore said. "I have never heard of a sentence that strange. I wonder if we might be able to get some comments from the defendant."

Charles approached the security detail that surrounds Steve Richardson. "Excuse me, Mr. Richardson," he began. "I was wondering whether you had any comments about the trial or the verdict or the sentence the judge handed down."

"No comment," Steve replied. His eyes looked hollow and red, as though he'd been crying considerably. Well, he had been crying. I mean who wouldn't have felt the heartstrings. What pain he must be feeling right now.

Then, all of a sudden, Steve pulled a gun from one of his captors and broke free. He headed toward a news van. Charles recognized his cameraman as the driver and dashed off toward the van. Steve hopped in the passenger side and aiming the gun, he ordered, "Drive." The cameraman began to drive. Charles had just enough time to hop in the back with the assistant manager who'd taken over for the cameraman, since Dave, the cameraman, had been feeling nausea all morning.

At first Steve objected to the last-minute passengers, but then, he figured that having the company would work out better. He could at least have someone to talk to, and he could get access to the audience. The public needed to know his story, his struggle. He felt motivated, though now as a fugitive, to make sure the world knew why he was running. And having some hostages for the ride meant that he could bargain.

Charles called out to Steve from the rear of the news van, "What are you doing? Are you nuts? Why are you hijacking our news van?"

"No answers. Not yet," Steve replied. "When the time comes, I want it to be live on TV."

He heard sirens approaching the van. "Don't slow down. Drive. Fast," he ordered Dave, the cameraman, who was driving, but feeling a bit more queasy due to the added stress.

Steve let out a big sigh. He'd never hijacked a van before. He'd never broken the law like this. If he were caught, he'd wind up in bigger trouble than what he wound up in court for. He looked up in the sky. Nope. No choppers. Not yet anyway.

Charles couldn't believe it either. He'd only joined the newstaff a few months ago, mainly covering downtown businesses and boring stuff like that. He'd never have thought he'd be sitting in a hijacked van, with the best opportunity for an award-winning story presented to him like a Thanksgiving turkey. He felt the ambition, as it started surging through his veins.

Mark, the assistant cameraman, who was called in to sub for Dave at the last minute, was not a happy camper. He had been asleep next to his girlfriend when he got the phone call. Robert, the daytime substitute cameraman, was on vacation, and could he pretty please come and help out the new news reporter. He knew he should have asked for more money when he renewed his contract. Crap like this was not the reason why he took this job. Now he didn't know what to think. Here he was, trapped in this minivan with two coworkers and some maniac. He felt ticked off. He hoped that this whole thing was going to be over. Soon.

Steve looked at Dave, the nauseated driver. He felt sorry. He hadn't wanted things to work out like this. Dave started looking a little paler. "Dude," Steve said, "are you gonna hurl? Because if you do, I don't want the mess in here."

"I'll be okay," Dave replied. "I just need a little fresh air. Mind if I roll down the window?"

"Sure, pal, go ahead."

After a few minutes, Charles spoke up. "Hey, man, I know you're pissed off about something. We’ll put you on live television so you can tell your story. You just say when, and Mark over here will start rolling."

"All right, then," Steve replied. "Fire her up."

Mark reluctantly started the camera rolling, focusing first on Charles.

"We're here inside the Channel 7 news van live with Steve Richardson, who has just hijacked our van while fleeing the courthouse."

Steve heard some rumbling outside. Peering out the window, he noticed two police choppers following the van. Dave the nauseated driver vomited outside the drivers window. “Damn it,” Steve said. “I should have known.”

Blogging the Christian Internet

Neat!

The latest Internet for Christians newsletter has a section about Christian blogging. Blogs4God.com is mentioned. My weblogs

• Journey Inside My Mind,
• Letters to God,
• QuotesBlog,
• Get That Job!, and
• Streams of Consciousness

are a part of that community.

blogs4God

Definitely something to add to the 'To Do List'.

100 Words Update

My October batch is available.

