Grove

Grove was a typical town in the rural American West.  Except that Mayor Vicks had just shot and killed Sheriffs Micheals and Markson.

"What are you gonna do about replacing them?" asked the local preacher, a Reverend Milner.

"I'm gonna appoint that Augustus fella and that Ozric fella," Vicks answered without giving much thought to his answer.

"Augustus, the cattle thief?" Doc Lewis gave the mayor a look of concern.  "And the village idiot?  You sure you want to make those two sheriffs?  Aren't there more capable men out here that are more deserving and, quite frankly, respectable?"

Vicks turned to the doctor and looked at him like a man would look at an ant.  "Lewis, I'm the Mayor here.  What I say goes, is that understood?"

Doc Lewis shrugged his shoulders.  "All I'm saying is that those two aren't particularly sheriff material and I think most of the town would agree with me."

"Tough shit," Vicks said.  "I'm the mayor, you're the doctor.  I don't run around telling you how to do your job, so I'd expect the same kind of respect from you."  He walked away to christen his new choices for sheriff.

Reverend Milner clapped a hand on the doctor's shoulder.  "I understand your concerns Doc."  Lewis, staunch atheist, was surprised by this show of support from the man he had had several arguments with during the course of his tenure as doctor of Grove.  "Those two are going to be trouble."

Within a matter of days, the reverend's prophecy was fulfilled.  High on the authority given to them, Augustus and Ozric treated the other townsfolk with derision and scorn.  A rancher complained to the mayor that his youngest daughter had been raped by the two sheriffs and they had stolen two of his horses.  The owner of the saloon pleaded with the mayor after they ransacked his supply of liquor.  More atrocities were committed by these men than could be recorded in the annals of Grove's history.  The two man took whatever they desired of everyone and demanded respect from the townsfolk.  After a raid on a ranch a couple of miles out of the town from a rogue group of Apache, the lawmen refused to form a posse and give chase.  Fed up with this, Doc Lewis arranged for a town meeting at the town's church.

Doc addressed the crowd that composed the vast majority of the town.  "It's time we get a new mayor.  Obviously Vicks isn't going to do anything about the problems he's created by anointing these fools sheriffs."  The crowd cheered in assent.  Vicks stood in the back of the church, giving off an attitude of indifference toward the growing displeasure drifting his way from the town.

Then the unthinkable happened.  Augustus walked straight up to Doc Lewis and stood within inches of his face.  "You don't like me much, do you doctor?"

Lewis looked down into his eyes.  "No, I reckon I don't.  You're a cattle thief and a disgrace to this town.  You've made us the laughingstock of everything west of the Mississippi."

Augustus nodded and started to walk backwards.  "If that's the way you feel, so be it."  With a flurry of motion faster than the eyes of most of those gathered, he drew his gun and shot the doctor between his eyes.  Doc Lewis didn't even have the chance to look surprised as he dropped dead on the church floor.

The crowd began screaming and running towards the exits.  They realized they were stuck with these two bullies as sheriffs indefinitely.  Reverend Milner stood aghast over the body of the doctor.

"Murder!  In the very house of God and before a hundred witnesses.  Hell and damnation await you, Augustus!" he cried.  

The sheriff gave him a quizzical look.  "You telling me I'm not already in Hell?" he asked before he brought his pistol back up and aimed at Milner's head.  Milner looked up towards the ceiling, ready for the embrace of God he knew with certainty he would soon feel with his imminent death at the hands of a madman made sheriff.  Augustus sneezed and holstered his pistol.  "Too bad you didn't shit and piss yourself.  That's what I was hoping for."  He walked out of the church.

Later that night, in a drunken stupor, Ozric knocked over his lamp and was soon lost in a blaze of fire.  The fire spread through the town quickly, as if spurred on by the vengeful spirit of Doc Lewis.  Augustus fled into the countryside as soon as he realized the town would be consumed by the flames.  Every house in the town burnt to the ground and in the end, only Reverend Milner and Mayor Vicks were left alive, surrounded by the ashes of Grove and its citizens.

Vicks looked at Milner with clear desperation in his eyes.  "What am I going to do now?" he asked.

