To Houghton with Love

2011-11-20T00:54:00.003-05:00

Today is the beginning of my vacation. I sit here, watching my son chew his sleeve ann try his best to stay standing on on his feet.

This is going nowhere. I fail again.

Wordcount: 34

2011-11-03T16:01:00.002-04:00

Trying NaNoWriMo again! I've had two babies since the last time I tried this, and I'm already three days late. Here we go.

Once upon a time there was a little girl named.... There was a little girl named....

Ethel ran into the room. "Mama! What are you doing?" Ethel scrambled onto the couch and planted herself next to her mother.

"I'm trying to write a story," replied Alanna. Ethel's cute little face wrinkled into a frown.

"Mama, can you find a cat? Can you find a cat one? Can you find a dog? How about a song on the computer? How about a song? On this computer? Tinkle tinkle little star. Ouch! My knee! Mama! I can't fold it! I can't fold it!" Alanna looked down at her two-year old daughter. She was desperately trying to fold up the hem of her spider pants to take a glance at her knee, which to Alanna's knowledge, hadn't been hit or damaged in any way since Ethel sat down. Alanna sighed. There was no way she'd get to fifty-thousand words. At this rate, the best she could do is write down everything as it happened, because it is easier than trying to come up with a story idea on her own.

Alanna realized she had just written that last sentence in peace, no prodding from her daughter, no questions. A glance to her left told her the reason. Ethel had just plunked down to sleep in mid knee-check with her hand still on her right pants leg. Alanna studied her sleeping daughter. She was envious of how easily Ethel could go from non-stop, full-tilt action to extreme sleeper in less than a minute. When was the last time I simply just laid down to take a nap? When was the last time I did any of my hobbies or read a book or watched any of my TV shows in peace and quiet. When was the last time I did anything for myself? Then she realized with a laugh that she got a massage last Saturday. Granted, it was the first one in six months, but still, that was one blessed hour of relaxing and being pampered.

Alanna got back down to business. Writing a story about a little girl was... tedious and unfruitful. Writing about herself, however, was yielding something, even if it was only her own stream of consciousness. Perhaps writing like this, just letting the words flow, was a good exercise for when she got down to writing the novel proper. It had been a long time since she concentrated on writing anything, save the letter to her pen pal and the occasional Facebook update. Those two things were, at most one page and at least 144 characters long. This was different. This was supposed to be a book. This was supposed to be an exercise in mental ability, a test to see if she could still concentrate on something long enough to produce anything worth reading. The last and longest thing she wrote was a fifty page paper back in college and that was definitely not worth reading. She received an A on it though, as everyone who finished the paper at length and on time got.

She remembered how she used to write in high school. Lots of long, flowery phrases peppered her work, which had an actual point, a thesis statement to make when all was said and done. She remembered how at some point after college, Alanna looked through her papers and creative writing assignments and wondered, "Did I actually write this?" The assignments were actually good. Why couldn't she find that spot in her brain, that creative writing treasure now?

Alanna felt her writing train slowing down. Her mind wandered to video games and other hobbies she missed. "I still haven't sewn baby shoes for Ivan," she thought to herself. Her poor 8-month-old would have to remain shoeless. She hadn't baked bread for the family in days, hadn't knit or played piano in almost years. Having children is rewarding and hard. The danger lies in having to put yourself to the side for their sake and losing yourself, transforming from "Alanna" to "Ethel and Ivan's Mom."

Wordcount: 709

2008-11-21T18:42:00.002-05:00

So I'm late starting my NaNoWriMo novel. Better late than never. Here's the goal for today - write as much as I can in seventeen minutes. I have to go after that.

April sat on the edge of a long glassy lake. It was four times as long as it was wide, like looking at a freakishly long reflecting pool. In that pool were mosquito eggs, fish, tadpoles, rowboats, paddle boats, inner tubes, swimming tourists, and the body of Jenny Gales.

No one nowadays remembered the name of the lake before it became Jenny Gales Lake after Jenny Gales disappeared in the lake some forty years ago. Some of the senior citizens did, of course, if one wanted to sit and wait for the answer amidst ramblings of fishing spots and "the good old days". April sighed. Her grandmother was Jenny Gales and somewhere in her grandmother's lake was a secret to a hidden fortune.

April looked at her fishing line. It hadn't moved in an hour. The bait was waterlogged, she knew she ought to reel it in and put a fresh worm on the hook. The fishing wasn't important though. What was important was the thinking time. Fishing was just an excuse to spend hours by the lake with no one to bother her. April's father Ted, an avid golfer, was spending the day on the course with her uncle Jim and whoever else they found at the pro shop. April's mom, Olivia, was at the lake house with her annoying little brother Daniel and whoever he could find to tolerate his obnoxious fart noises and booger jokes. Their mom said it was a phase that all nine-year-old boys go through. He'll grow out of it when school starts again in the fall.

April was the type of girl who didn't mind spending time by herself. She enjoyed fishing, reading, or walking through the woods. Most of all, she was a thinker, an intellectual. She didn't watch television, and when she did, she was more interested in documentaries than the science fiction drivel that Daniel couldn't miss every night. She had been told that her grandmother, Dr. Jennifer Gales, had also been an intellectual. She had been a biologist studying the effects of pollution on the lake environment before she had been lost.

Time's up. blah.

Wordcount: 355 words.

2008-09-30T18:11:00.003-04:00

Story idea: Girl is married to guy. They don't really hate each other, but they don't exactly love each other anymore. Girl meets another guy. They have a lot of fun but they don't exactly love each other either.

Man, this is sounding familiar... hehe.

Add: Superhero powers, shoppping, crazy shenanigans.

Wordcount: 51

2007-01-31T07:02:00.000-05:00

Allie was stuck. James or Andrew? James... or Andrew...? Her mind swam as she sat on her couch and laid her head back. Allie closed her eyes and thought. She had been with James for 3 years. He was good, reliable, and stable. Granted, there were no good surprises with James, but there were no bad ones either.

Then there was Andrew. He and James were a lot alike. Both smart and funny. Both were settled and reliable. Stable. They were both her type. What made Andrew different? He was new. Allie didn't know everything about him yet. That must be what makes him so appealing. That and the fact that she can't have him, because she's stuck with James.

Allie banged her head against the couch with a grimace. What can I do? She knew what she could do. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Allie figured she could just ignore what she was feeling and sooner or later, it would go away. Andrew was just a passing fad. He was just a guy she met at the Barnes and Noble, nothing to be apprehensive about. He would be no trouble at all.

Then why did I give him my phone number? Stupid, stupid girl. I know better than that. Allie fought with herself. It was harmless though. What I have is a small infatuation over a passing stranger in a bookstore. That's all. He probably won't even call... again.

Allie threw herself on the couch. I talked to him for two hours. I know better than that! What's the matter with me? Am I so bored that I need to talk to a stranger for two hours to feel exciting? She flipped over and stared at the ceiling. Okay, that's it. If he calls again, I'm just not going to answer. I'm just not going to do it. I'm a smart girl. I've got a good thing going, with me and James. There are no surprises, there's no drama, and there's no sex. Allie sat straight up. Her hand flew to her mouth in alarm. Did she just think that? She did. Why was this happening? She should be happy! She's got a great guy! What more could she want?

The word flew through her head like a bat out of hell.

Andrew.

Wordcount: 382. Stop the internal monologue. You do it way too much.

2006-12-18T08:47:00.000-05:00

All right. So I failed at NaNoWriMo again. Going the sexy/smutty route didn't work. Bah. I just wasn't excited about writing. 'Tis sad. This post is even more sad. Meh.

Wordcount: 30. Two of the words aren't even words. Bluh.

2006-11-09T02:48:00.000-05:00

Of course, to pass help her pass the time, Adrienne masturbated. She scooted her chair back so she would have some extra leg room. Sometime between her second and third orgasm, Jeremy knocked on the door.

"Come in!" she yelled As he entered, Adrienne took her empty bowl of sticky, gooey mess to the sink and washed her hands. "Hey, what's up?"

She turned only to find Jeremy studying what was on her computer screen. "Porn again?"

"yeah, so what? Want a soda?" Adrienne glanced through the refrigerator.

"Sure, I'll have one. NOthing, it's just that you look at porn more than any girl I've met before. What's this?" Adrienne handed him a cp of water.

"I don't have any soda left," she said, sipping on her own soda. "and I don't think there's anything wrong with a member of the female sex looking at pornographic materials."

"I'm not saying there's anything wrong with it. I'm sure lots of girls look at porn. Not as much as most guys do, but I'm sure there are some. Like you, for example." Jeremy bent down to peer closer at the the computer screen. "Is that man licking that other man's balls?"

"Yes he is. Actually in the first picure, that guy," she pointed at the ball-lickee, "rubbed his balls in cheese and powdered sugar before the other guy started licking." Jeremy made a disgusted face. "What? Some people find that erotic."

"Not that, the cheese and powdered sugar. Sounds awful." Adrienne nudged Jeremy away from the computer and sat down in her computer chair. "Anyway, to finish my thought, I do think that most girls are not as open to talk about the whole porn issue,let alone just leave it on the computer screen for anyone to see."

"It's not like my parents just walked it. It's you. I don't need to hide my porn-ness from you."

Wordcount: 316
Total Wordcount: 2108
Notes to self: I just can't concentrate today. Maybe I'll break a wall with the next post, but today... meh.

2006-11-02T23:43:00.000-05:00

She laid there rubbing between her legs with her fingertips, just relaxing and doing what she's done almost every day since she was... well, since puberty. It wasn't hard to learn. The trick to masturbation is just doing what feels good. Rubbing a little faster now, her breath became quick. Her stomach and leg muscles tightened while she rubbed faster and faster. Her eyes squinted and the heat rose to her head, faster and faster until...

Adrienne let out a huge sigh and let her body relax. She played with herself, waiting until she was ready for another one. Her hand found its way to her mouth. She smelled it. The smell of a woman post coitus isn't like anything else. It smelled raunchy and randy. It smelled like sex. She licked her fingertips. Its taste didn't really taste like anything to her. She had been told by various partners that her smell and taste were intoxicating. Adrienne didn't get it. Ah well, to each her own. Adrienne followed her ritual three times more before she settled back in the throes of satisfied self-love.