Preface
Middletown, Ohio
May 6, 1999

I suppose that some people will think it’s arrogant to write a book about my life. Heck, I am struggling with that thought, too. I guess I have a few objectives in writing this autobiography. For one thing, I’ve kept a lot of these memories inside and I would like to get them down on paper. I don’t know much about my parents’ childhoods or my grandparents’ lives. I want to record this because it’s history. All who have ever lived and will ever live are part of history. Perhaps no one will read this. I’m fine with that. I want my children and their children to know about my life. I want them to know I am real, to see my strengths and weaknesses, successes and failures, and somehow to be encouraged that, if I can make it, then they can, too.

I started thinking about writing this after my wife Jennie and daughter Keisha watched the video of Keisha’s birth. We wondered, what if Keisha could meet some of the people who were born on the same day as she was and in that same hospital. That got me to think about how God puts people in the times and places in history so that we could seek him (Acts 17.24). I thought, “How has God used the events of my life thus far to get me to where I am today?”

In the search for content...

... I found... me!

I found some stuff I had written awhile back that I planned for an autobiography. By awhile back, I mean almost three years ago before my thirtieth birthday. I was going to entitle it Three Decades of Me. I may still write an autobiography, but I might wind up entitling it Four Decades of Me instead.

MyPsalm119 Update

Added Y - You Alone, which is also posted at Letters to God

GAMBOLING
13 December 1987

The spinning wheel nears the end of its last revolution as I see it approach my number. I look to the square where I have placed my money, and pangs of anxiety begin to grip me, almost immobilizing me. What can I do but sit and accept the inevitable? Jolts of electricity in my brain I feel, as my mind is sent into a whilr of darkness. I would have fainted but for the sounds of the wheel coming to a stop and the man declaring, "Number Three is the winner!"

All of a sudden blood rushes back into by head and I start to yell and shout. Who wouldn't? Mad with ecstasy, I look to my square, "lonely number three," where all my winning from tonight had been placed, totalling more than $10,000 dollars, and drop to my knees and exclaim, "Thanks be to God, for today He has shown me that suffering leads to a transient life!"

I turn to my wife and kids, tears in our eyes, and joyfully tell them, "Yes, family, we do have a place to sleep tonight."

Troubled Slumber

I wake from my slumber in a deep, cold sweat with confusion swirling inside my head. I am caught in a whirlwind of emotions, for the nightmare has lodged itself onto my skull. I am afflicted with desire, yet you are anot all I want. Not anymore. You alone cannot satisfy me. I turn to look at you. You haven't moved an inch. How is this possible, I wonder, for my scream could have woken the entire neighborhood.

I bend over to kiss you, and then you begin to stir. I continue to do so, in an attempt to fill you with desire and passion. Your eyes are now open. Your smile causes me to smile. You reach up to kiss me, and your fingers run through my hair. My kisses caress your neck and lips, and you begin to undress me. I slowly ease my way down to gently kiss your breasts. You moan with delight. We make love.

At least three more times, I wake up with sweat soaking my body like a sponge. You remain still.

It is now morning. You haven't waken up yet, but I've begun to fix your breakfast. I turn toward the bed occasionally to wacht you sleep, to wach you in this peaceful, angelic state.

If only things could always be this way...

Horrible poem

I agree with Jennifer. Someone was definitely reaching with this one.

100words.net crossposted to Journey Inside My Mind

You may or may not have been aware that I began contributing to 100words.net last month. The way it works is that each day I write 100 words - typos and all - and submit them to the site.

Good news! Last month's entries are now available for you to view. Almost all of the time, the entries are random, with no connected meaning to each other. However, toward the end of last month, I started a little bit of a story line. It's been interesting, to say the least, adding only 100 words at a time.

• 100 Words -- September 2002 -- danimal0416
• All entries for September 11, 2002

THE FUTURE AND BEYOND
originally written as a journal entry from high school senior English class.

Sometime around the year 2050 a number of people begin to experience what many have called "Jazzmania." Those such inflicted tend to wear dark glasses, snap their fingers while saying, "Yeah, man. Cool." They also grow hair on their faces, and exhibit other anomalies. It's also not unusual for these people to be musicians.