Milner laughed.  "If I were you, I'd start digging.  The blood of an entire town is on your hands because your head was swollen with pride.  At least you'll have one of your idiot sheriffs to keep you company in Hell."  He left the mayor in the midst of the town and walked in the direction the sun would soon rise from.

Of Writers and Strippers

It's been a long time since I've shared any thoughts via blogging, but I keep intending to.  The truth of the matter is that I'm the world's worst (or best if you want to be optimistic) procrastinator.  Well, hopefully, I can work on fixing that.  One step at a time.  Maybe tomorrow I'll start.  All jokes aside, here are some reflections I had yesterday.

I'm just going to cut the chase here and put aside any kind of pretentious bullshittery.  Writing is so vastly and incredibly difficult for me to do.  In one sense, I feel like a stripper.  For the ignorant among us, a stripper's job is to get naked for complete strangers.  Writing is a similar experience, but at the same time, almost completely different.  With what I write, I'm peeling off layer after layer of the "clothes" of my personality.  When I write, I put everything into it.  Every piece I have written (and many of those I have thrown out or burned because I have massive self confidence issues with what I write (a point in which I'll get to eventually here)) contains everything I am.  And I mean capital E Everything.  My hopes, my dreams, my fears, my failures, my successes, my secrets, my beliefs, my philosophies, my scars, my loves, my hates, my envies, my prides.  All of that (and likely, more which I failed to remember to mention) goes into it.  And that's a huge part of why I have so much trouble writing.  It can get taxing extremely quickly.  (And to all the writing or English majors/degree holders flipping their biscuits over how many adverbs I've been using and how rakishly amateurish this monologue is, well, fuck off. This isn't for you, this is for me.)  I write because that is the best way I have of expressing myself.  It's entirely of a private nature and because of the nakedness of what I reveal about myself, I'm mortified of sharing what I write with others.  (To the extent that the the people who have read any pieces I've written can be counted on one hand.)  The second half of that fear is that there is a large part of me that feels grossly inadequate about what I write.  That my works reek of immaturity and awkwardness.  There's a feeling of mass inferiority after finishing reading something like Ulysses or One Hundred Years of Solitude.  Works that are just so immensely complex and are really and truly crafted by geniuses.  How could I possibly write anything that comes close to a single page of such works?  Daily I struggle with those feelings of inferiority.  Because those are precisely the types of works I want to write.  There's nothing wrong with escapism literature and I'll gladly admit that I'm an avid fan of (some) science fiction and fantasy, however even among those writers, I feel dwarfed.  I guess what I'm trying to get at here, as ineloquent yet genuine as it is, is that writing is the ultimate form of isolation.  All we ever are is alone.  But that's not entirely a bad thing.  Because there are billions of us, and we are all alone, but we are all alone together. (I promise that if I ever find the original owner of that quote, I'll provide them credit for it.)

Finally, I'd like to thank the cute girl at the bus stop I met today.  (And let me again apologize for my toxic Funyun breath fumes, in the off chance you happen to read this.)  Even with the briefest of exchanges and the most common of small talk, you've managed to reignite a fire within me that I have been trying for many, many years to raise from the dying coals of the deepest cave of my soul.  "Everything happens for a reason."  Those words you spoke are words I've spent countless nights pondering over while I battled (and frequently lost to) insomnia.  Maybe I'll never strike it big, maybe I'll never write something as massive and impressive as Infinite Jest or Gravity's Rainbow, but the scant words we shared today have been enough to fill me up with enough energy and inspiration to give it everything I have.  Thank you.  We may never see each other again, but you've managed to turn me from an "aspiring" novelist to an Aspiring Novelist.

As for you, the readers of this blog post, you are welcome to join me in this journey.  It will likely be a long and arduous journey full of highs, lows and dull, boring landscapes.  You are my witnesses here and I fully expect you to hold me accountable.  Because there will be times when I'm gonna need a kick or a shoulder to walk on.  So, I cannot make it without your help.  Your comments and criticisms will be more appreciated than you may ever realize.  Thank you for taking time out of your day to read this and allowing me to share some of my most personal thoughts with you.  