Adrienne awoke four hours later to the faint jingling of a dog collar. For a minute, she wondered what the hell a dog was doing outside the door of her fourth floor apartment. "Wait," she thought to herself, "I know what that is.... Damn. That's not a dog collar." As she heaved herself out of bed and scuffled across the cold floor, she realized had slept away the whole afternoon away. The light in her room was becoming more orange and the shadows on her floor were becoming more opaque. After narrowly missing the thrift store coffee table, she made it to the front door, reached down, and took out her cellphone.

"Hello?" Adrienne often wondered why she said "Hello?" when she knew exactly who it was from the tiny screen in her cellphone. She should've said, Hello Jeremy, since that was who it was.

"Hi, Adrienne? It's Jeremy." His voice sounded like he wasn't sure who was on the other end of the line.

"Yeah, I know who it is. Why do you sound like you don't know who I am? My phone number is saved in your phone, right?"

"You sounded like you didn't know who it was first. Besides, it's a habit."

"Yeah, I know. One day we'll be able to answer our cellphones like we know who is on the other end of the line, because we actually do know who's on the other end of the line."

"Right. Okay Yoda." Adrienne could hear Jeremy's sarcastic grin."Anyway, I'm coming over."

"What, now?"

"Almost. I'll be there soon."

"How soon is "soon" Jeremy?" It always perturbed Adrienne when Jeremy said "soon" because it usually meant sometime within the next eight hours.

"Like in an hour."

"Okay. I'll see you when you get here. Bye." Adrienne fwapped her cellphone closed, dropped it back in her bag and headed toward the kitchen.

Four hours. It was dusk and she was hungry. Jeremy said he'd be there in an hour, which for Jeremy meant between one and three hours, so Adrienne figured she had time to eat. Eating is usually a good activity to take part in, especially regularly. However, the only food stuffs she had in her larder that were even remotely edible were a box of Corn Pops, half a bag of stale marshmellows and a stick of butter. So Adrienne made the only thing she could with those ingredients. Ten microwaved minutes later, Adrienne turned on the TV, and sat down in front of her computer with bowl of sticky, sweet, crunchy mess and a fork.

Adrienne had a report to do for her Human-Computer Interaction course, but she had events and issues that were much more pressing to attend to. There's something about sticky, sweet and messy that gets a girl all set for an evening of porn. She opened a browser to her favorite gay porn website and listened to whatever was on the TV behind her. What was on didn't really matter as long as there was noise in the background that wasn't so obtrusive that she had to pay attention to it. As the woman on the television proclaimed the wonders of Diamonique brand "diamonds", Adrienne studied the male gay porn page by page on the Internet. Various ads of young men in tight clothes flashed in the side bar of the webpage, but she was more interested in the movies and the picture stories.

Wordcount: 757
Total wordcount: 1785
Notes: 1785... it was a very good year. Don't forget where you were going with this. Also, in case anyone is wondering. Whenever I get stuck, I've decided to write some porn. Other upcoming porn topics... hand jobs.

2006-11-01T23:28:00.000-05:00

It was a cold day. Adrienne clutched her coat around her body and adjusted the shoulder strap of her comfortable leather messenger bag. Most people have messenger bags made out of canvas, or vinyl. Never leather. Leather is a heavy material. It's hardly ever used for messenger bags, because the weight, in addition to whatever it is carrying, is a huge load on a person's shoulder. Leather is also easily scratched. It doesn't look good for very long, before it starts looking very old and beat. After a while though, after it's been worn and softened, after the stiff leather has been broken in by countless hours of holding objects and bumping into walls and tables, the leather bag becomes comfortable. The leather becomes tanned and thin, less stiff. The scratches become buffed into a supple matte finish. The bag becomes a fixture. The bag becomes part of you, and you hardly realize it's there. Adrienne didn't even realize she was adjusting her bag. Her mind was too weighed down with her daily introspection to be concerned with the thirty pound weight hanging across her body.

"I've spent a lot of my life wondering what the heck I should do with my life. How lame is that? Shouldn't I be living my life? Doing stuff? Instead of wondering about what to do?"

Adrienne walked from her bus stop, continued down the street past the strip mall that she walks past every day, and entered her apartment building. Her keys jingled like tin cans as she dropped them back into the pit that is her leather bag. As soon as she dropped them though, Adrienne cursed to herself. "Fuck. I do that every day. I know I'll need my keys as soon as I get to my door, and I always drop them in my bag. Fuckity fuck." She swore even though it wasn't a huge inconvenience. Adrienne had done it dozens of times before, and she had cursed herself about it dozens of times before, but that didn't stop her hand from unconsciously dropping the keys in her bag before she got to her door. As she approached her door, her right hand instinctively slid into her bag, rummaged around until it found her keys and slid the key into the lock with a loud, jarring crunkle.

Adrienne's apartment was small, but it was perfect for her. As she entered, she dropped her bag onto the top of a small footstool just inside the door. It was the bag's home when it wasn't with her. She strode across the original hardwood floors, past her futon, through the french doors and into her bedroom. Built in the 1930's, the apartment building she lived in was nothing to look at from the outside. Stained brick and acid rain-erroded gargoyles crowned the top of the building like a black toupee on a red-faced man. Her apartment was a gem; a diamond in the rough. Actually, it was a diamond in the very rough. The neighborhood wasn't the safest place to live in, which is part of what made her apartment so affordable. Only five weeks ago, the convenience store where Adrienne buys her ice tea was held up buy a masked teenager. The kid made off with twenty dollars and a handfull of Airheads and Slim Jims. Her parents, Mumsy and Dadums as she so lovingly, sarcastically refered to them, were concerned about her living quarters. They said they were worried about her safety, but Adrienne believed they were more worried about the emergency credit card in her wallet that was tied to her parents' account. Her parents were also five hundered miles away, so who cared what the hell they thought. Mumsy and Dadums advised her to get some mace and a rape whistle. Since one cannot beat up an attacker with some travel-sized mace and a plastic whistle, Adrienne carried a pair of miniture nunchaku in her bag that she bought from a pawn shop two blocks away. She wasn't trained in the art of nunchaku, but when she felt the need to up the badass quotient in her life she spent time flailing them around like crazy. She wasn't afraid of the possibility of hurting herself with them. The nunchaku were made out of a hard plastic anyway. Any time she accidently whacked herself in the arm or back, it only left a small bruise, if any at all.

"What to do, what to do." Adrienne thought to herself as she threw off her jacket and shoes and flumped down on her bed. After class, there wasn't much. She laid in her bed feeling the cold air coming from the cracked window on her face and listening to the neighbors upstairs walk around their place. She didn't know what they were doing, but she did know that whatever it was, it required a lot of walking, because she could tell exactly where they were above her from every floor creak and step they made. She rolled to her side and clutched her pillow. She always slept with three pillows, one for her head and one on each side. It was like sleeping in a pillow boat. There's something confining and protective about sleeping with symbolic walls around a person. It's almost like having a fort or a castle. "Well, I could go see Jeremy. He's probably not doing anything." Jeremy was Adrienne's best friend. He didn't go to community college, like she did, but he knew what he wanted to do. What he wanted to do wasn't much, but at least it was something. Adrienne laid in bed, hugged her pillow to herself, pulled the covers over her body and closed her eyes. Half in a daze she pulled off her pants. Then she turned on her back, took a cleansing breath and let her hand find its way to its purchase. "Just a couple times, then I'll get up and get something done." Adrienne wasn't ashamed of pleasuring her self. She used to be, but she got over that very quickly. What's a girl who lives alone supposed to do to pass the time? Sew a quilt?

Wordcount: 1028
Note to self: What have I gotten myself into?

2006-10-24T02:59:00.000-04:00

NaNoWriMo is coming up. I'm gonna participate. At least I'm gonna try again. Maybe this time, I'll break 10,000 words.

2006-08-08T03:23:00.000-04:00

Time to change
my life is going nowhere
I've got to change the air around my head.

Where am I?
sitting on a couch
inside my parent's living room living dead.

My body's aching to move
It just feels so damn sluggish
I haven't used it well in twenty years.

My legs are aching to groove
dancing to that crazy beat
my feet are leading me away from tears.

I've gotta go. I've gotta go
I've gotta see my future in the world

There's no way I'm gonna see my life
the yarn that makes my eyes is unfurled

frogged.

Wordcount: 100
Note to self: It kind of sounds like a song. Actually, it's probably better as a song.

2006-08-01T21:54:00.000-04:00

The heat hung in the air like a blanket of after-sex musk. It was heavy, it was sticky, and it was uncomfortable. Marta sat on her sticky leather couch, hating her television. Sure, all she had to do was stand up, turn the TV off, and walk away. She couldn't though.

"God, I hate Jay London. Why do people like him? It's the same damn jokes." Just watching the man made her want to throw up all over herself. Then eat the vomit off of her shirt and throw up all over again. Then again, it wasn't like she was any better. This ass was on TV, and here Marta was, too lazy to get off her ass and change the damn channel. His jokes are full of puns. Not good puns. Shit puns. And Marta hated herself for watching it. "At least it'll be over soon, and then we can get back to the comics that actually have a chance at winning Last Comic Standing. Damn you Last Comic Standing for even putting that lazy ass comic who only writes puns back on TV. Damn you!

Wordcount: 187
Note to anyone reading this: Jay London sucks ass.

2006-07-22T05:13:00.001-04:00

The lights in the courtyard struck the tall buildings with a sparkle one could only see in early winter, when the walls are lightly littered in frost. The crisp air sears through a person's lungs like a breath full of Vic's Vap-o-rub. Alan crunched through the snow, hands pocketed, muttering to keep himself warm. He wasn't sure if the mutter was actually making him any warmer, but it did keep his mind off of the fact that he had been waiting there for almost an hour. He had even moved across the courtyard to pace on new snow, since the snow he had been pacing on before was now packed and hard, and definitely less crunchy.

"I'll just give him a few more minutes... a few more minutes." Alan continued to pace and mutter, pace and mutter. Then, for a little bit of a change, he muttered and paced. Mutter and pace, pace and mutter. It was all Alan could do to keep from exploding in a fiery ball of frustration and anger.

"Alfred should have been there by now." Alan muttered. "What could be taking him so long? He's had tons of time to run to the computer lab and back. Doesn't he know I'm still here?" Alan glanced through the entry to the courtyard, a small gate where a path led downhill away from the courtyard to the less-than-busy street below. At normal hours, the street was bustling with traffic, the sidewalk was usually teeming with tourists. At three in the morning though, there wasn't a soul to be seen, including Alfred. Alan shook his head and paced more. He wanted to sit down, but he didn't want the seat of his pants to get wet. His cuffs, socks, and sneakers were wet and cold enough already.