These people are so ahead of their time that the world loks upon them as outcasts. Eventually, it decides to rid itself of these potential menaces to society, these Jazzmaniacs, by developing an institution that will serve as a rehabilitation center. Some say this institution will function better if it were run like a city.

By this time technology has so advanced that scientists have found a way for a satellite to remain in constant orbit around a planet. So a worldwide event takes place among the various scientists of the world, and with the cooperation of the United Nations, one of the very first space stations develops. One of the landmarks of technology, the task is completed in one year. The satellite is launched on 16 April 2070, a historic date because it coincides with the 100-year birthday of the Founder of the Future Jazz Men of America, who was born in 1970.

There the Jazzmaniacs have lived, coping with their disorder, supervised by social workers. But on those times when the social workers have left for the evening, these people let thier creative energies flow, because they realize that someday when the world advances to the artistic level where they are, they will return to planet Earth and jam whenever they wish without being considered outcasts.

As the Founder of the Future Jazz Men of America once said, "Jazz may fade in and out, but it will never leave completely. Jazz is our native art form, abnd deep within our hearts is the heritage from which it has sprung."

You're Reading It -- You Name It
(Eating Can Be Dangerous To Your Health)

Working at a restaurant has its own advantages, especially when you like the type of food you can make. I am learning this on the first day of training at Angilo's Pizza. Observing the make-up table, I find all the ingredients exposed to me. More delights become available as I learn to work the prep table: the various meats, french fries, onion rings, deep-fried mushrooms, shrimp, and fish.

As I continue to work, the boss announces that I am entitled to one meal for dinner.

"Great!" I exclaim, and my mind goes into a whirl. Then, as I calm down to regain equanimity, I am resolved. "Tonight," I declare, "I will sample the culinary delights of this place for the first time."

I go to work. Slicing a sandwich bun in half, pouring pizza sauce on it, I begin my pleasure-journey. For now onions, green olives, mushrooms, green peppers, banana peppers, and extra chese call to me, almost begging to be together atop my masterpiece. I then place some lunchmeat onto a pan and slide it into the oven with my sandwich.

To make it a perfect meal, though, I need some french fries with cheese. After some four minutes my lunchmeat sandwich, along with my fries with cheese, all hot and greasy, beckon me towards them, urging me to experience their exquisite tastes.

To accompany this last part of my pleasure-journey, I pour some Mountain Dew into my LaRosa's cup I got from one of our school's basketball games.

Upon taking the first bite, my body begins to convulse, twitching this way and that. Assaying desperately to regain my composure, I hold onto the table, but it, too, begins to shake. Suddenly, I'm thrown from my chair onto the floor, and I begin to heave. Finally, regurgitation brings up my heart, now full of grease and oil.

Aghast, I scream, but my voice is not hear amid the thumping inside my head. I begin to choke, and blood is coughed up from my mouth. Finally, Nature is satisfied with her trick and lets me be. But now, you see, it's been too late, for too much blood has been lost.

Something for you to think about

"We are the hero of our own story." -- Mary McCarthy

MATURATION This one was written in 1991. I may tell the story on the circumstances behind it at another time.

Lately is has been seen that the lives of the insignificant few have been overwhelmed by the many. Neither group can understand the essential. Tragedy shows its eerie colour on the faces of those who have laboured so long and hard to achieve that for which they have striven. The fruits of their labours are not evident, and all that is true seems lost. Panic swells within the multitude, and outrage blankets the entire population.

For a long time internal disorder rages throughout the community like a violent infection. Young lives full of tremendous potential are lost. The wisdom of the elders is cast away like a contaminated piece of meat. Women in anguish see their husbands and children horribly compelled to fight for that which still seems real.

A dark, smoglike mist hangs over the population. Disease and famine eventually wipe out the weak. The community strives to maintain its sanity. On the physically and mentally strong are able to survive. And they do!

