Friends, this new story, that I originally promised to release this week, required the revisions and rewriting that are inevitable when one commences a writing project based upon a solitary idea.
It will definitely be released next week. Please forgive me for misleading you, but rest assured, the story is worth the wait.
Also, look for the link to my up and coming Flash Fiction blog. You know where the party's at.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
Between the Damned and the Demons (Preview)
Between the Damned and the Demons is the story of a young ex-military officer who one day finds himself trapped on the thirty fifth floor of the office building in which he works. A terrible accident has left the city of Auburn crippled and many of its inhabitants in similar conditions.
To make matters worse, something is lurking in the stairwells - something sinister. With the elevators down and no help in the perceivable future, our self-sufficient hero quickly finds himself struggling to choose between saving himself or the people around him.
Prepare to confront the terrors of the deep in next week's exciting new post, Between the Damned and the Demons.
To make matters worse, something is lurking in the stairwells - something sinister. With the elevators down and no help in the perceivable future, our self-sufficient hero quickly finds himself struggling to choose between saving himself or the people around him.
Prepare to confront the terrors of the deep in next week's exciting new post, Between the Damned and the Demons.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Eric Bright and the Bad Dream Bear
Once there was a little boy by the name of Eric. Eric was just around the age of five when he started to have very scary dreams. To keep the bad dreams away, Eric’s mother would read him a story before he went to sleep. And slowly, ever so slowly, the bad dreams went away.
But one night, about a year later, Eric’s mother decided to go on a date. She told Eric not to worry, but Eric only stomped his feet and sulked in his room, glaring at his Legos.
“I’ve hired a babysitter,” Eric’s mother told him from the bathroom, “She’s very nice.”
“Great,” Eric said, rolling his eyes.
Eric’s mother came into his room as she put in her earrings.
“Eric,” she said, “I promise you’ll like her. She plays with Legos.”
Eric flicked one of his Lego men across the room without looking up.
“Great,” he said again.
Then the doorbell rang and Eric’s mother left to answer it.
“Hey Ms. Bright, sorry I’m late,” came a teenage girl’s voice.
“No worries,” said Eric’s mother.
Then Eric’s mother came into his room and introduced him to Alex, the babysitter. But to Eric’s surprise, Alex was actually nice. More than nice, she was cheerful, and energetic, and she really did like Legos. It wasn’t long before Alex and Eric were playing Legos on the floor of his room.
Eric’s mother said goodbye, kissing him on the cheek before leaving. But Eric forgot all about being sad. He and Alex played Legos and Dinosaurs for what seemed like hours. Then they each had a bowl of ice cream while they watched the sunset in Eric's backyard. Eventually it was time for Eric to go to bed.
Even getting ready for bed was fun with Alex. She turned it into a game. Who could brush their teeth the cleanest? Who could tell the better story? Who could imagine the better dream?
Then the Alex said goodnight. The light CLICKED! Off, and Eric lay in his bed. That was when he remembered that his mom wasn’t around and he wondered where she was. Soon Eric fell into a restless sleep and scary dreams.
Suddenly Eric was standing on a dark lawn. Black storm clouds burst with lightning above him. The wind howled in his ears. There was a big, red and yellow circus tent in front of him. It sheets flapped in the wind, but the tent wouldn't budge. It looked safe and bright in the storm, so Eric went in to take cover.
But inside it was dark and the howling of the wind sounded even scarier through the tent's sheet walls. Eric took another step inside and stopped. Something else also took a step. He took another step, and something else did as well. And another, and another, and another, until a great, dark, blue bear was right in front of Eric! Eric yelled and screamed, but all the same the bear gobbled him up.
Eric woke up crying. Alex heard his crying and came to see what was wrong.
"I dreamt about a bear in a tent in a storm," said Eric, wiping snot on his hand.
Alex gave him a big, warm hug.
"Well, I kicked all the bears out of this house, so don't you worry," Alex said. She told him about her silliest dream. She was a banana superhero that saved monkeys. Eventually she asked Eric, "You think you can go back to sleep?"
"What if the bear is there?" Eric asked.
"Well, is the bear in the tent?"
Eric nodded.
"Then, don't go in the tent," said Alex.
Eric said okay, and Alex gave him another hug before tucking him in for the second time that night.