"I should just leave. I should just find another place to stay." Alan thought to himself. "I can't though. Alfred's got my damn car." Alan mentally kicked himself in the ass as he muttered and paced. The roar of an engine split the silent night with a rumble, then a thud. Quick footsteps accompanied by a light jingling crunched their way up the hill to where Alan was waiting.

"Alfred! You bastard! Where have you been?" Alan rubbed his hands furiously, partly to keep his fingers warm and partly to stop himself from punching Alfred in the face.

"I'm sorry!" Alfred replied, "The keys weren't where I left them." Alfred fumbled with the heavy key ring. "I thought they were in the computer lab, but some guard picked 'em up and took 'em to the lost and found."

"At three in the morning?!" Alan stomped his legs and folded his arms in an attempt to make himself look colder than he was.

"No, the guard found the keys earlier than that." Alfred opened the door and held it as Alan entered into the foyer of Alfred's apartment building.

"And you didn't think to look for them until we're supposed to meet each other at your apartment? How can you miss a giant wad of metal like that?" Alfred closed the outer door behind them and began fumbling with the key ring again in an attempt to find the key to the inner door.

"It's not like it's in my pocket all the time. I carry it in my laptop bag" With a sigh of relief, Alfred located the key and unlocked the inner door.

"You mean your purse," Alan sniped as he walked past Alfred.

"It's not a purse. It's a laptop bag." Alfred opened the first door on the left, and entered into his apartment. Being the superintendent of a building did have its perks.

"It's only a laptop bag if you actually carry a laptop in it. The only thing you carry in that bag is your keys. Well, you did until you lost them." Alan stomped the snow off of his legs and stepped inside.

"I didn't lose them. I just set them down." Alfred flicked on the light to reveal his apartment. It was a typical bachelor pad, with minimal furnishing and utilitarian accessories. The lamp was just a lamp, the TV was just a TV, the couch was just a plain, old couch. There was nothing fancy in his apartment, just a lot of mis-matched stuff that did what it was supposed to do.

Wordcount: 732
Notes to self: try writing when you're not so sleepy, and figure out a better way to describe a bachelor's apartment.

2006-06-11T14:50:00.000-04:00

Free word association:

Prophetic sullen respect annoyance here arrival bitching bitch having lots of annoyance pissed off no where to turn to support none negative pursing lips tense pout furrowed brow biting lips sarcasm annoyance

All my energy is in my lips and they're mad. I feel like I could kill things with my face... that sounds weird, but it's true. Let's hit stuff. I really wanna hit stuff. Lots of stuff. Stuff that isn't mine. Bitches need a smack down.

Word count: 81. I'm very mad.

2006-05-30T09:06:00.000-04:00

Grenita never thought she was "pretty." Just average. She had an average height, average weight, average nose, average eyes, average hairdo and average build. She drove an average car, wore average clothes, read average books, walked an average walk, talked an average talk and all together had an average air about her.

At least that's the way it was, until she met Donovan.

Donovan was different. He was intelligent, witty, handsome, charming, and all around above-average. Donovan was the most unaverage characteristic of Grenita, if you could consider him that. He wasn't the opposite of everything she was. He was everything she was, only ten times more interesting. She loved it. Grenita loved being with him. She loved talking with him. All of a sudden, her conversations were more witty, her thoughts more interesting, her ideas more intuitive. Grenita was herself, only more so. Her average friends saw the change in her.

It's amazing what kind of influence one person may have on another. If one person hadn't met another, where would her life be now? How would a person's life be different if he or she didn't have a mother, or a father, or a best friend, let alone a chance encounter with a stranger on the subway?

Say that stranger happens to turn out to be your best friend. How would your life be different if you had been standing one foot to the left, making it impossible for you to accidently bump into your would-be friend during that uncharacteristicaly abrupt stop by an almost inattentive subway driver? It was these types of thoughts that until so recently, made Grenita interesting.

Before Donovan, Grenita's life was on auto pilot. Get up, make breakfast, go to work, break for lunch, go home, have dinner, go to bed. Interspersed in her life were meals with friends and the occasional visit to the local library. After Donovan, life was so much different, so much more full. Suprise flowers would magically appear on her desk. A semi-chance meeting during lunch or a midnight visit at her aparment would almost inevitably lead somewhere. Life was full of amazing possiblity, and Grenita was happy and better for it.

After twenty-four years of toleration and mediocrity, Grenita loved her life.

She absolutely loved it... for five months.

Wordcount: 382
NaNoWriMo, I'm gunning for you... I'm gonna take you down!

2006-05-29T22:36:00.000-04:00

Hey readers (if there are any).

I've got a new wordcounter on your left there, from TheCosmicChz. The link just goes back to the original word counter. It counts actual words, and not just every five or six spaces/characters as one word, unlike that other wordcounter I was using before. I'm not sure which one is more correct, but I tested some of my old posts and found that I had a considerible less amount of words than I had originally thought. I'm not sure if having a new wordcounter is good or bad for me. In one way, it will force me to write more to prepare me for the upcoming NaNoWriMo in November, but in another way, it's bad because I have to write more to make up for the loss of words that I originally wrote. NaNoWriMo is on the honor system though, I doubt they'd really take the time to check all of the novels that pass the 50k word mark. Still, better safe than sorry.

This post: 170 words... sigh.

2006-04-24T16:58:00.000-04:00

Shadows fell like rocks onto the forest floor. Behind the canopy of leaves and needles a full moon hung low in the sky, as large and as heavy as the bag of rocks Jonah carried on his back.

Why? Jonah thought to himself. They're just rocks. Jonah climbed over the last hill where he could clearly see a small, thatched roof hut that looked to extend into the mountain behind it.

"Ah! Finally! Come on, come on. Don't dawdle." called The Lady Gelda. Jonah hurried over to where The Lady was standing, pointing to the ground. "Dump them here." Jonah hefted the pack from his back and dumped the rocks. "Spread them out. I need to see them all." Grudgingly, Jonah crouched on the ground, spreading the rocks evenly. With an eerie hum, The Lady Gelda waved her arms above the rocks.

Note to self: Man, my writing is starting to suck more and more. I need to get back to reading books.

2006-03-23T15:19:00.000-05:00

All right. So it's very obvious that I didn't finish my NaNoWriMo novel, and that I haven't written much of anything since November. Well, I'm gonna try and start up again. Writing is good for the cleansing of the soul, and my dreams tell me I oughta start writing.

2005-11-20T16:13:00.000-05:00

“Ahoy there, good ship Ace Jaded Seven.” A static smothered voice came over the intercom. The three stared at each other. James covered the microphone with his hand.

“What do we do?” He looked to Sinbad, who raised his eyebrows.

“Let’s pretend we’re not here.” Alan knocked Sinbad in the shoulder.

“We can’t do that! They already know we’re here.”

“Maybe they’ll think it was an intercom glitch.”

“We’ve got to say something,” James said, “They’re probably looking right at us.”

“What I want to know is why it took them so long to contact us.” Alan’s brow furrowed. “If they were Navy, they would’ve responded right away.”

“Unless they thought we were pirates the same way we thought they were.” Sinbad nodded.

“No. What pirate ship asks for fuel? Only dumb kids like us get into situations like this. Besides, even if they thought we were pirates, they’d shoot first and ask questions later.” Sinbad frowned.

“Then they must not think we’re pirates…unless we’re the bait pirates use to capture other ships! I’ve heard of that happening before!”

“Who told you that?” James asked.

“They did.” Alan shrieked.

“You can’t just keep saying “they” are telling you these things! Normal people will think you’re insane.”

“Then why do you think I’m insane?” Alan stopped.

“Wow, that’s a good one.”

“Thanks.” James looked at his hand which he remembered was covering the microphone.

“So, what are we going to do?” Alan rubbed his hair.

“I think we should just talk to them, explain our situation and let them know we need help. They may be neither Navy nor pirates. They could just be a ship like us.” Sinbad’s mouth dropped.

“If they’re a ship like us, they’re not going to be any help either! What if they’re sitting over there having the same conversation we’re having? Can you imagine two of me existing in the same plane of existence? The universe would explode into nothingness!” Alan knocked him in the forehead.

“Stop being so dramatic. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“You’re the one who always hurts me!”

“That didn’t hurt.”

“It could have!” James stared at his two bickering friends with disgust. With a deep breath, he raised the microphone to his mouth. Alan and Sinbad, who until this point have disagreed on almost everything, both stopped and grabbed James’ hands.

“What are you doing?” Sinbad shrieked.

“We haven’t decided what we are going to say yet.” Alan said.

“Ahoy there. This is the good ship Ace Jaded Seven. Could you please identify yourself?” Sinbad nodded.

“That’s good! That’s really good. Keep going with that.”

“Will you shut up Sinbad!”

“Alan, it’s not like you’re being quiet.” James shushed them both.

“Sorry there Ace Jaded Seven. This is the Clear Blue Easy. Captain Al Kasino at your service. You say you’ve run out of fuel?” The silver ship blinked invitingly.

“Yes! Will you help us, please?

Word Count: 527
Total Word Count: 4060

Notes: Do I really like the name of the ship? Keep on truckin...

2005-11-14T06:37:00.000-05:00

James sighed and floated by his tucker bed. He looked out his porthole to see and endless stretch of yam-shaped rocks of various sizes all around them. It was almost like being lost in a sea of bubbles. Usually, if they hadn’t been stranded in the middle of the Asteroid Belt, he would be able to see behind the planets and moons all the stars that surround the relatively small galaxy he existed in. It was his idea to pool together and buy the aircraft they floated in, and his idea to go exploring. Alan and Sinbad just came along for the ride, Alan to gain experience in a starship before he applied to join the navy, and Sinbad because…well, because he’s Sinbad. Sinbad was always up for something different.

In the midst of James’ quiet thoughts, a glint of silver twinkled just past his line of vision. It couldn’t be a star, there were too many asteroids to see past to the stars beyond. He plastered his face to the porthole only to see the glint disappear behind the bulk of the ship. Quickly he pushed off of the wall and into the bridge of the ship where he could see better.

“Hey, where’s he goin’?” asked Sinbad. Alan shrugged. “Well, whatever it is, it’s gotta be good, because James never moves that fast without a reason.” Alan nodded and they both followed behind James.

“Look there!” James pointed. Beyond his finger was the shiny glint of another ship. Sinbad whooped and Alan clapped James on the shoulder.

“Try to contact them,” said Alan. James grabbed the mini microphone from its casing in the console.

