I, Will: 2. Good news and bad noose.

2. Good news and bad noose.

I awoke to my alarm at 9:30, just like I did every morning. After drinking a cup of coffee and looking at the Sunday paper, I got cleaned up, shaved, donned my army jacket and hopped in the old Chevy. I took out eight hundred from the pretty black girl behind the counter at the Bank & Trust, and made my way downtown to the little private one bush plane airport.

When I walked in, the receptionist – a twenty something broad with an IQ the size of her bust – smiled at me and asked for my name.

“Will Flynn. I was wondering if I could rent one of those planes over there,” I nodded to the window and the plane that was parked in hangar C, “and of course a pilot. Hoping a gentleman named Ned might be around today to take me up.”

The receptionist with the low IQ smiled as her fingers fluttered away on the keyboard. Her gum popped and snapped as she scrunched her face at the computer screen in concentration. “Well, I got some good news and some bad,” she said, mutilating news into noose. Something I wished I had at that point in time.

“Yeah?” I asked.

“Ned’s here, but busy.”

“Fine, I’ll wait.” I said, taking a seat twenty feet away, underneath a painting of palm trees on some distant beach, far from southern Iowa. I day dreamed about sitting on that beach, sand between my toes, enveloped in the shade of the palm trees, swinging back and forth between a pair of ‘em, in a hammock. Outside storm clouds were brewing.

I, Will: 1. 10 Again.

1. 10 Again.

When mom had gotten home from work she was still angry about the phone call incident, but didn’t seem to want to talk about it too much. She looked tired, and her clothes were all out of whack, like she had tried dressing herself with one hand in the dark, drunk off her ass.

The drunk off her ass part I could believe.

“Go to bed. Tomorrow you and I are going to go somewhere, and I want you to be as well rested as possible,” she told me, her cold lips kissing me on the forehead. I returned the kiss, only I placed mine on her cheek. It was cold and clammy, and up close I realized that she smelt like dirt and Rosco – my hamster – after I had found him decomposing behind my dresser, a month after he escaped from his cage.

Edgar Allan Fucking Poe...

Yeah, it's inappropriate and rude, but I don't care. Nobody reads this blog anyways... If you haven't seen this yet, then I'm in shock, so, without further ado, here it is, courtesy of author Tom Piccirilli who posted it on Facebook, and author Brian Keene, who in-turn posted it on his blog:

For those of you who don't know anything about Poe, you probably won't understand a single thing about this poster. That is why I suggest you do some research. Poe is one of the Godfathers of the Horror genre, and for good reason!

On another note: I know, I know, I never posted a quote for this week, but it's been one hell of a week, so please forgive me this once. As of recently life had veered out of control, and there was a lot of things that I needed to do personally, before things could happen on here again.

Shadow Season Book Review

Hey all, I just posted a book review for Tom Piccirilli's Shadow Season over on my other blog: Sci-Fi Guys Book Review. So, if you have a minute or three, go check it out. Here's the link:

Sci-Fi Guys Book Review

PEACE.

I, Will. Quote of the Week.

I, Will.

I know, I know. Yesterday was supposed to be the day for Quote of the Week.

I forgot... big deal. It's not like anyone reads this thing anyway. But, I'll get to that in a moment. First, I have a rather large announcement to make. (Large for me, that is.)

Last week, I had twenty journals due for my Creative Writing class! And because I'm such the procrastinator, I left them to the last minute. Luckily enough I had a lot of topics already written thanks to all of the stories and novels that I have written. Needless to say, the vast majority of these topics were easy for me to write on. I'm not going to lie to you though, there were a few that just stumped me and made me think, (like writing dialogue for a historical figure) and showed me the various weaknesses that I have with my writing.

But there was one that I had a ball with. The goal was to write a short story where your character takes a trip. In the heat of the moment, I banged out five pages double spaced, but stopped myself there (these writing exercises are only meant to be one to two pages double spaced). But there was so much more that I could write on, and so after thinking on it long enough, I've decided that that's just what I'm going to do.

Now, I've shared this with you all, to only add this: I have a new short story, and for once there's actually some meat to it. After arguing with myself for a long while, I've come to the conclusion that I will be posting this short story, tentatively titled I, Will, in a serial type deal, once a week. This will be an adventure for me, seeing as it'll be the first time I've ever done anything like this. So, not everything I post will be final, it'll be riddled with grammatical errors, continuity errors, and any other kind of error I can think of. Not on purpose mind you, but because this will be a work in progress until I truly feel like it's finished.

So, look for the first part of I, Will, some time this week.

Quote of the Week.

Okay, so now that I've gotten that out of the way, I guess it's time for the second Quote of the week. And since Sunday was Valentine's Day, I thought it would only be appropriate to put up a quote about love. So, here's the newest Quote of the Week:

"It's strange that words are so inadequate. Yet, like the asthmatic struggling for breath, so the lover must struggle for words."
- T. S. Eliot

For my World Literature II class, as part of one of the many choices for papers, I decided to pick a poem: T. S. Eliot's The Waste Land to be precise. Since reading Stephen King's The Dark Tower Series, I've had this fascination with not only Eliot, but King. Both men's work plays a large role in the series -- Roland Deschain the main character of King's series, being named after Browning's Childe Roland, and the third book in the series, The Waste Lands, being named after, of course, T. S. Eliot's epic poem of the same name. So, seeing as I'm doing massive amounts of research on the dude, I decided that a quote by him would be in order and rather appropriate.

