Wait for gold, or enjoy bronze now?

I am not sure what the title of this posts summons to mind for you, but it is indicative of a little personal battle I have been having with myself. With so much going on lately, I have been stretched pretty thin. I am watching Dexter and playing Mr. Mom while Addie is at work and when she is home I am job searching (still no luck), doing school work, building my website, trying to do writing exercises, so that I can get better at writing, all while trying to squeeze in time for my story wherever I can find it.

Truthfully, its the job searching that is destroying my time, and seemingly in vein. I swear one more assessment and my head will pop off. I have applied for almost every job in every established business in Corinth, as well as in the surrounding cities. The only places I haven’t applied are food service based. Why would I go back to food service when I left a 4 star restaurant and a salary job? I am trying to/have been trying to move away from food service. Seems that I don’t have much experience in retail or whatever (insert random business here). I think it is those pesky assessments. Do you guys actually answer them honestly? That is what I have been doing and apparently I am a terrible person. Which is funny, because I left Liberty National because I didn’t like feeling like I was scamming people and cold calling. Alright, I am done ranting, on to the purpose of this post.

So, this is not about my lack of a job, nor is it about Liberty National and my disgruntled status. This is about my current work of fiction. I haven’t posted in awhile and I wanted to say hello, I am still here, thanks for hanging in there with me, but for what purpose. I have no story for you. In fact, it isn’t even halfway done. BUT…I could give you some of it now? Thus we get to the relevance of the title. Would you rather get the unedited first two chapters/segments now? Or wait until I complete the whole story and receive it as a lump dump (I enjoyed that). I can tell you this much for sure, it will be fairly long, at least in terms of short stories, might even be on the novella side of things, but it has me excited.

At the end of this post I will include a poll. I encourage you all to vote. If you say you want it now, then you shall have it and I can get some immediate feedback. And if you say wait for gold (hoping that it does in fact turn into gold), then we’ll wait. If no one votes, which I expect to be what actually happens, I mean we have to be realistic here,  I have 21 followers and how many of you really get into this type of post? I would wager not many, but I don’t know you. If no one votes, I will wait, so what I am saying is, if you want it now you have to earn it. If you want to wait, that is fine too. Instead, I will just write a review for my website or tell you some other random story about my personal life.

I have a post in mind for this blog entitled “Mr. MOM, My Life As A Stay At Home Dad”.  I think it will turn up some interesting events and emotions. I’ll tell you one thing, it has been an interesting ride so far. I felt the unmistakable urge to just start weeping while we were watching the lion king earlier. That never happened before? In my head it was like, WTF is happening to me! I am about to cry. We quickly turned it off and began to play dinosaurs and Batman.

Alright, enough of all that before I ruin that other post. That was going to be one of my punchlines. I am finished here. I will leave you with the poll and return to working on the story while Dexter sleeps. Nap time will be over soon anyway. Thanks to all of you who read this. Its pretty cool that you care.


Flash Fiction: The End

This is another old gem. I believe it was my first attempt, maybe second, at flash fiction. Its a story about an old man. I think the original title was the old man, but I thought it cheesy or something. Reading it now, it seems so short, but thats the whole point of flash fiction. So enjoy the short little read.


The End

The dark staircase creaked as he crept down to the basement. The even whoosh-whoosh of the washing machine was comforting to him. He reached for the light as he entered the room. A dim bulb blinked on above him. There was a small table across the room from the washer-dryer combo. It was his work station. Many hours of his life had he spent there on various projects.

            Upon reaching the desk he flipped a switch and flooded the table with greenish light. In the center of the table was a small wooden box, mahogany. A small latch hung on the front held shut by a tiny lock.

            The old man removed the key from a leather strap that he kept around his neck and placed it next to the box on the table. Then he noticed his hands had begun to shake, trembling ever so gently. Outside the night was cold and the wind was blowing. If not for the steady whoosh-whoosh of the washer, he could hear it howling, almost calling his name.

             The box on the table seemed to be staring at him, waiting patiently. He picked up the key. The washer stopped shaking and the room was silent for a moment. The old man put the key inside the lock and opened it. He pulled the small lock off and unhinged the latch. His hands were still shaking. He opened the box. A purple velvet cloth filled the inside and folded over the top of its contents. His hands were shaking harder now and he reached down into the box.

            His wife had gone years ago. Cancer had taken her. His only son had died two days earlier in a car accident. He had no living family or friends. No reason to go on at all. He was old and lonely and ready for it to be over. From beneath the velvet cloth, he pulled the .35. He put it in his mouth and thought of his wife and son. Then he pulled the trigger. The washer clicked off the spin cycle and the only sound left in the room was the wind, calling his name.