No sooner was Eric asleep than he found himself once again on the lawn, next to the tent, and in that mighty storm. The wind still HOWLED and the lightning still CRACKED, but Eric thought he could just hear the growling of a bear inside the tent.
"I won't go in," Eric shouted at the sky.
At that instant lightning struck very close, and with a jump and a holler Eric found himself inside the tent. In seconds the blue bear was roaring and running at him. Eric awoke with a start and called for Alex.
Alex came in and comforted him.
"I'm not going to sleep until mom gets home," Eric said, and crossed his arms defiantly.
"Oh you won't, eh?" Alex said. "She's not getting home for a whole two hours still. You think you can last that long."
Eric knew that he could not.
"Yeah, I can," he said all the same. "I once stayed up for a whole week."
Alex laughed.
"Well, if you're going to stay up, you have to stay in your bed. You can read if you want, but you have to stay right here. Is that fair?"
Eric nodded, but then asked, "What if I, for some reason, fall asleep—not that I will; but what if? And what if the storm and the tent and the bear are there?"
Alex thought about this.
"It seems to me you need something to take into the tent to keep you safe," said Alex. "That way you can tell the bear to stop gobbling you up and behave."
"Like what?"
Alex snapped her fingers.
"Like a light," she said.
"But how do I bring a light with me?"
“Just have faith that you have the light."
Eric thought about this. Then he asked, "What is faith?"
"Imagine—just pretend that you have the light, and you will,” said Alex. “That’s faith.”
"That’s all?" asked Eric.
"That’s all,” answered Alex.
For the third time that night Eric went to sleep. Immediately he was in the open field with the thunder and lightning above him. The storm was FIERCER than ever. The LIGHTNING CRACKED AND WHIPPED across the sky, and the THUNDER BOOMED AND BLASTED in the air. Eric tried to imagine he had a light. But the storm was so distracting.
Eric shut his eyes, and that’s when something very, very interesting happened. Everything was silent. No wind. No lightning. No bear.
Then Eric imagined the sun, with red and orange flames around it like the mane of a lion. Eric imagined it was small enough to hold in the palm of his hand, and it was. Eric place the sun in a flashlight and it shone out in mighty beams. Then Eric opened his eyes. The thunder and lightning started immediately. But looking at his hand, Eric discovered that he held the flashlight.
He shone the light into the stormy clouds, and wherever the beam went the clouds disappeared. Magnificent stars shone beneath the parted storm. Then Eric found the moon and it winked at him.
Eric turned and walked up the path toward the tent. Something like a whisper rushed through the grass. Eric shone his light into the grass, and there he saw a woman made out of leaves in a small whirlwind. She was the earth.
She smiled at him.
Eric pulled open the flap of the tent. Somewhere in the dark was the murmur of a growl. Eric took a deep breath and went in.
Inside the tent, Eric searched for the bear. Each time Eric tried to shine his light at the bear it escaped into another shadow. But it was getting closer, its steps growing louder, and its growl more menacing. It was getting closer, and closer and closer. Finally, Eric did the only thing he could. He closed his eyes and pulled the sun out of the flashlight.
When Eric opened his eyes, he found the entire tent as bright as day with the sun in his hand. Eric held the sun into the air. The bear howled and screamed as it blew away like sand!
When the bear was gone, Eric noticed a small newt made of blue flame sitting where the bear had been.
“What are you?” Eric asked the newt.
The newt sniffled. It was crying.
“You’ve scared me a lot,” said Eric
“Isn’t that what you wanted?” asked the newt, looking down ashamed. “I mean, me being your imagination and all, I just was doing what I thought you wanted.”
“Well, I don’t,” Eric said sharply, “and you can get lost.”
The newt winced. Tears watered its eyes and it began to cry.
“I’m sorry,” said the newt.
In that moment, Eric felt bad for the newt. It had made a mistake, but this was Eric’s dream. This newt was his.
“Here,” Eric said, crouching next to the newt and holding the sun up to it. “I forgive you.”
Eric broke off a piece of the sun and handed it to the newt. The newt took the piece and ate it. A bit of dark green rippled through the newt. It grew a little. Then there was a ripple of lighter and then even lighter green. The newt grew a little, and a little more. Soon the newt was as big as Eric and rippling with color of the rainbow. It bowed its head and Eric climbed on. The flames weren’t flames at all! It was soft, flowing fur.