Reflections on a Wildfire

A grassfire blazes in northeast Oklahoma.  Ash falls to the earth like snow.  Smoke can be seen on the horizon.  What little bit of sunlight manages to pierce through the smoke obscures the area in an eerie orange haze.  The wind carries just a little extra heat and brings a faint smell of dry grass burning.  It's difficult to accurately gauge how close it is.  Or even which way the flames are moving.  People from nearby towns look out their windows and gaze toward the cloud of smoke.  There's an ominous knot in the stomachs of some of them as they feel the fire crawling their way.  Destruction in its most primal and ferocious state.  Fire is natures great destroyer.  For thousands of years, mankind has tried, with little success, to master its power.  But it refuses to be tamed.

Just how did this incarnation of the Great Destroyer come into being on this August afternoon?  Was it gross negligence, a bizarre accident, or worse, malicious arson?

Ramblings of an Insomniac

Well, it's been like 6 months since I posted anything.  A big part of that is I'm lacking confidence in my writing abilities.  I understand that practice makes perfect, but for some reason have been totally avoiding writing anything more than a few scribbles here and there.  I guess as practice I'll start doing reviews on what I've been reading this year.  Toward the end of last year, I made a decision to try to read 50 books this year.  I'm not even halfway there and it's already June.  Will I make it to 50?  Probably not, but I'll try it anyway.

First up on my list is War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy.  I'll be honest, I have no idea where to start reviewing this colossal book.  Despite it's length and the multitude of characters, it's a pretty easy read.  Tolstoy spends some time at the end of the book with philosophical rantings and that's about as dense as the book gets.  The characters are all fleshed out and lively.  You can see them change during the course of the novel as war takes it toll on their lives.  They're the driving force behind the novel and part of what compels you to finish the book.  It's themes include the nature of war, patriotism, and the importance of family.  Overall, I'd highly recommend it.  It still stands as one of the greatest achievements in literature in the past 200 years.

New project, 12/25/11

Had an idea for a story on the way home from my grandma's house Christmas.  Started working on a scene later that night and over the course of the next couple of days.  Needs some work and the characters need names.  Initial draft of a scene taking place sometime in the middle of the story.  Characters will be referred to by letters until I come up with names.  And yeah, I know it's not very good.  This is a rough, rough draft.


The last remaining hours of daylight revealed a seemingly endless sea of corn.  With the sun set, there was still corn.  Miles of nothing but corn.  Kansas, what a boring place.  A couldn't imagine why anyone would want to live here.
The car maintained the speed it had been for the past few hours.
"I haven't seen any cars in awhile," C said.
"Yeah, it's pretty much nothing but corn everywhere," A said, his eyes not leaving the road.
It was the first time they had talked in what seemed like forever.  The radio had been the only other sound.  C was gazing out the window, not looking at anything particular.
"Pull over!" she said with sudden excitement, slapping his arm.
"What?  What is it?" he asked, concerned, as he pulled to the side of the highway and began to slow down.
Before the car had come to a full stop, C flung the door open and dashed off into the corn field, giggling.
"Oh, what the hell?" A asked himself, getting out of the car.
Her voice called out from the dark corn field, "Over here, and hurry!"
A shook his head and followed the sounds of her giggling glee.  While she was still ahead of him some distance, the joyous sounds suddenly stopped.
"C!  Where'd you go?" he called out, walking deeper into the field.  Even at six feet even, he felt short compared to these stalks.  There was a rustling ahead of him a little ways.  He paused and tried to listen for more.
Fat, short fingers came over his eyes.  C's laughter gave it away.  "Boo!"
A clawed at the fingers and turned around.  She was wearing that devilish grin B used so often.  Seeing it flooded A with nostalgia and a life he knew was left behind and past him.  It must have showed on his face because that grin faded quickly from C's face.  "What's wrong?"
"Nothing.  Don't worry about it."  He tried his best to give her a soothing smile.  It didn't work.
With the same pouty face her sister used on him so much, she mumbled, "It's her, isn't it?"  A was silent and she took it as confirmation.  "Am I that terrible?  Can you not see me for me?  Will you always think of her when you see me?  Is it really too much to ask you to forget about what happened between you too?  Or at the very least, pretend you've forgot?"  Exasperated and with tears in her eyes, she turned back towards the highway.
A knew this was it.  If he didn't do something now, he'd spend the rest of his life regretting this moment. She had played her hand and now it was his turn.  He grabbed her hand and tugged her close, stared deeply into those gray eyes and kissed her with a fervency that startled him.  At first, she resisted, but she caved in to it.  After what seemed like forever, he pulled her back, looked at the way the stars of the night sky reflected in her eyes and whispered those three little words.  "I love you."
Time seemed to stand still.  C was shocked, but that faded fast and a look of ecstasy sprang up across her face.  "It's about time," she whispered in a barely audible voice.
They stood together for a few more minutes, seemingly forgetting that they were in a corn field in the middle of Nowheresville, Kansas.
"We better get going," A eventually muttered.  "We've still got a ways to go before we make it to Wichita."
Hand in hand, they walked back.  The rest of their drive that night was in total silence.  After that initial blinding rush of emotions, A's head was flooded with thoughts.  He looked over at her and noticed that she had her head leaning on the window, apparently asleep.  What's going to happen next?  How will B handle this?  Could the two of them really make it work?  Why did it feel so wrong to have these feelings for his ex's younger sister?  A didn't have any answers for these questions that were running in his head. The only thing he knew for certain was that the next step wasn't going to be easy, no matter what it was.