Stream Of Consciousness Post

Before I get right to this, I want to do a little explaining of what is going on here an why. Otherwise, you may read this and end up confused at the end. I was reading The Daily Post‘s Writing 101: Daily Blog about SOC writing. The assignment was to write anything for twenty minutes. Simple enough. So, I opened word and started the timer. The result turned out to be a decent snapshot of my life at the moment. Maybe 2000 more words would’ve gotten a better look at it, but I was trying to write fast. I fixed most of the grammar and spelling mistakes afterward. Either way, I told myself I would post the results afterward. So, here goes. Then, I will return to working on my story. Be on the lookout for it pretty soon.


 SOC challenge:

Writing in a stream of conscious style has its advantages and disadvantages. A lot of the time this is the method I would use to tackle a story, except with that I have some form of idea toward which I am directing my writing. This is not the case here. I am just writing and I will let it take me wherever, for the next twenty minutes.

My son is asleep in the other room. The house is quiet, for once. The dog is crashed out somewhere in the house, probably the living room. She sneaks up onto the couch when no one is in the room. I suppose she thinks she is getting away with something, because as soon as we step foot in there she is off the couch and at my feet saying how sorry she is with her eyes. Truthfully, I don’t mind it. The only time we don’t let her up is when she is shedding real bad (twice a year for about a month) and when she is having lady times. I keep telling myself to go get that taken care of. Then I get a bit of spare time and forget all about it. Before you know it, its rag time again.

Evee is great. She is the best dog I have ever had. She acts like a much older dog these days. She’s almost three and she acts like she is seven and on her last leg. I think it’s because we stopped being as active with her when Dexter was born and now she has gotten used to being lazy and fat. The most exercise she gets aside from out walks and park trips is running from Dexter around the house. I don’t blame her. He wants to pull her tail one minute and give her kisses the next. He is a wild card and you never know what to expect.

Haha, twenty minutes almost entirely spent talking about my dog. That’s a bit funny, but it makes sense. I have a soft spot in my heart for dogs. A lot of my fiction writing has had dog characters in it. My best attempt to date at a novel had a dog in it. It was my main character’s best friend.

Speaking of writing, I am really enjoying getting back into it again. You see, I go through phases, music, writing, music, writing. Only occasionally will I get a brief window in between phases where I am able to do both. Lately, I have been trying to write on topics for review, especially considering that I have not published a single review yet. I also have my fiction that I am working on. It is truly the joy of writing, but it is somehow intimidating. I am always reluctant to start. I tell myself that I should be reading instead. Sometimes I will read about writing instead of writing, hoping that it will make the writing I actually do better. That’s a silly idea. You get better at writing by writing.

I also am the creative force behind a band that will get stagnate if I don’t keep everyone’s fire lit. So I have to keep coming up with music. Don’t let me make that sound like a chore, I love guitar and I love writing music, but it has been a long time since I wrote any lyrics. This is why I am able to write now. I do however plan to post future lyrical journeys hear as poetry. Maybe I will even record a demo and post that. Who knows?

I have gotten a lot of good feedback from you guys about my fiction though. I plan to post some older stuff that I have on here just because you guys seem to enjoy it.

Lately, I have been reading Bentley Little’s short story works. I like to read short stories when I am writing short stories, makes me think about things differently. In fact, the story I am working on now was inspired by one of his stories. It doesn’t have the same plot or anything, but the idea of the Faulkner style, but with a terror twist seemed really appealing. I like to take the reader on a journey, make them think a little bit if I can. I can’t really say much more about all of this, because I am still working on it and I don’t want to give anything away.

I have four minutes left on my twenty minute challenge. What now? Should I go on about myself? I should be writing not thinking about what to write next… Only a short period of time left, hmm. Rather than worry about finishing on time, I have elected to finish with some sort of point or resolution, before returning to my story. You see, I have limited time each day to work on anything like this.

My morning is spent with Dexter, followed by lunch and an afternoon outside (learning the trike recently). Then, on to nap time. This is when I get to write, read, whatever. He will wake up and either I play with him while Addie makes dinner or vice versa. After dinner, we do calming things. We play with blocks, or do coloring, etc. As bedtime nears, we take a bath with lavender or chamomile if we have any. Then he drinks warm milk while I/Addie (we take turns) read him a story. Then into bed for a second story. Addie usually reads him a book of his choice. I read the same book. Right now, we are reading the golden compass. After which, I get free time again.

This is a bit confusing because it is free time in the sense that I can do what I want. That doesn’t really make it free time. This is because I have obligations. I am a student at an online college. This means I have numerous weekly assignments that must be done during this time. I am unemployed, which means I must be job searching during this time, there are other things happening during this time, like spending time with Addie, and trying out products like board games and video games for review. Watching movies, and other things would also fall into this time.

This type of things turns into a balancing act of activities and questioning myself to see what is most fun and important.