Eric rode the newt onto the lawn, carrying the sun in his hands.
“What shall we do now?” asked Earth.
“Yes,” said the Moon, “We have the rest of the night.”
Eric looked at the flowing fields of his dream, with the forests and mountains beyond them. He smiled and threw the sun into the sky, and as he did a great city of multicolored blocks formed on the horizon, illuminated by the rising sun.
“Do you like legos?” Eric asked.
But one night, about a year later, Eric’s mother decided to go on a date. She told Eric not to worry, but Eric only stomped his feet and sulked in his room, glaring at his Legos.
“I’ve hired a babysitter,” Eric’s mother told him from the bathroom, “She’s very nice.”
“Great,” Eric said, rolling his eyes.
Eric’s mother came into his room as she put in her earrings.
“Eric,” she said, “I promise you’ll like her. She plays with Legos.”
Eric flicked one of his Lego men across the room without looking up.
“Great,” he said again.
Then the doorbell rang and Eric’s mother left to answer it.
“Hey Ms. Bright, sorry I’m late,” came a teenage girl’s voice.
“No worries,” said Eric’s mother.
Then Eric’s mother came into his room and introduced him to Alex, the babysitter. But to Eric’s surprise, Alex was actually nice. More than nice, she was cheerful, and energetic, and she really did like Legos. It wasn’t long before Alex and Eric were playing Legos on the floor of his room.
Eric’s mother said goodbye, kissing him on the cheek before leaving. But Eric forgot all about being sad. He and Alex played Legos and Dinosaurs for what seemed like hours. Then they each had a bowl of ice cream while they watched the sunset in Eric's backyard. Eventually it was time for Eric to go to bed.
Even getting ready for bed was fun with Alex. She turned it into a game. Who could brush their teeth the cleanest? Who could tell the better story? Who could imagine the better dream?
Then the Alex said goodnight. The light CLICKED! Off, and Eric lay in his bed. That was when he remembered that his mom wasn’t around and he wondered where she was. Soon Eric fell into a restless sleep and scary dreams.
Suddenly Eric was standing on a dark lawn. Black storm clouds burst with lightning above him. The wind howled in his ears. There was a big, red and yellow circus tent in front of him. It sheets flapped in the wind, but the tent wouldn't budge. It looked safe and bright in the storm, so Eric went in to take cover.
But inside it was dark and the howling of the wind sounded even scarier through the tent's sheet walls. Eric took another step inside and stopped. Something else also took a step. He took another step, and something else did as well. And another, and another, and another, until a great, dark, blue bear was right in front of Eric! Eric yelled and screamed, but all the same the bear gobbled him up.
Eric woke up crying. Alex heard his crying and came to see what was wrong.
"I dreamt about a bear in a tent in a storm," said Eric, wiping snot on his hand.
Alex gave him a big, warm hug.
"Well, I kicked all the bears out of this house, so don't you worry," Alex said. She told him about her silliest dream. She was a banana superhero that saved monkeys. Eventually she asked Eric, "You think you can go back to sleep?"
"What if the bear is there?" Eric asked.
"Well, is the bear in the tent?"
Eric nodded.
"Then, don't go in the tent," said Alex.
Eric said okay, and Alex gave him another hug before tucking him in for the second time that night.
No sooner was Eric asleep than he found himself once again on the lawn, next to the tent, and in that mighty storm. The wind still HOWLED and the lightning still CRACKED, but Eric thought he could just hear the growling of a bear inside the tent.
"I won't go in," Eric shouted at the sky.
At that instant lightning struck very close, and with a jump and a holler Eric found himself inside the tent. In seconds the blue bear was roaring and running at him. Eric awoke with a start and called for Alex.
Alex came in and comforted him.
"I'm not going to sleep until mom gets home," Eric said, and crossed his arms defiantly.
"Oh you won't, eh?" Alex said. "She's not getting home for a whole two hours still. You think you can last that long."
Eric knew that he could not.
"Yeah, I can," he said all the same. "I once stayed up for a whole week."
Alex laughed.
"Well, if you're going to stay up, you have to stay in your bed. You can read if you want, but you have to stay right here. Is that fair?"
Eric nodded, but then asked, "What if I, for some reason, fall asleep—not that I will; but what if? And what if the storm and the tent and the bear are there?"