This new generation begets a more advanced way of life, and the standard of living is exponentially increased. Soon joy and happiness begin to reappear on the faces of the people, and the black cloud of despair is washed away by the refreshing mist of hope.

Harmony originates. The concept of the group-- cooperation-- becomes a high standard amoung the people, but individuality within the group is also prevalent. Life appears much easier. All are able to communicate well with one another, and there is an acceleration of progress. Inefficiency is eventually eliminated. The cooperative group works toward a cleaner environment, and soon all are breathing the fresh air of reassurance that measures have been taken to prevent another violent outburst from ever occurring. Sheer strength is demonstrated by the individual members of the community in their enduring ability to asseble and work toward common goals and universal needs. The cleansing process is complete. And all is well...

Found Among Letters to God

• Spiritual Haiku
  
• My Life is an Open Book
  
• Life with God
  

CONFUSION

Originally written the day after the 'Challenger' space shuttle explosion, January 1986
Revised 21 October 1987

• When you feel the world has beaten the snot
  out of you and you don't know all the reasons.
  
• When you mourn over a tragic incident
  without knowing why it happened
  
• When the President tries to console you by saying
  that the seven involved in that incident were
  able to "touch the face of God" and people still
  feel bad.
  
• When you don't know all the reasons
  
• When you can't find the answers to your questions

• Do we mourn because we thought we were
  so great that no one, not even God, could stop us?
  
• Is God a God that punishes us for going beyond
  the golden mean?
  
• I s the reason for our sorrow the fact that we miss those people?
  
• Or is it because we don't know how to explain to
  their children why their mommys and daddys
  cannot come home and where they've gone?
  
• Is that our confusion?

• If Heaven is supposed to be such a great
  place, then why do people cry and mourn and
  wear black clothes when others die?
  
• Is this an instance of our trying to overcome
  Fate, by not wishing these people to leave us so soon?

• Do I really know what I'm talking about?
  
• Why can't I express all of my feelings on
  paper so that they'll give the same impression
  that the idea gave to my mind? The way it is
  with these ideas, these fleeting images which I
  consider important, is that my brain picks them
  out so quickly that the ideas are incomprehensible
  once I place the words on the paper.
  
• Is that confusion?

What?!

Why does she do it?

How can she expect me to feel the same
Whe she herself has changed?

It hurts me to try to understand,
Why she's doing this to herself.

It is so sad --
The way I feel for her
Not pity -- (Is it love?)

But she and I are not totally different,
For with her possibly puzzled mind there exists,
My true feelings in this puzzle of words.

So now I wait until she comes across
These words
And attempts to decipher this puzzle.

And maybe by doing that,
She could decipher her own.

Computing Haiku

Your file is corrupt
Time to Control + Alt + Delete
There is no other way

Invalid page fault
Has occurred in your software
File is now closing

System has frozen
You are now presented with
The Blue Screen of Death

Machine has now crashed
All unsaved work will be lost--
You Have a Nice Day

Your PC has locked
For the ninteenth time today
Grab your sledgehammer

Email server's down
No more communication
ETA unknown

Writing Advice

Jennifer wrote: "What works for me might not work for you."

Among other things.

My Life in a Nutshell: Daily Goal

Sam the Stupid, Part 2

(Based on a 10-minute exercise generated by WriteThis - 9/14/02 1:54:45 AM in which the main character is someone I have written about before, takes place in someone else's home, and the story is told in the first person)

Jeez, I can't believe I'm writin' 'bout Sam again. I used to think that he was gonna get better at life, but he kept gettin' more and more stupid. At least that is how I and many others in town viewed him.

One time, when me and some other buddies was at Jim's house about to go do some fishin', Sam came a knockin' on the door. He had just come out of the pen, and he was wearin' all his clothes this time.

But, since it was only dawn, he bein' stupid and all, was only wearin' his pajama britches.

"Can I come, too?" Same asked.

"Sam, you silly man," Mrs. Jim's Wife answered, "you know you can't just go invitin' youself to other people's gatherin's. Especially when all you're wearin' is yo' pj's! Lemme go see if Jim and 'em want you to come along. Hold it right there, an' I'll be back."