“Ahoy there! This is the good ship AJS looking for some help. We’ve practically run out of fuel and we need a tow to the nearest naval base. We can pay you for your time. Please, can you hear me?” James clutched the mic in frantic anticipation. Alan and Sinbad froze in their places, barely breathing. They listened for three minutes…nothing. Sinbad started fidgeting.

“Do you think they heard us?” Alan shushed him. “What? They’re not talking.”

“Be quiet, they could start at any minute.” Alan waved at him to quiet down.

“Maybe their communicator is broken? Oh! I bet they’re stranded here just like us.” Alan shushed him again. “Think about it, what else would they be doing out here in the middle of nowhere?” James and Alan paused in their anxious listening. Alan sat back.

“Sinbad is right. What are they doing out here?” James put the mic down.

“Maybe they’re at a mine?” Alan shook his head.

“A mine in the middle of the Asteroid Belt? Wherever there’s a mine, there’s a steady stream of freighters moving ore in and out. Besides, what element could be found over there that isn’t found in the asteroids closer to where the naval bases already are?”

“Maybe they’re a naval scout ship, looking for resources!” James said. Sinbad nodded furiously.

“That can’t be right either. It doesn’t look like a scout ship.” Sinbad furrowed his brow.

“How can you tell? That ship is still pretty far away.” James squinted. “I can’t even see any markings on it.”

“It’s easy. Naval ships are classified by color. That ship isn’t gray, it’s silver.”

“Well, what navy ship is silver?”

“War frigates and the naval bases themselves.”

“Well that’s definitely too small to be a war frigate,” said Sinbad. “Even I know that.”

“We all know that,” said Alan. Uneasiness grew in the three men as they all came to realize what the mystery ship might actually be. Sinbad cleared his throat.

“Hey guys?” Alan shushed him again. “What was that for?”

“We’re all thinking the same thing,” said James, “ If you don’t say it out loud, maybe it won’t be true.”

“What kind of logic is that?” Alan looked at James incredulously. “It doesn’t matter what we say out loud, it won’t change the fact that that ship is probably a…” James shook his hands.

“Shhh! Don’t say it! Maybe they haven‘t seen us and we can quietly drift away.” Sinbad nodded.

“Yeah, I agree with James. Right now we need all the help we can get, and maybe superstition will be on our side.”

“Superstition isn’t an entity, Sinbad! It’s not going to help us whether we state our suspicions or not! Besides, if we can see them, they can see us!”

“Still. Don’t say it.” James glanced from Sinbad to Alan.

“I’m saying it. I think it’s a pir…” The radio crackled.

“Ahoy there, good ship AJS.”

Word count: 841
Total word count: 3536

Notes: Good job today, at least you wrote something. Try to think of a better name for the ship. Also, decide whether the mystery ship is a pirate ship or not.

2005-11-08T05:08:00.000-05:00

Terms like “floor” and “underneath” were all relative, of course, since the ship moved through space without a real up or down. Because everything in space is always moving, directions are imput into the computer relative to the ship itself, the ship being the origin, the Z axis running through the center of the ship and the X axis running perpendicular to that, arbitrarily picked by the ship‘s computer. For his own benefit, James marked where the computer recognizes the X axis on the inside of the ship by placing two X‘s across from each other. Then, using spherical coordinates, the ship could place a vector in space with a distance, the angle of the vector from the Z axis (theta, θ) and the angle of the vector from the X-Z plane (phi, φ) to chart a course to anywhere in the galaxy. It was up to the memory banks in the ship’s computer to avoid large predominant celestial bodies such as planets and moons and lay a course around them, but little bodies (little is another relative term, of course, since compared to the Sun, Pluto is little) could either be input into the computer temporarily for a course change, or simply bypassed manually by controlling the helm.

James bounced from the small porthole in the quarters and settled into his seat in the bridge. The seats were aligned one hundred twenty degrees apart from each other around the center of the ship. This allowed for maximum area and viewing capacity for the crew on all sides. Of course, the ship had sensors of all kinds to determine its position in space, but it often helped to be able to see what it was sensing.

“I say we send out signal flares, like they say they did in the old days.” Sinbad made a gun with his fingers and pointed in the air. “Often the older ways are the best ways. That’s what they say at least.”

Alan rearranged his blanket to uncover his head. “Who says that?”

Sinbad shrugged. “They do.” Sinbad floated back and forth past Alan making all sorts of gun noises and finger points.

“Who’s ‘they’?” Sinbad raised an eyebrow. “You’re always saying ‘they say’ this and ‘they say’ that. Who are these mystical people that supposedly know everything, huh Sinbad?” Alan repositioned himself. He caught Sinbad’s finger in his fist on the next pass. They eyed each other down. “So? Who’s ‘they’?”

“Sinbad gave a smirk and used his other hand to poke Alan in the ear. Alan yelped and let go of Sinbad’s hand.

“I’m not sure who ‘they’ are. They’re the old-timers. The ones that say guns shot little metal pellets instead of pulses of energy. They’re the ones that said we weren’t always able to fly past the stars faster than the speed of light. They’re the ones who say that everyone used to live on Mother Earth.”

Alan covered himself up again. “That’s impossible. There’s no way everyone could’ve lived on Earth at the same time. There are 500 billion people in the whole galaxy, and you’re telling me they all fit on Earth. Not blinkin’ likely.” Alan’s head popped out again. “What do you think James? What are you doing over there? Sleeping? You’re bed’s over here.”

James looked up from the instrument panel and turned back to his friends. “I’m trying to figure out a way we can fix the ship’s engine so we can at least move to a place where we’d have a better chance of being spotted.” By my calculations, if we move fifty meters at 37 degrees theta and -40 degrees phi, we should be in an open spot where there are less asteroids to clog up the view.” Sinbad grabbed James’ shoulder from behind.

“That’s a great idea James. Let’s get moving!” Alan sighed from underneath his private domain.

“Have you forgotten we don’t have any fuel?” James shook his head.

“We do have enough fuel to move us to that point.” Alan threw the blanket off.

“And you want to waste it to get to that spot? We’re in the middle of nowhere! We’ve been drifting for hours! Why don’t we just send out Sinbad in a suit and he can push us there!” Alan’s eyes blazed with frustration. “Even if we did make it to that spot, there’s no guarantee we’d stay there. In time we’d just move away and towards the biggest thing closest to use, which would probably just be Sinbad’s head!” Sinbad frowned.

“Hey! You’re mad at James, not me! Stop it with the big head jokes!” James moved between them before the ball game became a fist fight.

“He’s not mad at you, or me. He’s just annoyed with the whole situation.”

“I think he‘s gotten crazy from being under that blanket all the time,“ snipped Sinbad.

“That’s only from looking at your giant head all the time,” retorted Alan. James pushed the two apart by their foreheads.

“We’re all going stir crazy from being inside this tin can and looking at each others’ heads. Fighting about it isn’t going to solve anything.” Sinbad rubbed his head where James pushed it.

“Fighting about it would make me feel better. I still owe him for that big head comment.” Sinbad turned himself away from Alan and strapped himself in a chair at the table. Alan withdrew back under his blanket.

Word count: 961
Total word count: 2686
Notes to self: Beginning Week 2. Good job remembering spherical coordinates! Think of a way for them to get out of this mess.

2005-11-07T06:04:00.000-05:00

Chapter 1

Out in the deep silence of space, there floated a small ship. This ship, stranded between an asteroid and a hard place, bobbed along without any fuel or extra batteries. Every once in awhile, another ship would pass. Some would slow down, but none of them actually stopped. The passengers either had to be some someplace right at that second and they were late, or they were too afraid of being mugged by space pirates. In either case, none cared enough to render any help.

Inside the ship were three young men. All three best friends since childhood and all three in most other ways not noteworthy.

“Hey Alan, here comes another ship!” James bounced from the wall to the porthole. His breath fogged the window as he watched it pass.

“Just let it go James. The best thing we can do right now is wait until someone comes looking for us. We lit the distress beacon yesterday. Someone from the navy should be along soon to rescue us. “ Alan rolled himself up in a blanket for comfort. He really wanted to lean back against a wall, but seeing as there is no gravity in space, he’d have to push against something else to lean against the wall, and that was more effort than it was worth.

“The navy isn’t coming for us.” Sinbad shot a couple pieces of a ration bar to James and Alan. “Why would they when they have bigger pirates to fry? We’re just a lonely little ship, hobbling along, generally making our way toward Mars. I’m not even sure if we’re on track anymore. For all we know, we could be headed into a giant vortex where we’ll be swept to Hell knows where. Whoosh!” Sinbad pushed off of the wall and spun across the ship. The ship itself was not extremely large, but it was good enough for the three young men. They slept in a large shared quarters tucker beds for each one, with food stored in the wall bins and floor storage compartments. The bridge was joined to the quarters by a small tube through which they had to float through. Facilities were underneath these, and all waste was stored in a tank until it could be properly jettisoned into the dark void. Terms like “floor” and “underneath” were all relative, of course, since the ship moved through space without a real up or down.

Word count: 436
Total word count: 1746

Notes to self: It took a whole week to write one day's worth of words. Continue on track with James, Sinbad and Alan. Find a way to get them off of the ship.

2005-11-05T21:14:00.000-05:00

Not all ship board pillages are this successful. One may remember the tragic and often laughed-at story of pirate Eggy and his ship the Plimsoll in their failed attempt at kidnapping the Homelegate Duke of Europa from his vacation to the Earth Moon. Eggy foolishly believed the Homelegate’s ship would be most vulnerable when the security changed shifts on the ship which was scheduled to take place at a point equidistant between the Mother Earth and the Moon. What he did not realize was that at that point between the Earth and the Moon, there is nothing to provide cover for his pirate ship. Not only that, but also at the shift change, there are twice as many guards awake and alert as there usually would be at the middle of a shift when half of the guard is asleep in their beds. No one knows exactly why pirate Eggy decided to attack when he did, but he did, and when he did he, his ship, and all his crew were captured and taken to a prison of an undisclosed location to live out their lives in agonizing torture, according to all recorded documents.

Life in the galaxy is not an easy one with all the pirateering, but living is still possible. Mankind is a veritable fountain of innovation. Who knows what the next ten, fifty or one thousand years may bring.

Word count: 243
Total word count: 1311
Notes: Leave this for now, start first chapter with Allen and Sinbad.