Alex thought about this.
"It seems to me you need something to take into the tent to keep you safe," said Alex. "That way you can tell the bear to stop gobbling you up and behave."
"Like what?"
Alex snapped her fingers.
"Like a light," she said.
"But how do I bring a light with me?"
“Just have faith that you have the light."
Eric thought about this. Then he asked, "What is faith?"
"Imagine—just pretend that you have the light, and you will,” said Alex. “That’s faith.”
"That’s all?" asked Eric.
"That’s all,” answered Alex.
For the third time that night Eric went to sleep. Immediately he was in the open field with the thunder and lightning above him. The storm was FIERCER than ever. The LIGHTNING CRACKED AND WHIPPED across the sky, and the THUNDER BOOMED AND BLASTED in the air. Eric tried to imagine he had a light. But the storm was so distracting.
Eric shut his eyes, and that’s when something very, very interesting happened. Everything was silent. No wind. No lightning. No bear.
Then Eric imagined the sun, with red and orange flames around it like the mane of a lion. Eric imagined it was small enough to hold in the palm of his hand, and it was. Eric place the sun in a flashlight and it shone out in mighty beams. Then Eric opened his eyes. The thunder and lightning started immediately. But looking at his hand, Eric discovered that he held the flashlight.
He shone the light into the stormy clouds, and wherever the beam went the clouds disappeared. Magnificent stars shone beneath the parted storm. Then Eric found the moon and it winked at him.
Eric turned and walked up the path toward the tent. Something like a whisper rushed through the grass. Eric shone his light into the grass, and there he saw a woman made out of leaves in a small whirlwind. She was the earth.
She smiled at him.
Eric pulled open the flap of the tent. Somewhere in the dark was the murmur of a growl. Eric took a deep breath and went in.
Inside the tent, Eric searched for the bear. Each time Eric tried to shine his light at the bear it escaped into another shadow. But it was getting closer, its steps growing louder, and its growl more menacing. It was getting closer, and closer and closer. Finally, Eric did the only thing he could. He closed his eyes and pulled the sun out of the flashlight.
When Eric opened his eyes, he found the entire tent as bright as day with the sun in his hand. Eric held the sun into the air. The bear howled and screamed as it blew away like sand!
When the bear was gone, Eric noticed a small newt made of blue flame sitting where the bear had been.
“What are you?” Eric asked the newt.
The newt sniffled. It was crying.
“You’ve scared me a lot,” said Eric
“Isn’t that what you wanted?” asked the newt, looking down ashamed. “I mean, me being your imagination and all, I just was doing what I thought you wanted.”
“Well, I don’t,” Eric said sharply, “and you can get lost.”
The newt winced. Tears watered its eyes and it began to cry.
“I’m sorry,” said the newt.
In that moment, Eric felt bad for the newt. It had made a mistake, but this was Eric’s dream. This newt was his.
“Here,” Eric said, crouching next to the newt and holding the sun up to it. “I forgive you.”
Eric broke off a piece of the sun and handed it to the newt. The newt took the piece and ate it. A bit of dark green rippled through the newt. It grew a little. Then there was a ripple of lighter and then even lighter green. The newt grew a little, and a little more. Soon the newt was as big as Eric and rippling with color of the rainbow. It bowed its head and Eric climbed on. The flames weren’t flames at all! It was soft, flowing fur.
Eric rode the newt onto the lawn, carrying the sun in his hands.
“What shall we do now?” asked Earth.
“Yes,” said the Moon, “We have the rest of the night.”
Eric looked at the flowing fields of his dream, with the forests and mountains beyond them. He smiled and threw the sun into the sky, and as he did a great city of multicolored blocks formed on the horizon, illuminated by the rising sun.
“Do you like legos?” Eric asked.
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Let Us Think About This Please
I have been receiving the occasional email from sort of political organization since college. It must have been that in my first or second year at Calvin that I signed up for one of the student senate groups at that time which was also affiliated with the on-campus republican movement. In turn, the on-campus republican movement likely passed its emailing list onto a local (to Grand Rapids) republican campaign group. In turn, it is my belief that said local republican campaign group eventually (and only recently) evolved into a Tea Party campaign group.