"Aight," Sam the Stupid replied.

Mrs. Jim's Wife didn't even let Sam inside. I now understand, having been ovair at Jim's house during the day. That living room resembles the rest of the room - not child proof one bit. And if it weren't child proof, then it weren't also Sam the Stupid proof.

Jimmy, Dean, Ben, and I come out to the livin' room after Jim's wife told us that Sam was outside waitin' for us.

"Sam, when did you git out of the pen?" Dean asked.

"Oh, just last night. I'm lookin' for a bit to eat, an' I heard y'all were going fishin', so I wanted to tagalong."

"Sam, you can come with us, but you gotta git some different clothes, dude…"

Announcement from Status.Blogger.Com: Blog*Spot Web Server Maintenance

From midnight to 3 AM Eastern time on Friday, 13 September 2002, the Blog*Spot file server, which contains this and other weblogs with "blogspot.com" in the URL, will be down for maintenance. So, from that time - midnight to 3 AM EDT - Streams of Consciousness will be unavailable.

Why Wait? Procrastinate Now!

Jennifer St. Clair posted "A Writer's Guide to Procrastination."

Sam the Stupid

(Based on a 15-minute exercise generated by WriteThis - 9/10/02 1:26:48 AM in which the main character is a criminal, the story is a comedy and takes place inside a shop, the main character is a criminal, and a hat is somehow involved. The dialect was my own choice.)

Poor Sam. The day he got put in the pen was a hoot, although not everyone thought so. I’m fixin to tell you what happened that day.

I’ve known Sam since we was both boys growin’ up on the same road. As we got older, we had to stop playing together, mainly 'cuz mama said he was bein' a bad influence on me er somethin' like that.

One mornin’ when I was walking to school, I stopped by the donut shop to get a small bit to eat. I looked out the window and saw Sam running up the sidewalk, clutchin' a donkey hat. Now you may a be wonderin' what the heck's a donkey hat, but that's not as important as what I'm gonna tell ya next.

Ya see, Sam wernt wearin' anything but that donkey hat he had on his head. Well, okay, he was wearin' some britches. I gotta say that 'cuz I don't wantcha gettin' all embarrassed and everything.

Behind Sam was old man Pappy, a huffin’ and a puffin’, holding in one hand a shotgun. In another hand he was holding onto what looked like the rest of Sam's clothes!

Now, I thought Sam was gonna keep on runnin' up the street, but he didn't do that at all. Instead he ran right into the donut shop where I and some other adults was.

"Quick, Donny, ya gotta help me! I found that donkey hat we used to be lookin' fore back when we was eight!" Sam cried out, looking out the window to see if ole man Pappy saw him duck into the donut shop.

Now I was gettin' kinda worried. You see that hat he was holdin' onto was part of ole man Pappy's vaudeville act, an some folks considered it to be an antique. When we was younger, we decided it would be a neat prank to steal that hat and hoist it up the school flagpole for everyone to see. We was so bored, as I'm sure you can tell. I mean some kids go swimmin' and play tag, but us, we were into stealin' stuff.

Well, Sam was a-runnin' around lookin' for a place to hide, when he tripped on a banana peel and took a spill to the floor. Me and the other folks in the store bust out laughin’. But none of that kept him from gettin' back up. No, siree. He got back up and dove over the counter.

Remember when I told you he weren't wearing anythin' but his britches? Well, from divin' over the counter to hide, his britches got caught on the corner and they all but got torn off of him. So now he's runnin' around with that dang donkey hat and his britches nearly off.

Everyone in the donut shop was laughin' so hard they about peed on themselves. 'Til ole man Pappy came inside the shop.