2005-11-04T05:48:00.000-05:00

The cutlass is figurative, of course. In space battles there isn't any need for actual hand-to-hand combat. Most space battles consisted of the artful use of energy and grappling beams to inflict damage and physically steal the cargo from the hold of the victim ship. Rarely is the preyed ship ever boarded, except in times where the cargo was simply too precious to be wrestled from the warm bosom of the cargo hold. In those times, the pirates stole upon the ship with all the stealth of a fifteen megaton asteroid and rampaged through the ship until the desired cargo was actually in their hands. This type of plundering was only attempted by expert (where expert can be considered a synonym for foolhardy) and experienced pirates because it required that the pillagers leave the safety of their own ship and venture out into open space to the wounded ship below. It can be done. Many still remember the ravage of dread pirate Arrghrazam and his pillage of the Martian ship Hughes. The ship itself was not of stellar reputation, its cargo being twenty-five adolescent girls to be sold into slavery on the moons of Jupiter. Arrghrazam and his first mate single-handedly boarded and captured all twenty-five girls after incapacitating the crew of the Hughes with a large nitrous oxide grenade. The girls, believing themselves to be freed, went willingly into Arrghrazam’s ship, the Red Pulsar, only to be sold into slavery by Arrghrazam himself! It was told by a knowing source that the girls pleaded with the dastardly pirate to release them to their families, to which Arrghrazam only laughed as he handed their chains to the foreman of the mine they were to work in. The knowing source also said that the girls were not in chains to begin with, but Arrghrazam placed the chains on them because he knew that that was the proper way things of this nature were done.

Not all ship board pillages are this successful. One remembers the tragic and often laughed-at story of pirate Eggy and his ship the Plimsoll in their failed attempt at kidnapping the Homelegate Duke of Europa from his vacation to the Earth Moon.

Word Count: 385
Total Word count: 1115

Notes to self: I need to be doing better. Also, think of a really crappy and botched way for Eggy to die in his attempt.

2005-11-03T01:52:00.000-05:00

In this year, 3005 AD, Sister Technology has taken the children of Earth far past the last layer of the atmosphere (the exosphere, if you must know) and into the inky black vacuum of outer space.

The colonization of outer space started as any other colonization in history started, with ripples. The first explorers wandered out to the no-so-distant moon, leaving footprints and flags everywhere. Soon, the moon became a veritable space-side attraction, much like Coney Island of the olden days. Children chanted "We're going to the Moon!" when rewarded for trivial accomplishments, like good grades and won tennis matches. With the new tourism pointed to the moon, space hotels popped into existance, orbiting all over the earth, followed by the more affordable space motels. Travelling around the earth became a something of a day trip, with breakfast in New York, lunch in Tokyo and and dinner back at home, wherever that is. While families became more aquainted with the newfound affordability of personal space craft, scientists from around the globe discovered how to take old shuttles and refit them for deepspace travel.

While baby humans wondered in the glory of "It was Actually a Very, Very, Very, Small World in the First Place," adult humas travelled to the Earth's brother planet, Mars, and the second cousin moons of the greater gas giants. Colonies popped up in those places like yard weeds following the moon model made popular by Jake Harmington, the original Moon Tycoon. Those colonies, tired of being governed by a planet millions of miles away, seceded from the government and severed the umbilical cord with Mother Earth. It was funny, how even though these estranged colonies considered themselves autonomous and all grown up seventy-five years after each was established, the colonies relied on goods and foodstuffs from Mother Earth and demanded representation in the form of permanent ambassadors to Earth called "Homeworld Delegates" which was quickly shortened to just "Homelegates." The Homelegacy was created to prevent unfair tariffs from ruining what little money the colonies had to begin with, and to ensure the fair treatment of their people on Earth when they aquiried enough money to visit (if they wanted to, which most didn't).

Trade among the colonies and with Earth was one-sided as each colony struggled to find something to export. Economies tend not to work when there isn't any money being generated. Still, the colonies were making do with what resources they had, iron from Mars, nitrogen from Triton, and other various elements and substances from the Galilean Moons. Still, for all intents and purposes, the grand solar economy was a working one.

In every economy, there is always someone to take advantage and live above the lawful economic line. This was no different for the solar economy. Just as brigands stormed the British seas in the fairytale books of old, so did they in space, hiding in coves nestled on seemingly harmless asteroids floating in the not-so-benign asteroid belt between Mars and Jupiter.

These brigands, known collectively as space pirates, roamed the galaxy searching for hapless vessels who irresponsibly wandered away from known trade routes typically guarded by the Intergalactic Navy or IGN. If a reckless star captain sought a shortcut between unfamiliar asteroids in the belt that spans the solar system, or a carelsss star captain took a wrong turn at the last checkpoint, their cargo and their lives coulb be forfeit to the whims of the space pirates. The IGN were noted by the shark pins on their lapels, which earned them the nickname "Sharks of the Star Sea." The Sharks came from all walks of life. Some desired the wealth, prestige, and respect that comes with risking life and limb for the safety of the galaxy's citizens. Others only wanted a steady paycheck and the security of a way of life that would be otherwise unavailable to them in their home colony. Still others sought to be a Shark for reasons more ignoble than the others cited here. With piracy rampant in almost all corners of the galaxy (not just the asteroid belt, mind you) there wasn't a family that hasn't at least been touched by the lost of a loved one to the pirates' saber. The saber is figurative, of course.

In space battles there isn't any need for actual hand-to-hand combat.

Notes to self: continue with description of culture for galaxy.
Word count: 749

2005-11-03T01:31:00.000-05:00

NaNoWriMo has begun. I will start my second attempt at writing a novel on this blog. I'm starting a fresh, but I'm not changing the name of my blog. The goal is to write 1600 words a day.

Please wish me luck.

2005-10-15T16:13:00.000-04:00

Dark, vivid, lush vegetation scattered around for miles. In this humid landscape, light was abundant, animals were rampant and waterfalls were plentiful. Rosalyn took a deep breath of the sweet and spicy air and let it out with a gratified sigh. She stood on her balcony and took everything in. Everything she could see with her eyes, the verdant growths of the Glenraw Valley, the distant waterfalls in the Cascade Hills, and the far-off majesty of the Hooded Mountains, she took into her body and held the memory her young eyes could see in her core. This was her valley, Rosalyn's kingdom and oh how she loved it.

The sun shone onto her as she stood on her balcony. Its rays flew past her and into her gilded room with high ceilings. Everytrhing in her room seemed to glow. It was almost as if the room saved all the light it could get during the day so it could bathe Rosalyn with radiance the minute she entered. The tops of her walls were lined with crown moulding engraved with cherub faces and mythical beasts. Below that, painted wooded panelling lined with golden paint stretched all the way down to the herring bone floor.

2005-09-14T17:37:00.000-04:00

My Fiance lies over the ocean.
My Fiance lies over the sea.
My Fiance lies over the ocean.
So bring back my Fiance to me.

Bring back, bring back,
bring back my Fiance to me, to me.
Bring back, bring back,
oh, bring back my Fiance to me.

2005-09-09T02:08:00.000-04:00

Please don't call me in from the next room. I'm very happy when I'm apart from you. It doesn't have to be a distant separation, the next room is fine. Any closer than that though, and my head will explode with judgements and insinuations and defenses and attacks.

Please don't call me in from the next room. I like you where you are. I like knowing I'm not alone in this giant empty house, but I don't need you following me around, looking over my every move, asking me all sorts of questions that I don't have the answers to.

Please don't call me in from the next room. Just stand over there and be quiet. I need to be selfish, just for one minute, then I'll come and get you.

Please don't call me in from the next room.

2005-09-06T04:50:00.000-04:00

Andrea sat on the hardwood floor of her 19th century farmhouse. As she looked around the room, she could see tatters of her former existence strewn and scattered in soggy, mushy piles of scum. Here and there she could pick out specks of her life before, a picture of her last family reunion with part of a smiling face here, a Wal-mart receipt there. Her eyes travelled up the walls where flowered wallpaper bubbled and peeled from where she had so frustratingly hung it seven years before. At the time her raw anger at her lack of arts-and-crafts savoir faire was as big as day. It was all so trivial now. Her eyes contiuned up the walls, stopping at a handmade clock her son had made. Amazingly, the waterline stopped only inches before it. It's a wonder the clock made it through the storm alive. The second hand was still moving. Huh. No matter what happens, time still goes on, doesn't it God?

As Andrea rose from where she was seated, she brushed the dampness from her backside and just sighed. The stench was nauseating. Mildew hung in the air like laundry out to dry. It was just there, pungent and present with each breath of breeze that flowed through her desolate, empty house. At least she made it back though. After staying stranded in that old school gymnasium with strangers, it was actually almost nice that she was back on her own land. The gym was lousy with brawls and human body odor, people fighting over little things like food and sleeping space. At least they were still alive.

Tears welled up from beneath Andrea's stomach, from the core of her body all the way to her eyes. Sorrow wracked her frame with sobs as she doubled over. She hadn't seen Gerald or Jayjay since they went out to find food. She never, never should have let Jayjay go. Oh how he begged and pleaded though.

Please Momma? Can't I go with Dad? We'll just be gone for a minute, the supermarket is right down the road. I'll be right next to Dad the whole time. I just wanna see if Bobby's okay, okay? Bobby Russell was okay all right. He was at the gym with his father and mother. One big happy, smelly, sweaty family.

Andrea's son and husband were still alive. They had to be. Gerry isn't the type of guy who would let a little wind mess up his whole entire live. They found shelter, she knew it. Maybe they're in a different stinky gym. Maybe they spent the night on the roof of the supermarket and were rescued by a passing helicopter. Maybe they're on TV right now with some news anchor, pleading for people to look for her. They'll be back. Where else could they go? It's not like the truck had a boatload of gasoline in it. With prices as high as they are now, Gerald would be stubborn enough to walk home with Jayjay on his back. As if they could get the truck here anyway. The roads were so full of debris and muck, it would take months for the road commission to fix all the damage that was done.

She'd wait. Andrea was resilient. She bent down to search through to cupboards for anything salvageable. Nothing much. She could use the bucket that they got from the hardware store to carry things in. It was better than nothing.

Nothing. That's what they had now. That's what she had now. Not one thing to prove how wonderful her life used to be. It wasn't perfect by any means. They still had bills to pay and a mortgage to keep. At least Andrea had Gerald and Jayjay. None of the other things mattered now.

God, please let Jayjay and Gerry be all right. I don't care what else happens, I just need them...please? Andrea sat down on the bucket and cried. She cried for all the people in that stinky gym and how they'd be coming home to the exact same thing she did. She cried for all people who lost all their worldly possessions in two days. She cried for all the people who lost their family.