My theory is supported by the fact that when the Tea Party emails started their gradual sneak attacks in my email inbox, the republican campaign emails ceased. Either that, or the Tea Party emails are also hacker-ninja programs effectively assassinating all competing political messages.
Either way, the latest email was an extensive invitation to attend a Tea Party campaigning rally in either California or Florida for only $20 admission. Of course, if I wanted to actually be able to see Sarah Palin's great-white-north face, I also purchase a ticket to stand and clap in the reserved section for only $90. And if I wanted to smell Palin's perfume of Justice-and-Liberty-for-all-middle-class-white-people, I could attend a special reception with Palin at either location for only a $950 donation. The seats are all level, but you can still see her hair.
Now I know that my response went absolutely nowhere and will make no difference whatsoever, but I replied to this invitation all the same. I have an opinion, and I wanted to put it out there. We need to examine ourselves as a nation, and see the good and the bad in each party. Furthermore, I know that I am not the only person who greatly opposes the Tea Party's rise to power. But especially here, we must also see the good in the situation. So, in case my message falls upon blind eyes, I have decided to also post it here on my blog:
"Mr. Terpeluk, or Whomever This May Concern,
If you would like to cover my airfare and boarding fees in order to witness such a spectacle as so many idiots in one room, I will be more than obliged to attend one of these two events, or both. I promise to be civil.
It is good that another party is emerging in our now-standing, bi-partisan oligarchy. Granted, the ignorance, greed, and mendacity perpetuated by the Democrats and Republicans is only continued by the Tea Party, if not more covertly and intensified than the first two. My hope is that the example of the Tea Party's emergence as an unified, independent party, capable of competing for leadership in American politics, will ultimately set the stage for a far more capable independent party—a party that will truly seek to serve, not only the needs of the American people, but the greater, global community.
Therefore, I have unsubscribe-d from your regular emails; I do not know how they first found me, but I can stand them no longer. I do not support the Tea Party, nor any party that proudly waves the banners of such political ignoramuses. I will instead continue my prayers for the superior political party that will one day come and serve all of us (rather than just the white and the rich).
Thank you for your time,
I do wish you and yours the best (we are all still citizens of the earth, after all),
With love and peace,
David Vincent Goodwin"
I feel that what I said towards the end was true. Even if we hate it, the Tea Party may be a step closer to what we really need. A slightly backwards, not completely visible step, but a step all the same.
"If we shadows have offended, think but this; and all is mended that you have but slumbered here while these visions did appear and this weak and idle theme no more yielding but a dream. Gentles--do not reprehend if you pardon, we will mend."
-William Shakespeare
My theory is supported by the fact that when the Tea Party emails started their gradual sneak attacks in my email inbox, the republican campaign emails ceased. Either that, or the Tea Party emails are also hacker-ninja programs effectively assassinating all competing political messages.
Either way, the latest email was an extensive invitation to attend a Tea Party campaigning rally in either California or Florida for only $20 admission. Of course, if I wanted to actually be able to see Sarah Palin's great-white-north face, I also purchase a ticket to stand and clap in the reserved section for only $90. And if I wanted to smell Palin's perfume of Justice-and-Liberty-for-all-middle-class-white-people, I could attend a special reception with Palin at either location for only a $950 donation. The seats are all level, but you can still see her hair.
Now I know that my response went absolutely nowhere and will make no difference whatsoever, but I replied to this invitation all the same. I have an opinion, and I wanted to put it out there. We need to examine ourselves as a nation, and see the good and the bad in each party. Furthermore, I know that I am not the only person who greatly opposes the Tea Party's rise to power. But especially here, we must also see the good in the situation. So, in case my message falls upon blind eyes, I have decided to also post it here on my blog:
"Mr. Terpeluk, or Whomever This May Concern,
If you would like to cover my airfare and boarding fees in order to witness such a spectacle as so many idiots in one room, I will be more than obliged to attend one of these two events, or both. I promise to be civil.
It is good that another party is emerging in our now-standing, bi-partisan oligarchy. Granted, the ignorance, greed, and mendacity perpetuated by the Democrats and Republicans is only continued by the Tea Party, if not more covertly and intensified than the first two. My hope is that the example of the Tea Party's emergence as an unified, independent party, capable of competing for leadership in American politics, will ultimately set the stage for a far more capable independent party—a party that will truly seek to serve, not only the needs of the American people, but the greater, global community.