Author Mania

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Romantic Movements - VII. Permission

(At night the cars rushing back and forth through the heart of the
city are its blood its vital fluid)

They are enjoying this cool summer night those two with the windows
open and the fresh summer air breezing in

There they are in his apartment in the sky with its azure wall and
light blue-gray curtains with its cloud-soft furniture

The miniature jazz band rests atop the hi-fi playing the soft slow
mellow music they both wish to hear the piano player's caressing of
the keys reminds him how her hair caresses her shoulders the saxophones
spray him with the scent of Misty cologne

She in her white high heels and pink satiny dress saunters over to
him in his white pleated pants and his white Italian jacket concealing
a turquoise tee shirt

Romantic Movements - VI. Reunion

"I've missed you." The words which reverberate inside my head
each time I relive this encounter.

"You never gave an address, a phone number, or anything else
that would have enabled me to communicate with you. Before we
left school, you were all that was on my mind. You're breaking my
heart."

"You know I've had a boyfriend."

"It's weird that ladies like you pursue the one you like and
who hardly cares for you while the one who really cares is right by
your side. People say love is a two-way street, but I disagree."

"What do you want from me?"

"Probably something you'll never be able to give. My feelings
are so intimate and warm, and they desire to escape. ONe night is
all I ask for. Can we be alone for one night before you return?
I promise I won't pressure you into doing anything you don't want
to do. You lead the way. You tell me when to stop. I just want
to feel a little of my love come back to me."

Romantic Movements - V. Fear

I don't want to say good night I really want to stay but if I wound
up staying I'd wonder what you'd say...

You don't feel the same as I you don't like me in that way that's
why all my sunny days turn out to be so gray...

So don't ask me what is wrong I won't know what to say my words do
all betray me my thoughts would be displayed...

Romantic Movements - IV. Worship?

She looks so beautiful so radiant oh how I adore her when she
emanates this sensuality I can see it in her eyes the magnetism
draws me closer to her every minute every morning I wake up in a
fever my body soaking wet she is my obsession...

I wish it wouldn't be like this she knows just how I feel but neither
does nor says anything it's as though she mocks my desire my rising
passion...

Romantic Movements - III. Passion?

I love her oh so dearly she loves me not as nearly she breaks my
heart in places now there are only little traces in what used to
be so full...

Now it's hard for me to pull myself together and say I love her
to this day...

Sometimes I get down and pray if there could be a way that we
could be together...

But something tells me it will never ever happen 'cause mine is
just too strong and hers is just too weak that the thing I wish to
have is out of my reach...

Romantic Movements - II. Pain

Such shrill shrieks are heard from above from those who suffer from
unrequited love their only need is to succeed in getting what they
want the memories continue to haunt them causing their eventual
destruction such corruption from those who want what they cannot
have...

Romantic Movements - I. Confession

I've come to realize that what I like about you isn't your looks
as much as it is your ideas, your values, your emotions... Your
appearance is merely a shell. When I look at you and it appears that
I am staring, I'm looking inside of you. And when I smile it means
that I like what I am seeing.

Whenever you look sick or weary, I always want to reach out to you,
to feel your oppression and help you overcome it.

I know I am a hard person to understand. I'm unpredictable, and I
have a strange sense of humor. I also make several mistakes. But
I have inborn talents as well, and these need to be developed. I
need you to understand what I am saying because this is how I really
feel about you. And nothing can ever stop me from saying it.

Romantic Movements

The next series of posts is a collection of related poems I wrote when I was back in high school. You may say they are like 'Movements' of a classical music piece.

They are entitled

1. Confession
   
2. Pain
   
3. Passion?
   
4. Worship?
   
5. Fear
   
6. Reunion
   
7. Permission
   

Trash
In the summer of 1986, I attended the Governor's Summer Institute for the Gifted and Talented at the University of Cincinnati. While there I attended a Poetry Workshop with some other high school juniors. For one of the exercises, we all came up with one word, and the entire group had to write their own poem, using those words or a variant of those words (e.g., using 'chin' instead of 'chinchilla' was okay).

If I can remember correctly, the words we had to work with were as follows: serendipity, soliloquy, chinchilla, rhetorical, oxymoron, understand, communicate, and manacle. Below is my contribution. Oh yeah, the last stanza is exactly how I felt after writing this piece. Fortunately, I don't feel that way now.