(Discuss in comments.)

Quote of the Week. Switching Focus.

Today's post is going to be a two-parter, so bare with me folks....

Quote of the Week.

First things first.

With today being Monday and all, I decided to begin the official work week with one of the new ideas/concepts that I have had floating around in my head for a while. It's nothing special, or new -- there are plenty of other sites that do this, the majority of which do it daily -- but something that I think will be enjoyable for all parties involved. That's why today will feature the first "Quote of the Month," here on The Bloody Pin.

The contents of the quotes that will be featured on this blog will widely vary in range. One week I might quote a politician, the next a philosopher, the next a character from a book, and most definitely authors. If anyone has a quote that they would like to see featured here on the blog, then feel free to e-mail at: kidstaple@yahoo.com, with something to do with quotes in the title of the e-mail, and I promise to look at it, and if I think it's worthy enough, or speaks to me then I'll post it, with credit to you.

For those of you who might not feel like slogging through all the back posts to find the newest quote of the week, don't fret, because you won't! I'll be putting a new box up on the right hand of the screen, which will be where you can find the current quote of the week.

I've been reading a bunch of Truman Capote's stuff recently, and the man has struck me as a genius, so I thought that, even though the banner for this site already has a Capote quote, I'd go ahead and put up another one for the first ever quote of the week. So, without further ado, here it is:

"To me, the greatest pleasure of writing is not what it's about, but the music the words make."

- Truman Capote

(Discuss below in comments.)

Switching Focus.

And lastly...

For the longest time, I've been bouncing around with projects, writing a little bit here, editing a little bit there, mainly focusing my time on two major pieces of work, both of which I intend to someday be novels (fingers crossed): The Coming Shadow and Coldsleep.

Lately, I've been working on The Coming Shadow, but as of recently I've switched my focus back to Coldsleep. Now, I'm sure I'm not the only person out there who does this type of thing, but now that I've realized just what exactly is keeping me from finishing a novel, I'm going to take action, and keep my focus fully on Coldsleep no matter what, even if it kills me.

And to be quite honest, it very well could. But I'm going to do it, no matter what happens, and I would hope and encourage the readers of this blog to make sure that I keep at it and don't stray from the path too much.

One of my resolutions for this year is to finish a novel. Well, I'm here to announce that Coldsleep will be that novel. I've probably just dug myself a grave and bought a golden ticket straight to damnation, but I don't care.

Not anymore.

Come this time next year, Coldsleep will be a finished novel. A pile of crap if you will. Next year will come the polishing of said crap.

This blog will be my way of venting whatever angers arise while writing Coldsleep, as well as anything else to do with my writing, others writings and my overall venting of day-to-day frustration.

Like Truman Capote once wrote, "Every word takes blood..." This book will take a lot of blood. It may even turn me into a husk of a man, but I'll deal with that when and if it ever happens.

Until next time, God speed one and all.

I, Ferryman.

I have an addiction, and I'll be the first to gladly admit it.

I love to write.

It's not so much out of boredom, or because school demands it, but because I have too.

Let me explain...

It's something that's ingrained in me, both mentally and physically. If I don't feel my fingers depressing upon a keyboard for more than fifteen minutes a day, then I start to get the shakes, begin to sweat, and if left long enough begin to have convulsions. And, I'm afraid to say, it's an addiction I can't sweat out. Trust me, I've tried.

I believe that everyone has at least one good story to tell in their lifetime. (I know I've stolen this from someone, but from whom I'm not sure. If anyone knows who this might be, then please drop me a note in the comments section and let me know. It'd be greatly appreciated!) But, like many people I'm different, in the respect that I have more than one story to tell.

And before anything further is said, I guess I should make the reader -- you -- aware that I have tried to just not write, but that just ain't going to happen, and here's why: my imagination won't let me.

The best way to explain it would be to use the analogy of too many people under one roof, at one time. If you have ever had relatives stay over at your house during a holiday, or ever put them together in a small cramped room, with no air conditioning, with a 120 degree temperature outside, and they haven't eaten all day, then you can probably relate to my predicament.

Imagine my mind as a 12 X 12 room at max capacity, and that there's always between thirty to fifty-five people occupying it at one time. It's hot, cramped, and people are pissed because they're well, hot, cramped and haven't eaten all day.

Whether by murder, or authority, someone is gunna get the boot.

This is the way I feel with all of the characters that occupy my mind. Now, I've tried booting their asses out, but they seem to find a way back in; I'm afraid that my mind isn't the 12 X 12 Impenetrable Fortress that I had thought it too be, because they keep showing up. I boot them out, each time a little bit harder than the last, and they still end up showing back up a few days later.