I just realized that I am over on time. I could really stop there. What is most important? Writing definitely falls in that category. But I like to tackle my music and writing in the same way. If I can get a little bit done every day, I can throw out the bad and keep the good. I will steadily make progress and before long. I have a plethora of material. This is how all of Dead Perspective’s music came about, a little at a time over a period of time.

Thanks for reading and taking time to care about a silly challenge. I would say this has definitely been a SOC piece.

Read fiction? What do you think of this?


So, I have always wanted to be a fiction writer. Horror, suspense, whatever. I don’t have what it takes to do it for a living. I was sitting there in the chair trying to determine how my night should go, and I logged on to steam. I looked through my games library and clicked path of exile (review coming soon) to load it up, the decided not to play and instead to write. “I have been working all day”, I said to myself. You need some expression. So, I did the old Stephen King method. I just started writing. After reading what is my rough draft story introduction, you will know as much about the story as I do. It is basically just me winging it. And since I am the kind of guy I am, there have been no edits to it at all. It is as rough as it gets. I don’t plan to edit it until I get further along. That is assuming that I go any further with it anyway. So tell me what you think, it isn’t very long, but I felt like it would draw you in, although I have had some alcohol. I was never told not to drink and write. So here it is:

As quiet as the night, even the sound of a pin could be heard if it hit the tile floor in the hall corridor. The lights were dark. It was the kind of bleak night you might see on a new moon, almost no light at all and everything bathed in darkness. From seemingly nowhere, footsteps. Click, click, one after another at an uneasy pace. It is not a run, but they are moving exponentially. Darin sits up in his bed. “Oh no,” he thinks. “Another one down. “ He assumes that one of the other inmates there have fallen ill and either an orderly found him or was called by the emergency button. The little window on the door reveals nothing.  The lights are still off out in the hall, but he thinks nothing of it. Darin only sits and speculates which one it could be.

His bladder weighs heavy on him and lets him know that he won’t be going back to sleep until he releases the weight. Darin was sitting up already so, what the hell, he says and gets out of bed. He knows he isn’t supposed to be out of bed after lights out, but doesn’t care. What’ll they do to me? Lock me up? And he laughs a little chort. He slides his feet into his favorite slippers and makes his way to the bathroom across the room. In the darkness he can barely see, but he knows his way around. His eyes are fully adjusted to the light and he can see a few feet easy.

As he passed by the door, he takes a glimpse out the tiny window in hopes of seeing which occupant has slit his writs, or had a heart attack, or whatever. In the darkness, he can make out a single figure dragging a body down the hall by the arms. The legs follow along on the floor behind. He can’t see faces, but he knew he had seen something he wasn’t supposed to see. What the fuck? He said to himself. Darin realized that he was in a vulnerable spot, and somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be and twisted out of sight of the little window. He was curious as to what he had seen, but scared to. He didn’t want to be pulled from his room. Solitary was no fun, especially with the crazies nearby.

In his facility, there was a hall of solitary cells. Twelve of them in total. Six on each side. On any given day, four or better were filled with the “crazies”. These were fucked up individuals that decided to spit in the guards face or do some other dumb shit for no good reason and ended up getting locked in solitary to spend time to think about what they had done. Often times, their solitary time was spent screaming out about how they were innocent or just mindless jabber. They gave Darin the creeps. He had no intentions of spending any time with the crazies.

Darin crept into the bathroom around the corner and urinated above the waterline in the oversized commode. Instead of a heavy, pouring out sound, it was more like a drizzle. The porcelain masked his presence well enough, he thought and a moment after he finished he closed the lid. He would flush in the morning. He crept back to bed and turned over under his sheets. His dreams were not pleasant.

In his dream, Marcy, the lady who killed her husband after she caught him cheating on her, was being tortured in the next room. He lie in bed listening to her screams, and somehow knew he was next. They were coming for him and there was nothing he could do. There was no escape. He lay still, so perfectly still as to vanish in thin air. Then the screaming stopped. Finally, they had put her out of her misery. He lay quiet and still, listening. Hoping they had forgotten him.

With a big thud, Marcy’s body hit the floor. He was certain it was her body because of the wet sound it produced as it hit. Then the door to her room opened and again, he saw out of his little window, a body dragged down the hall. His heart beat fast, and he heard it beating in his temples. Bom, bom, bom. The figure was outside his door now. He was next. He knew it.

When the door opened, white light entered the room. So bright, he could hardly keep his eyes open. He could not make anything out. He wasn’t sure what was happening. Instinct told him he was in danger and that he had better get out of there, but the light was paralyzing. The figure moved closer. The light consumed him.


I suppose I will pick up after his dream. I was going to pick it back up, but my SO, Addie, wants to play Munchkin. Off I go. What do you  think of my fiction writing? Was it compelling? Are you dying to know what happens to Darin?

Probably not right? He heard and saw something on a creepy night and as a result had a bad dream. He is in the crazy house so he might have hallucinated. Hmm, we shall see, if I am able to keep this going.