All because of serendipity --
The theatre director was amazed at
The way the man who portrayed the cat
Performed his soliloquy.

Standing on the stage in his costume,
He improvised a monologue.
Reminiscent of Shakespeare,
It still had relevance to the play.

"Why should the heavens
Take their anger on me?
Why must I walk
Under the formidable sky,
Which gives me such a chill,
With unpleasant joy?"

Thought the director:
A rhetorical question with an oxymoron
In a contemporary play --
With loads of symbolism
Was a creative idea.

Though no one understood it
The actor explained his question,
Which grabbed the audience's attention.

The director left the theatre
In search of more of those
With great communication skills.

And thus the young poet finishes his work,
Looks at it and tosses it into the trash.

Forever My Love a song by Dan Johnson, Jr.
This one was written in the early 1990's. It's interesting, how, even though I haven't seen it in almost 10 years, the melody came back almost instantly.

You are a shelter from the storm
You keep me warm
Yes, you keep me warm

And I've come to you today
With so many things to say
I've got some things to say

CHORUS
You
Never need a thing
You
Provide everything
I
Can never give as much as you
But there's one thing that I can do --
Forever give my love
Back to you

An end to hate and strife
A brand new life
Yes, a brand new life

It is so plain to see
How you've loved me
God, how you've loved me

REPEAT CHORUS

My love for you has grown
You've made it known
Yes, you've made it known

What an awesome God you are
How close you are
Yes, how close you are

REPEAT CHORUS

You've taught me how to give
You've shown me how to live
What a great life to live

Relationships galore
You've given more
Given so much more

REPEAT CHORUS 2X

Forever give my love
Back to you
To you

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Cafe War Flashback
(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 8/30/02 4:15:56 AM)
A 15-minute exercise in which

• A ticket plays an important part in the story.
  
• Main character has an addiction of some kind.
  
• Story takes place in a war zone.
  
• Must be written backwards in time.
  

I cannot believe that George is dead. My best friend in the entire world, now gone. I had often wondered where our caffeine binges would take us. I guess I need to re-evaluate my life some more.

George was gasping for breath, and the riot was in full effect. I had no idea he'd have a heart attack. We had finished our 50th mocha grande and had finally finished our Monopoly game. Some of you may think it's funny that we'd continue our Monopoly game amid a riot, but that's what I enjoyed about George's company.

After he'd finally purchased Boardwalk, we'd ordered our 10th mocha grande, this time without whipped cream, since the riot appeared to have begun over a whipped cream shortage. One thing I can definitely say about caffeine is that is keeps your senses alert to what is going around you.

That's what I was thinking when we began our Monopoly game. I had by that time finished my fifth mocha grande and I was giddy more than I have ever been before. George said he needed to do something to work off his already huge caffeine buzz. He had just finished his fourth mocha grande and was getting very jittery.

Prior to that when we walked into the Cafe we wondered why the staff appeared so jittery. Some of them muttered about missing the shipment of whipped cream, and they started arguing about that or something else. George and I were just glad to have our tickets accepted into the Cafe parlor.

I bought them earlier today, over the Internet, and since they were on sale as a "Buy One Get One Free", I knew I needed to ask George to join me. We both loved mocha grandes.

I remember talking with George over the phone, and he had mentioned that he had gotten two hours of sleep last night, and wasn't feeling that well. Yet he couldn't pass up the opportunity to join me for the grand opening of the new Cafe in our neighborhood.

George and I met at a Cafe across town a few years back. Neither of us drank much coffee, but we enjoyed the atmosphere and playing some of the games. The band that played was really cool as well. It's funny now that I think about it, he had mentioned that he had just gotten clean of the crack cocaine he'd been taking.

I asked him about his treatment, and he declined to talk about it. He only stated that if there was a hell on Earth, it must have been the clinic where he went to come clean.

George earlier mentioned that he took cocaine to help him stay awake in class. Funny, but I'd been having trouble staying awake as well at that time.

Rasmus has a WriteThis examples site.