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.

WriteThis Reminder: Rasmus wants all who have downloaded and used it to take a survey.

Encarta eLearning Center | Prepare for a career in
writing

"In today's information age, work for the nation's 340,000 writers and editors abounds. And, whether to fulfill old dreams or to satisfy practical needs, many Americans are moving into editorial roles... The outlook for writers is good. The U.S. Bureau of Labor Statistics (BLS) predicts that by 2008, editorial opportunities will have increased 21 to 35 percent over 1998, assuming moderate economic growth. Many of the available jobs will be in high-technology and electronics fields and in journalistic outlets in small markets..." read more...

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