Various lists of 25 things

With yesterday being my big 25, I've decided that it would be kind of a fun idea to make various lists of 25 favorite things in that particular category.  And thus, my first list.  Top 25 songs, according to Itunes

1. The Fall of Troy-I've got this symphony goin'
2. The Fall of Troy-F.C.P.R.E.M.I.X.
3. The Fall of Troy-McCaulay McCaulkin
4. Misery Signals-Anchor
5. The Fall of Troy-The Circus that has brought us back to...
6. Fair to Midland-Abigail
7. Mastodon-Oblivion
8. Mastodon-Divinations
9. Mastodon-Quintessence
10. Mastodon-Ghosts of Karelia
11. Mastodon-The Czar
12. Mastodon-Crack the Skye
13. Mastodon-The Last Baron
14. Animal Collective-Brother Sport
15. Lily Allen-Everyone's at it
16. Lily Allen-Back to the Start
17. Justice-D.A.N.C.E.
18. Foo Fighters-Everlong
19. Ratatat-Loud Pipes
20. Animal Collective-Summertime Clothers
21. Protest the Hero-Goddess Gagged
22. The Fall of Troy-F.C.P.S.I.T.S.G.E.P.G.E.P.G.E.P.
23. The Fall of Troy-Act One, Scene One
24. Every Time I Die-The New Black
25. The Fall of Troy-"You Got a Death Wish Johnny Truant?"

And, according to Last.fm, my top 25 artists since March of 2008
1. The Fall of Troy
2. Mastodon
3. Tegan and Sara
4. Tom Waits
5. Interpol
6. Slayer
7. Between the Buried and Me
8. Rush
9. Misery Signals
10. Animal Collective
11. Arcade Fire
12. Shiny Toy Guns
13. Incubus
14. Lily Allen
15. Metric
16. Every Time I Die
17. Meshuggah
18. Fair to Midland
19. Emery
20. Sigur Ros
21. Protest the Hero
22. Children of Bodom
23. Amon Amarth
24. Norma Jean
25. Blind Guardian

Top 25 books
1. Gravity's Rainbow
2. Ulysses
3. Lolita
4. Infinite Jest
5. The Picture of Dorian Gray
6. The Crying of Lot 49
7. Moby Dick
8. Middlemarch
9. The Sound and the Fury
10. V.
11. Crime and Punishment
12. Kafka on the Shore
13. Anna Karenina
14. The Lord of the Rings
15. The Idiot
16. The Count of Monte Cristo
17. No Country for Old Men
18. Fahrenheit 451
19. Revolutionary Road
20. Oil!
21. Dune
22. The Turn of the Screw
23. The Stand
24. Norwegian Wood
25. Vineland

More lists to come in the future!

5/16 Poem

Bit of poetry I wrote just now.  Rather rough draft and not quite sure what to do with it.  Untitled at the moment.  Comments and critiques are appreciated.

Hands shaking, hearts breaking,
Light dying, lips lying.
But hope lives still.
Drink, have your fill.
Live for the thrill,
Dance until night fails
Day brings happier trails.
Life always prevails.