Andrea cried for the fiftieth time that afternoon when she heard hope step through the door.

"Momma?"

2005-08-31T23:53:00.000-04:00

Allison sat on the floor of her cluttered bedroom. Clothes sat strewn in piles like haystacks in October. Papers and knick-knacks littered the floor like tickertape after the Fourth of July parade. What the hell am I supposed to take with me?

Allison was moving. Moving her head, moving her body, moving her life to a brand new exciting world full of...babies. Okay, so maybe it wasn't that exciting. Babysitting isn't the best job in the world, but it could be worse. Besides, she'd be working for her cousin, and pretty much living for free, so it'd be great, right?

Still the dilemma sat in front of her in all it's messy majesty. How do you pack for a three month stay? Should she bring her whole wardrobe? All of her possessions? Books? Allison wasn't sure.

As she sat looking at the infernal mess and two empty luggage bags, Allison sighed. Moving somewhere else is such a taxing chore. You have to decide what you need, decide what can be left behind, what you can buy when you get there, what's replaceable, what's not, pretty much what you can live without. Technically, she could live without almost all of her things. Did she really need to bring all of her yarn stash? How much frickin' knitting was she really planning to do? Is it really necessary to bring fifty tank tops? The summer is pretty much over now, days are getting shorter and nights colder.

What to do...what to do.

Allison leaned back against her dresser and stared at the ceiling. Hey, glow-in-the-dark stars. I could take those... Allison sighed again. Packing was too much work. Maybe she should just ditch everything, move three thousand miles with nothing but the clothes on her back and the crap in her handkerchief on a stick, and see how well she'd get by with that. Allison stretched out onto her littered floor with nasty shagged 70's carpet in shades of orange. This is something I won't miss. Mom really needs to do something about this shit.

Then Allison looked into her two large pieces of luggage. Two bras and a red sock in one, a copy of Walt Whitman's Leaves of Grass in the other. She bent down, took out the copy of Leaves of Grass, tossed it onto the bed and went to the dining room for dinner.

2005-08-10T21:55:00.000-04:00

Change is happening again in my life.
The tides are turning and outside the door
I see the green leaves changing to colors of
brown and gold and red and black burnt umber.

It's summer now, but that only happens
once a year and then it is gone into
annals in my mind of times long ago.

I remember one time when I was six
and my sister and I went down to the
creek and we played in the water until
we got sick. Then we ran to our mom and
she made us some soup to warm our insides.

We're both diff'rent now, my sister and I.
We like diff'rent things, we eat diff'rent pie.
My sister and I, we like diff'rent things
but we'll always be sisters, my sister
and I.

2005-07-07T22:47:00.000-04:00

People! Popple poople plop
Swishy-swashy went the mop
Swipy wipey on the floor
Puke and wipe, then puke some more!

College party lots of fun
after class the fun's begun
happy students everywhere
not a drop of beer to spare

Crowded rooms of male BO
Frat guys standing toe to toe
bounce the white ball in the cup
Hole in one, then drink it up!

sideways walking down the hall
John fell down, he has to crawl
Toilet seat is calling me
make room for me, I have to pee

Outside snow is falling down
Dave is acting like a clown
yellow water from the sky
don't write your name, just let it fly!

Morning light streams through the door
how did you get on the floor?
room is spinning like a top
The night was great! Now get the mop.

2005-06-28T00:01:00.000-04:00

Panic raced through Diana's blood as she ran though the empty street. Shadows darting from a flickering lamp light a block ahead of her signalled help in morse code. Behind her, footsteps echoed off of naked buildings and slick pavement, surrounding her in a cape of taps and ticks. An empty metal trash can wobbled and fell behind her in the sudden rush of air of her passing.

Must keep running, must keep running, Diana's mind thumped over and over again. She didn't know where he was, but she knew he was behind her. One block, one step, it didn't matter. All she knew was that he was catching up. Diana didn't dare look back for a slight arrest in her forward momentum could mean doom. She could hear his laughter, his crazy maniacal laughter that pierced her body straight through to the bone with each staccato note.

Diana's legs began aching now. Lactic acid was building up in her legs depriving her muscles of the precious oxygen that kept her going. The skin on her arms felt as if it were loose, creating drag in the wind that only slowed her down.

If only she could get away, if her soul could fly from her body and escape at a speed faster than light, she knew she could be free of the maniacal laughter. The laughter that killed her.

2005-05-22T22:01:00.000-04:00

He sat at his computer with a thousand different ideas swirling in a creative cloud around him like little gnats threatening to fly into the open orifices of his face.

He did his best to get them all down with his fingers flashing across his cheap keyboard, but Bill's clumsy fingers just couldn't accomodate. "Why did I quit that damn typing class," he cursed to himself as he struggled to get all of the creative gold encased in electron semi-permanence.

Idea: Make a song out of previous poems he'd written.

Idea: Write a play based on his experiences living in a basement apartment in Podunk, USA.

Idea: Write a musical based on the life of an eccentric author.

Idea: Try out for American Idol!

The creativity embraced him, pushed him to do more with his head, hands, ideas, everything! There were so many more things to write about! Cars, planes, trains, cheese, chess, dressing, dressing in drag, dressing in rags, dressing in costumes, royalty, loyalty, living la vida insane in the membrane! So many things!

Why was he balking now that he actually had something to record them on?

Then it hit him. The diarrhea.

"Dammit," Bill thought to himself, "Why does it have to happen now, of all times?" Bill rushed to the closest bathroom, all the way across his ranch house. It was his only bathroom, actually, if you didn't count the cobweb nest of a room in the basement. He cursed again as the cramps roiled in his stomach. Once he sat down, sweet relief waved over his person. The ideas started rolling again. Why was it he did his best thinking on the toilet?

He rushed to finish his business and sprinted back to his computer.

Nothing.

"Dammit!" exclaimed Bill. He knew he should invest in a laptop computer, but he was way too lazy to go through the hassle of actually going to the store and buying one. Plus, laptop computers were known to cost tons of money that he just didn't have. "I guess it's back to the old pen and paper."

Bill waited until another wave of cramps hit his abdominal area, grabbed a pen and some computer paper, and headed to the bathroom. It was a proven method of writing for him; the only problem was his strained, scraggly, and barely legible handwriting.

2005-04-18T00:12:00.000-04:00

I've decided I'm going to be a playwright.

No really, I want to. How long this fad is going to last, I'm not sure, but I do know I don't want a regular nine-to-five job like regular people. Anything I work at, I'm gonna damn well love. None of this working for other people shit. I work for myself and no other. I might open a store and hope it works well.

Another thing I'd like to do is start companies. Maybe not huge companies, but I'd like to start business for other people and then buy out later. You know, provide the seed money. I'm not sure if I'd be good at that, but it'd be something neat to do.

Being a playwright would require going back to school. That's okay, I could do that. At least I'd care more than when I went to school the first time around. The first time was just to please the folks, and goodness knows I have a weak spot for doing what my parents want. I'm not sure why I do it, I just do. I'd love to just leave my father's office and take off for the sunset, but I know he needs me and that sucks ass.

Ass suck.

Anyway, I'm going to try to start writing regularly, continue singing and continue attempting to write songs. Hopefully I'll come up with something awesome.

2005-04-11T03:55:00.000-04:00

Have you ever been so in love with a person, it made you crazy?

I mean so in love you actually ached with the thought of being around that special person. That one person, that one man that made life worth sticking around for. So in frickin' love that just thinking about him made your day better? Even after you've been struck by a bus and audited by the IRS?

I was crazy in love once. It was terrible. The drama was so thick it was up to my eyebrows. I don't know how people can live in that sort of state all the time! It's like being in a frickin' soap opera.

His name was Pete. He was tall, handsome, lean, smart, fun. He loved to dance. His lips were soft. He knew just how to hold me, just how to make me squeal. He was everything that I looked for in a guy. He was even a little rugged. He had great hands and he was ten years older than me. Oooh! Just thinking about him is making my heart race even now, after four years. God, I loved that man. In some ways, I still do.

I had dated guys before. Not a lot of guys, but not few either. No one, NO ONE made me feel like Pete did. He was my first ever deeply passionate love. The first guy I ever actually smiled about when I thought of spending the rest of my life with him. I was crazy up the wahzoo.

It was a destructive relationship. I know now that he was actually interested in someone else while he was fooling around with me and that I was his runner-up, his back-up plan, his second choice. Does it matter though? A little, but not really. If he had come back to me after treating me like scum and dirt and a three-month-old Christmas fruit cake that he finally had the heart to throw away, if he had come back to me after that...I would've welcomed him. It's sad to admit, I know, but I would've. I would've opened my arms and legs and anything else he wanted, just so I could be his favorite.

That's the problem with that though. I was too forgiving. That's why I could never be his favorite. That's why he was able to play me like a yo-yo with the ball-bearings inside. The ones that always come back, no matter how hard you throw them down. I was a glutton for punishment. I wanted it, just so I could hear him say my name. I'm melting.

How crazy was I, you ask? Well, if I wanted to tell you all of it, we'd be here for three weeks. You'd better make yourself comfortable.

2005-04-08T00:55:00.000-04:00

I've lost my will to blog.

No really, I don't feel like blogging anymore. I hope it's not permanent. It's just that the stuff I have to say isn't important anymore. No one seems to care about what I have to say, and sitting down to write has become like a chore. That's not something I wanted.

2005-03-30T02:01:00.000-05:00

Dinah laid in the water, her legs floating listlessly before her and her arms flying out to her sides like some misshapen starfish. She drifted on top of the water, completely and totally aware of herself, so much so that she could feel her shoulder length blond hair tickle her shoulders like loose and supple seaweed. As she floated, slowly around the small and lucid pool, her mind also drifted. It drifted to school, to work, to the colors the sun was reflecting off of the clouds, to the area beyond the clouds where hopes and dreams reach escape velocity and burst out among the stars like intangible galactic rockets.

She had been out on the pond for almost an hour, but it felt like longer. It was almost like she had lived a lifetime on the pond, that all she was destined to be was a piece of duckweed floating on a freshwater paradise. In terms of small things, bacteria and such, she had lived a lifetime. She had existed more than several lifteimes, and she spent all of them thinking within her head. Nothing else really mattered, not at that exact moment when her appendages bobbed in their liquid cushion.

