The expression “First World problems” is interesting. It serves as a reality check for certain complaints. To get someone to examine all the comforts of their life they may take for granted.
It’s a common enough thing in America. I am certainly guilty of overinflating my grievances. Of being dramatic.
This is one of those times. Continue reading
The door flew outward off its hinges without even a stutter to the motion, crashing into a wall and splintering.
All the eyes in the room darted to the open doorway. Someone’s grasp wrapped around a pistol, but hesitated to use it. The others: a woman, two children, and one teenage male, all remained quiet. Continue reading
My first experience with the BioShock franchise came years before I actually found the games. Instead, I learned the lore from random quotes, videos, and audio clips. Rapture: a city run on a variant of Objectivism. And back then, being a kid with a bit of an unchecked ego, I found the idea appealing. What if, like Rapture attempted, humanity took the best and brightest and let them do whatever they wanted away from scrutiny and restriction and censorship? What a world could we make?
But then, after a while, the appeal faded away. Not a workable philosophy in my day-to-day life, so discarded. Objectivism I “objected” to–if you’ll forgive the wordplay.
But the game came back around. In a store, there BioShock Infinite sat. I wasn’t the one who bought it either, a friend did. And I traded off The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim for it. It was a temporary trade.
A month or so later, I bought my own copy of BioShock Infinite. Continue reading
Quick, dirty, and cerebral. Welcome to the microfiction:
Mr. Burner was a tad concerned when he found his student, Billy Auster, sitting by the side of the railing on the third floor of the School for The Miraculous Brain. Not because of the height, Billy was a fairly careful child and was not going to do any of the stupid showboating another student might. Continue reading
How awkward. How embarrassing. How mortifying. How much we must save face, deny feelings, and little white lie.
I do it too. We all do. And I can’t for the life of me understand why it came to be this way. I will not go into the conspiracies of the internet nuts and claim the conformity agenda of some all-consuming other–I’m not one of those people.
It’s not happening because of any of that. Continue reading
Here is a story in the always tricky second person point of view.
I hope you hadn’t just eaten, because…
YOU ARE HUNGRY
You are hungry. You have this feeling in your head like you might fall over if you’re without food for too long. You desire the sweetness of meat, the richness of cream, and the salt and gristle of many things. Continue reading
I am a firm believer that being good at storytelling requires one to learn how to tell a tale at great length or in a short burst. And so, because of this first story:
“Today’s busy, this fills time.” Continue reading
The man’s metal arm moved in twitches. Picking up the pen and placing it on the paper’s surface. Rather than a smooth drag, it was a jerky motion, but each line came out well enough.
A different man, wearing goggles and a smock with more of its surface stained with oil than not, watched the first man work away at his craft. After a few stuttering passes, a picture of a tree appeared on the paper.
“Good, good, Mur, that looks lovely.” Continue reading
Inspired by a conversation I had with a fellow blogger, I have one important thing to say to people:
STOP. SQUASHING. ARTISTS!
Stop beating people down into the ground!
Stop critiquing people into crippling self-doubt!
If someone likes to make art, then let them! Continue reading
I will not bore you with the weather, but Goddamn was it something worth running from at the moment. My feet keep hitting the pavement with a rhythm. The rhythm of motion and of panic.
“Ride the bounce, ride the bounce,” I say.
And I do. It’s not so much running now as it is my feet hitting and rebounding. Newton’s Laws in real world use.
“Hey, where you going?” yells a girl as I pass.
I’m dumb: so I answer. She’s the type of pretty that makes guys like me stumble on our own words.
I do well enough though.
“The storm!” Continue reading
I’ve talked about how there is a set of statements people will say that piss off writers (and it to some extent applies to all creative people). But, there exists another set. The ones that do not make someone upset, but just kind of baffle. Like, you think to yourself: “how could someone ask such a question?”
And perhaps the main one of these is “where do you get your ideas?” Continue reading
The book opened and laid on his knee. The paper was faded, old, and crinkled. A coffee stain on its binding from back when there was coffee.
“It says many things about what you described,” the man said.
“A ‘book’ does?” asked the boy sitting at the man’s feet. Off in the corner of the room a machine puttered along, producing heat.
“Yes. There was once a time when books told everyone all knowledge. We had one great book we used to read.” Continue reading
Sometimes we all need a kick in the pants. Pure motivational yelling. This article is for that time. Use when needed.
The joy and the fury of creation is one you are not prepared for, but you are born for it. Let me tell you this, it is more than you know, and it pays not enough, and there is never enough time.
And you will find the more you do, the more there is to do. And you will find you can give your life to it. And you will find it will sweep you out and make your eyes tired and the world finds you odd and too far out to understand.
And it is glorious. And let me help you get there. Continue reading
The note said,
It talked about a girl I could not know. Continue reading
When I last talked about this, I had added in red marks through my entire printed manuscript, finding every error I could.
So, yeah. Done with that part.
But what I didn’t tell you about though: is afterward I shared the finished chapters with my Alphas—along with surveys.
And while doing this, I found a nice secure drawer and funneled the finished pages into its recesses.
And now, in nearly the present moment, after around three months or so, among many other projects, a loss of a person, work, and just life—the drawer is full, and the book storage suitcase is empty. Continue reading