Through trial and error, I have found that the only way to get said characters out of the 12 X 12 Impenetrable Fortress in my head, I have to write them out. And usually, as soon as I write them out, a new character pops their head in a few hours later to see what's going on. Most times they stay.

I am ALWAYS writing people out.

Why? Because every character that shows up in the Impenetrable Fortress ends up staying a while, and after a few days/weeks/months, I get to know that character; I learn about them. What their favorite food is, their favorite color, who they're in love with, what their ambitions in life are, what they're afraid of; all of these things and more.

And just like everyone who has a story to tell, these characters have a story about them that needs to be told.

From out of thin air, to the 12 X 12 Impenetrable Fortress in my mind, to words on a screen -- produced by my very nimble fingers -- I am their ferryman, I get them from one side of the shore to another.

Without me, they wouldn't be aloud the privilege to come to life, and occupy a bunch of pages. I give them life, and I get them to where they need to go.

I'm a ferryman and a writer.

It's what I do.

Not by choice, but by necessity.

The Final Jest.

I don't really have much to put up here for now, besides a few new weekly things that I will be implementing here within the next few days -- upwards even of a week -- so hang around and we'll see what becomes of this site. I still don't have a real good idea of what I would like to do with The Bloody Pen, but I don't think it matters much so long as I'm getting some writing in.

So, until I start posting weekly bits, I figured I'd post up a poem that I wrote a little over a year ago, in the transition period between President George W. bush and -- at the time -- President-Elect Obama. It was then that I realized that this lovely nation of ours was going down the toilet fast -- knew it even before then, with good ol' Bush and the Patriot Act -- and so I wrote this poem. There were many things that I wanted to say, and many more that were stillj flaoting around in my brain but hadn't found any mental ground to anchor too. Both types of ideas show up in this piece; where one ends and the other begins, I couldn't point out to you, because it all just poured out of me in about twenty minutes.

There's a lot that is being said in it, and I think I'm noticing these things more so now that I can sit back and read it over without having those ideas flaoting around in my head. And when I do read it I find that there are even more things being said than what I originall intended.

Okay, I'll shut up now, here's the poem:

The Final Jest

Cut out the weakness; prolong the sickness,

Corrupt the single minded body; this giant,

Just look me in the eyes and say I'm wrong,

Even though deep inside you know that I'm right,

A government for the people and by the people,

No longer exists, it's a flat out lie; the final jest,

They'll smash the ancient scrolls with giant fists,

And bring about the chains of tyranny that instill us,

Swallow the bitter pills of ash, blood and fate,

And fall into bed with their lies and justification,

Smile sweetly as the pictures taken,

And cry as the world burns beneath your feet,

Your tears will stain the pages of history,

And then they'll see, just like you and me,

That we were manipulated and taken for the fool,

Your slate wiped clean; lost in the sands of time,

This is the final warning that shall be given brothers,

Hear the angels harp as it cries out for blood!

Retribution is needed; raise your arms in defense,

Remember to smile politely when they take you away,

Dance the dance of death; the final jest,

And sing with me as we bleed for them,

Bittersweet victory, we've won at last!

Glorify the Lord's name and watch them burn in hell.

The Template Known As Life, and New Beginnings.

Today I turned twenty.

I'm another year older, and another year wiser.

It seems just like yesterday I was breaking into my first week as a freshmen in high school, anxious for the rest of my high school career, and the adventures it would bring. I look back on those thoughts now, and they still fit the same bill, almost six years later, only they've been transposed to a different template (which from here on out will be referred to as: 'Life').

Many of these feelings are still the same today -- this time as a college student instead of a high school student -- and I'm once again looking forward to my college career, the adventures that I'll experience while in academia, but also the future adventures that are still to begin. The future adventures outside of college. College and it's many adventures are still very much on my mind, but after turning twenty, I had an epiphany: in another twenty years I'm going to be forty. (Yes, thank you. I'm proud of myself as well. Those pesky numbers aren't getting any easier to add up, are they?)

This got me thinking about all of the possibilities that will arise within those next twenty years, and all of the normal mundane human expectations that we as humans take for granted -- becoming a full fledged member of the 'I work my ass off too hard to be getting paid for this crap' Club, falling in love with that special someone, getting married, owning a house, a car and whatever else you can think of, having children and teaching them about God and life and how He expects us to live our lives for him, through His word (for those of us who are religious).

You know, the simple stuff...

I'm fortunate enough to have already found that special someone whom I plan on spending the rest of my life with. Now, I just need to find a stable job and get through college. Then, I can take this template known as 'Life,' and apply it to a whole new set of adventures, which I look forward to sharing with Maggie one day.

But, until then, my academic journey continues, and with enough luck, I hope that it'll never end, especially once I start teaching. Something that I'm looking forward to just as much I am looking forward to one day being married to Maggie.

Today, I turned twenty. I'm thankful to God for getting me this far, and for it not being my fortieth birthday.

My course has already been set: down the path of a new beginning, with many, many more on the horizon. I'm looking forward to them.

God is good!