Dinah wondered what she would do with her life. What should she do? There were so many roads to take, so many paths to choose, and she had all the time in the world to decide as long as she stayed alive in that moment, that precise moment on the pond. She felt as if the minute she left, the instant a part of her body touched firm ground, time would speed up again and all of a sudden there would be almost no time to decide what she wanted. Time would run out, like water in a sieve and it would be all Dinah could do to prevent those precious little tears from dropping and evaporating entirely. As long as she was in her aqua cocoon time was motionless, solid and firm around her, keeping her safe from the life-altering decisions that awaited her on the shore.

Dinah laid there in the pond. She could feel time itself, she could feel that very moment on her skin, like standing in a warm summer breeze. As she laid there, Dinah noticed shadows had changed on the shore. They were longer, darker, more present than they had been. She was wrong. Time was moving, but only on land. As long as she was in the water, she was safe.

Dinah watched as the sun set on her pond. She watched the sky turn from blue to yellow to red to purple. Then, in her endless drifiting, Dinah felt her foot brush the clay bottom. Her cocoon had been interrupted and she had to re-enter the land of decisions. As Dinah stood, her hair slicked against her head, still trying to keep hold of the precious time as it dripped off her hair. She slowly made her way to shore, desperately trying to hold on to the feeling of timelessness to no avail. As she reached for her towel and felt the rough and foreign terrycloth against her skin, she knew her time was over, and Dinah made her way up the path to the small cottage that awaited her, set back in the trees.

2005-03-30T01:58:00.000-05:00

For future reference: Standard Play Script Format

2005-03-20T01:32:00.000-05:00

Dialogue

Adam: No Dawn, you don't understand. I have to be who I am every day. When the sun rises, I am Adam ..... I wake up, get my water from the spring, maybe pick a few coconuts if I'm hungry, and spend the rest of the day with myself. Looking. Thinking. Existing.

But when I'm with you, I'm someone different. All of a sudden, I'm a teacher, I'm a companion. I'm not boring, lonely or clumsy. I'm suave, debonair. I have interesting things to say. I'm the person I want to be, and you make that possible. You, Dawn.

Nothing else matters now. It doesn't matter if I sleep in late in the morning. It doesn't matter if while I'm sleeping I accidently miss a passing ocean liner. It doesn't matter if I ever get off this stupid island at all. I have you now, and I'll always have you...right?

Dawn: Adam, I cannot stay here. I am being hunted by people far more powerful than you can even imagine. While it was nice being with you, my staying here is not possible. I cannot give you what you desire, I cannot even touch your hand. I must leave. Please do not make this harder for you.

2005-03-10T02:11:00.000-05:00

As she pulled up to the The New Moon Playhouse, Linda felt the air of uncertainty coalesce around her. Auditions weren't new to her, goodness knows she's been to enough of them. This was different though. A different playhouse, a different city, different people. She wasn't going to know anyone. It wasn't like back home where you saw the same people audition with each season, where you could pretty much put on your magic genie hat and predict who was playing what part. Back home there was a good chance everyone who tried out would be cast in one role or another, even if it was just as "organic scenery." In musicals with big choruses like Oklahoma, The King and I, and Damn Yankees there was a definite need for bodies to fill up the stage as party guests, wives or angry crowds. It was pretty much a sure thing.

Not like here. Here at The New Moon Playhouse there were seven precious roles. Seven roles and at least twenty auditioners. Twenty doesn't sound like a lot, but the odds were still against her. To make it even worse, only four of the seven roles were for women. Fifteen out of the twenty auditioners were also women. It didn't seem fair. Men always seemed to have an easier time getting parts, at least at all the places Linda went to.

Well, here goes nothing. Linda stepped through the door and into the dim amber light of the lobby. All the other auditioners had come with friends, someone to talk to, someone for moral support so they wouldn't have to feel alone. Linda neglected to bring anyone. She kind of liked it that way. By herself, she could play the part of the broody, lonely actor who no one understands but still doesn't act like she's better than everyone else. A little shy, a little introverted, but once she stepped onstage, queen of all she surveyed with a commanding voice and a pliant face full of expression.

Quietly, she filled out her audition form being sure to include her tap and ballroom dancing experience. Her singing experience probably wouldn't be a deciding factor in her audition since this was a straight play, but Linda included that as well just in case.

As she turned in her audition form to the smiling, forty-something woman behind the little table in the front, Linda surveyed the room. Look at all these young kids. They all look like they're my age or younger. Linda knew looks could be deceiving though. She herself was knocking on her twenty-fourth birthday and she still got carded at bars. Linda amused herself by reading some of the scenes from the play, Brighton Beach Memoirs by Neil Simon, while she waited for slower, more talkative auditioners to finish their sheets.

Presently a man stood up and took his place in the center of the lobby. Obviously the director, he had that look about him...that artsy look. With ribbed sweater, scarf encircling his neck and wool hat barely capping his blond curls, the director addressed everyone.

"Hello. Hi. My name is Phillip John Title and I'm the director." He went on with the usual director spiel about how glad he was that everyone showed up, that he'd love to but he can't cast everyone and how if not cast, everyone should come back and try out again for the next show. He ended with,

"With that, let's all go into the theater."

Linda trooped along behind the rest of the auditioners and entered the auditorium. The building was old, she could tell from the large wooden rafters in the ceiling that supported a patchwork of lights and metal beams. It must have been remodeled in the last five years or so, because the seats were reupholstered and the aisles lined with new carpet. The area around the seats however, were bare, painted cement.

The stage was small, Linda had been on a bigger stage in college, but very quaint and appropriate for the small theater. Considering how many people were auditioning, Linda surmised that The New Moon Playhouse didn't get the draw the musicals back home and the plays at college did. Still, a play was a play and Linda was going to do her damndest to snag one of the four coveted parts.

2005-03-10T02:03:00.000-05:00

All right. Since I'm not doing too well at writing (it's obviously March, and I didn't finish the novel) I'm going to use this blog to air out my ideas. I'll write, whenever I feel like it. Just prose though. I have another blog for poetry. I don't think it'd be wise for me to mix my poetry and prose, just because I'll get my leylines crossed.

Here's to a new beginning! *toast*

2004-11-15T03:14:00.000-05:00

Sarah entered the room, dropped her thirty pound book bag on the bouch and threw herself onto the bed. It was three weeks into the semester and Allen was comping up to visit. Allen and Sarah had already been dating for a year. Most of that year however, was spent while they were both within three miles of each other. Last year, when Sarah and Allen had met, it was... well, awkward. They were both security rovers; they had met through their job actually. At the time they began their aquaintenceship however, Allen was otherwise attached to a far-removed girlfriend named Beth. She lived in Minnesota, two states away from their present location. At first they were friends. That’s how all of Sarah’s relationships start. Their supervisor, Mike, knowing that both Sarah and Allen had an interest in each other hinted that the two of them should get together. Allen wasn’t too quick to catch on though.

One lonely January day, Sarah was looking for a date to the winter formal, the Snowball.

“I want to go, because I’ll love getting to look all pretty and dressed up. I don’t have a date though. I don’t want to be lame and go by myself. Loser that I am, I did enough of that in grade school.”

“Don’t you have any girlfriends you can go with?” Allen asked her. Allen and Mike were sitting around the table with her after a security rover briefing. Thos usually consisted of seven guys and three girls shooting the just shooting the breeze so they could get paid for half an hour without having to get up.

“Not really,” said Sarah, “Most of my friends that actually go to these things are from the Swing Dance club, and they’ve already paired up with their dance partners.”

“You don’t have a dance partner?” asked Mike, “I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, I kind of have a dance partner, but he’s going out of town that weekend. Everyone else I know is busy.”

“You never know who’ll become available,” Mike said with a twinkle in his eye and half a smile on his lips. “The perfect date might be sitting right across from you and his only plans are to play video games on his Playstation all night.” Sarah glanced over at Allen.

“Are you talking about me? Did I tell you I’ve been on the Playstation a lot?” Sarah simply sighed and Mike sadly shook his head.

Allen did end up taking Sarah to the dance though, accompained by Mike and his fiance, Joyce. Their relationship developed from there with lunch meetings, evening get-togethers with Mike and Joyce, and midnight stops at each other’s rooms. Sometimes they would spend hours keeping each other’s company during the night shift. Anything to get together, just as friends, of course. Sarah wasn’t really sure why they made the transition from being just friends to dating exclusively, but she thinks it was hormones, combined with loneliness and excessive flirting.

Pretty soon, Sarah was spending nights at Allen’s room and Beth was no where in the picture. She could run towards the picture for miles and still not be within a solar system of it. Beth had stopped returning Allen’s calls two months before the clandestine meeting that cold night, so Allen and Sarah both believed it was safe to call Allen and Beth’s relationship dead on all sides.

That faithful night was crazy. It wasn’t real, was it? Well, it’s all a haze now…or is it….
………………………………

It was 12:00 at night on a Saturday. Neither Sarah nor Allen had to work. It was dark, cool, and the air was full of electricity. Sarah made her way to Allen’s room. She knocked on the door. A voice from inside invited her to come in and sit down.

Sarah sat down on the edge of the loft, on the side opposite of Allen. Her legs dangled six feet away from the floor. Those first floor rooms had tons of space to their ceilings. She sat there patiently while he made himself a hotdog in the microwave.

"You want one?"

"No thanks." Why was it so damn awkward? It's like even the walls know that I want to ask him out. Should I? Allen would be perfect for me, right? He likes staying up late, anime, video games.... He's a little messy, but we can work on that, can't we. It's probably because he lives by himself. I bet he's not this terrible at his home.

She stayed the whole night, talking of many things both boring and interesting to both of them. Before they knew it, they were sitting on the same bunk. Then they were wrestling. Then they were...lying next to each other. Around the 6:00 AM mark Sarah wanted to go to bed. Allen asked her to stay.

"On the other bed?" she asked.

"If you want to." Sarah, knowing full well that she didn't know what she was doing, climbed into the same bed Allen was in. The lights were off, and they were lying there in the darkness.

Oh god. Is this good or bad? I can't decide. I'm better than this, aren't I? I should just get out of bed. Sarah didn't move though, and soon Allen's hands were around her. He's so warm. Sarah snuggled closer. Fuck. I'll just do it. Sarah moved to kiss him...and she couldn't. Fuck again. Sarah looked at Allen’s face, into his eyes.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Can I kiss you?”

“I’d like that very much.” Then they did.

As her lips were pressed to his, Sarah thought to herself. What kind of answer was that? Oh crap, this isn’t a good idea. I should stop. Sarah broke away and looked at his face again. He was smiling. Well, he’s kinda cute. Maybe it’s okay…
………………………………

Sarah was smitten. She had gotten out of a two-relationship with her high school sweetheart (read: the only guy that looked at her with any interest in the whole school) six months before she started dating Allen. Looking back on it, Sarah was sure she hadn’t spent enough time alone with herself to fully recover from being so emotionally attached to someone for so long. Oh well, 20/20 vision, right?

Sarah and Allen had already proclaimed the “L” word within two weeks of the onset of their dating status. She told her friend Samantha about it the next day. The two were sitting in Sam’s dorm room, drinking hot chocolate.

“Whoa,” Samantha said, "That's really fast. That’s a lot faster than me and my fiance."

"I know." replied Sarah.

“Are you sure you should be rushing into something like this? I mean Allen is a nice guy and all, but…”

“I don’t know! I'm such a desperate loser, aren't I?"

"No, not really. Well, I guess you are if you regret saying that you love him so soon."

"I didn't say it first, he said it first. I just said 'I love you too.'" Sarah sighed into her hot cocoa.

"Are you happy?"

"I think I am. I'm not sure. Whenever I date a guy, it's always me who ends up asking. I hate that too. Anyway, after asking, then I get this sinking feeling in my stomach and I wonder if going out was such a good idea, or if it was my hormones getting the better of my desperate and lonely self."

"Sounds like serious doubts."

"It's not that he's a bad guy or anything, I just wonder, you know?"

"Why don't you tell him that you were wrong for asking him out?"

"When I'm around Allen though, it's like everything is all better and we're supposed to be together. The second I'm away from him though...I just wonder." Samantha hit her friend with a pink furry throw pillow.

"Well, quit your wondering and make up your mind." Sarah sighed into her hot chocolate again.

"I'll stick with him. Allen really is a nice guy, and when I'm actually with him everything is so right."

"Are you happy?" Sarah nodded her head in a firm decision.

"Yes." Samantha gave her one of those 'all right, if you say so' looks.

"Okay then."

Words: 1373
Total: 3217

2004-11-09T02:31:00.000-05:00

After an hour of solid unpacking, arranging, repacking and rearranging, Adelie and Sarah sat themselves again on the bouch. Sarah placed her feet on the computer monitor box in front of them.

“I still don’t know what to do with this,” said Sarah, gesturing to the cardboard obstruction.

“We’re going to have to find a place for this later.” Adelie sat back and put her feet up next to Sarah’s. “We’re not going to have room for it if it stays here.”

“They have storage rooms somewhere in this dorm. I’m sure once the resident assistant gets here, we can get them to open the door to the storage closet and stow all our extra crap there.” Sarah got up and went to the bunk bed. “Which one do you want?”

“The top one, if you don’t mind.”

“That’s okay. I like being on the bottom bunk anyway. It’s more like a cave.” Sarah laid down on her newly chosen bed. “Hey, I was wondering, how is it that you’re here two days early? I thought I was going to have the room all to myself for a day or two.”

“I thought that too. I’m actually here for cross country. The team is already training, and we got special permission to move in early. It’s like that with all the sports teams. The football players are here early too.” Adelie swung her legs from the box to the bouch and laid down. “What are you here early for?”

“I’m a security rover. We have to be here to lock and unlock the doors before the freshmen move in.”

“Aren’t you a little small to be protecting us?”

“It’s not like that. Security rovers walk all over the building, all the while making sure the doors are locked, the students aren’t misbehaving too much, and checking the bathrooms for people passed out on the floor. If anything major happens, like a rapist is trying to break in or four or five really large guys are fighting, I call campus security and they take it from there.”

“How did you get into that? It sounds like a crappy job.” Sarah shrugged.

“Well, it is kinda crappy. I saw a flier on the bulletin board that said there were job openings. I figured, hey, I stay up late at night…might as well get paid doing it.” Adelie wrinkled her nose. “It’s not bad once you get used to it. We’re supposed to make a round of the building every hour or so. Half the time, I make a round every other hour so I can sleep or get a little bit of homework done.” Sarah glanced at the digital radio/alarm clock on the desk. “It’s already 5:00. Have you eaten yet?”

“Nope. Just that sandwich when you busted through the door.” Adelie got up to where the half-finished sandwich still lay on the plastic cling wrap. She offered it to Sarah. “Want some?”

“No thanks. I think we should go to the store and buy some food stuffs. I’m thirsty and I need to move my car anyway.” Adelie agreed and the two girls were soon on their way to the grocery store.

Words: 531
Total: 1826

2004-11-02T01:51:00.000-05:00

As she walked down the hallway to her dorm room, laden down with three bags of clothes, two coats, and a crate of assorted shoes, Sarah couldn't help but revel in the fact that she was moving into her room two days early. It would be scary for a little bit since no one would be around, but there would be time for that later. Jeeves Dormitory, like most other dorms, was always full of people. Once the students got there they stayed, and they were everywhere.

Sarah neared her room, number 136, all the way at the very end. It was at the eastern extreme of the campus on the first floor, and she preferred it that way. Sure, her room was the farthest point away from the center of campus while still staying on campus proper, but it was the closest dorm to the student parking lot. That was essential for midnight snack runs in the snow. Sarah set down the crate of shoes so she could squeeze her hand into her tight jeans to get the key she had just slid there fifteen minutes before. She wondered about her roommate. Would she be nice? The last two roommates left much to be desired. Her first roommate, Laura, must not have liked her that much. Sarah never really figured out why, but she knew when she wasn't wanted. One gets the feeling that her roommate isn't comfortable with them when said roommate moves out of their comfortable two-person room into the three-person room next door to live with Theresa and Amy. Sarah's second roommate, Jen, was nice enough. The two girls never really hit it off though. The few times Jen and Sarah were actually in their room at the same time when they weren't sleeping were coincidence and spent in silence. Jen wasn't so bad though. Not as bad as Laura anyway.

Sarah finally dug her key out of her pocket. She slid it into the doorknob and was surprised to find it was already open. Worry flashed itself through Sarah's mind. This door is not supposed to be open. Sarah carefully set down her things as quietly as she could, which wasn't easy considering her petite frame was bogged down with three large duffle bags. Arming herself with a black ballroom dancing shoe Sarah threw the door open to find...

Adelie was sitting at her desk in her barren room. She was in cross country, and had gotten special permission to move in a day early. Adelie was never bothered with being by herself. She was very independent. She had to be. Money never found its way to her family in large sums. By sixteen, she was working pulling weeds at the local greenhouse. By eighteen Adelie already had quite an impressive resume for a person so young. She was silently made her peanut butter sandwich while she dreamed off into space. She folded her bread in half, and quietly raised it to her mouth. Bang! The door flew open the wall behind it. Adelie's head snapped around and her eyes, wide open with startlement, saw a girl with long, black hair, holding a slight shoe in a very menacing way.

...a girl eating a sandwich. Stupidity flowed through Sarah like peace through a river and she tried to casually lower her arm to make it look like she was merely holding her would-be defense weapon.

"Oh. Hey, I didn't realized anyone would be here." Sarah stood awkwardly at the doorway desperately hoping that the girl in the room would quickly realize that she was mistakenly in the wrong room and leave.

"Are you Sarah?" No such luck.

"Yes, and you are?.."

"I'm Adelie. You don't know my name?"

"No. I received a letter that I would have a roommate, but there wasn't a name..."

"Oh. It's probably because I enrolled at the last second. Let me help you get your things." Adelie set her sandwich down on the cling wrap that she was using as a place mat and brushed her hands off on her pants.

Together the two girls lugged Sarah's luggage into the room. It was obvious to Sarah that she had at least twice as many clothes as Adelie did, and that was a conservative estimate. There was still another bag of dress clothes in her car.

"Is this all?" Adelie looked a little surprised.

"Not by a long shot. I've still got another bag of clothes, and some other stuff too."

"If we need to buy some appliances, I'll be happy to split the cost with you."

"Don't worry about it," Sarah replied, "I'm a room pimp." Sarah led the way out to her car, conveniently parked just outside the door. Their room, since it was at the eastern extreme, was right next to an outside door. Sarah jumped down a couple steps to a navy SUV. Through the windows, Adelie could see the back of the SUV was filled two thirds of the way to the top with assorted dorm room essentials. Sarah already had the back open and lifted a white microwave, all the while being careful to use her legs. "Just grab some stuff and let's stick it in the room. It'll be easier to figure out where we can put everything after we get inside." With that, Sarah did her best to open the dorm door with her foot. "Could you get that for me?"

Adelie held the door open while Sarah set the microwave down in front of it to keep it from closing. The two girls unloaded Sarah's car, leaving the heavy things like the computer, the TV, and the refrigerator for last. With hose two, the girls worked together to fit into the already limited space in the room.

After they had finished moving everthing into the room, Adelie and Sarah sat on their bouch. Bouch = bed + couch. It's a piece of furniture that is shaped like a couch, but the cushion where people sit is actually a mattress that is half hidden under the upper part of the couch. The mattress can be slid out to create an extra bed if needed. It was this contraption that Laura resorted to sleeping on after she moved out of Sarah's room and into the room next door.

"See? I have all the stuff we need for the comforts of home. I lived by myself for a term, so I bought a bunch of stuff."

"The computer should go on the desk, but where should we put the refrigerator?" asked Adelie. The room, although very spacious in the vertical direction, was not quite so in the horizontal. The floor was already littered with the possessions of the two girls.

"I guess that should go by the bouch here," Sarah gestured to her right, "so we can get drinks without having to move too far." Sarah still wasn't sure about her new roommate. Adelie seemed nice enough, but she was really quiet. While quiet was nice every once in a while, Sarah had already won gold in the sitting-silently-with-your-roommate event of the Olympics and she wasn't too keen on winning another. Well, at least she's helpful, Sarah thought to herself as they continued to straighten up the room and unpack their clothes.

Words: 1299
Total: 1393

2004-11-02T01:41:00.000-05:00

I never thought I'd be at this stage in my life, writing a novel. Yet, here I am. It's weird. My life is only 29% over (assuming an eighty year life span), yet it feels like so much I've lived a lifetime already.

This book isn't going to be about me. It can't be. It'll be about someone like me, who looks like me, dresses like me, acts like me and talks like me...but it's not me. I'm different. I was never this crazy.

Words: 94
Total: 94

First post

2004-11-02T00:19:00.000-05:00

Here is the first post of my NaNoWriMo novel. Obviously, this doesn't count as part of the novel. More to come later.