Therefore, I have unsubscribe-d from your regular emails; I do not know how they first found me, but I can stand them no longer. I do not support the Tea Party, nor any party that proudly waves the banners of such political ignoramuses. I will instead continue my prayers for the superior political party that will one day come and serve all of us (rather than just the white and the rich).
Thank you for your time,
I do wish you and yours the best (we are all still citizens of the earth, after all),
With love and peace,
David Vincent Goodwin"
I feel that what I said towards the end was true. Even if we hate it, the Tea Party may be a step closer to what we really need. A slightly backwards, not completely visible step, but a step all the same.
"If we shadows have offended, think but this; and all is mended that you have but slumbered here while these visions did appear and this weak and idle theme no more yielding but a dream. Gentles--do not reprehend if you pardon, we will mend."
-William Shakespeare
Tuesday, September 28, 2010
Can You Hold the Sun?
Once there was a little boy by the name of Shadrach (but you can call him Shad, all his friends do). Shad was just around the age of six when he started to have very scary dreams. To keep the bad dreams away, Shad’s mother would tell him a story before he went to bed, and then pray over him, and kiss him on his cheek. The bad dreams went away, and eventually Shad forgot about them.
But one night Shad’s mother decided to go on a date. She told Shad not to worry, but Shad only stomped his feet and rolled his eyes and sulked in his room rather than play with his Legos.
“I’ve hired a babysitter,” Shad’s mother told Shad from the bathroom, “She’s very nice.”
Shad’s mother came into Shad’s bedroom as she put in her left earring.
“Shad,” she said to her son, “I promise you’ll like her. Her name is Alex, and she plays with Legos!”
“What kind of a girl has the name Alex?” Shad complained.
“What kind of a boy has the name Shadrach,” Shadrach’s mother replied. “Shad, please, I really want this. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Shad flicked one of his Lego men across the room without looking up.
Then the doorbell rang and Shadrach’s mother left to answer the door.
“Hey Ms. Tillengull, sorry I’m late,” came a teenage girl’s voice. “Pigsparis Drive was really busy today.”
“No worries,” said Shadrach’s mother. “He’s in his room.”
Then Shadrach’s mother came into Shad’s room and introduced him to Alex. Alex was bright, and cheerful, and really did like Legos. Shadrach’s mother said goodbye, kissing him on the cheek before leaving. Shad quickly forgot all about being sad. He and Alex played Legos and Dinosaurs for hours. Then they each had a bowl of ice cream while they watched the sunset in Shad's backyard. Finally, it was time for Shad to go to bed.
Alex said goodnight and turned off Shad’s light. Shad yawned, closed his eyes, and fell fast asleep.
Suddenly Shad was standing on a dark lawn. Storm clouds burst with lightning out ahead of him. The wind blew his hair and howled in his ears. All of a sudden there was a big, red and yellow circus tent in front of him. The wind ruffled the tent, but the tent wouldn't budge, so Shad went in to take cover from the storm.
Inside though it was dark and the howling of the wind sounded even scarier through the tent's walls. Shad took another step inside and stopped. Something else did the same. He took another step, and something else did as well. And another, and another, and another, until a great, dark, blue bear was right in front of Shad! Shad yelled and screamed, but all the same the bear gobbled him up.
Shad woke up crying. Alex heard his crying and came to see what was wrong.
"I dreamt about a bear, and a storm, and a tent," said Shad, wiping snot on his sleeve.
Alex gave him a big, warm hug.
"Well, I kicked all the bears out of this house, so don't you worry," Alex said. "You think you can go back to sleep?"
"What if the bear is there?" Shad asked.
"Well, is the bear in the tent?"
Shad nodded.
"Well, then, don't go in the tent," said Alex.
Shad said okay, and Alex gave him another big, warm hug before tucking him in for the second time that night.
No sooner was Shad asleep than he found found himself once again on the lawn, next to the tent, and in that mighty storm. Over the wind and the lightning, Shad thought he could just hear the growling of the bear inside the tent.
"I won't go in," Shad shouted at the sky.
But the wind ROARED, and the lightning CRACKED, and the clouds grew darker still. At last, Shad could no longer stay in the storm. He prepared himself, setting his shoulders straight, sticking his chest out, and straightening the frown on his face. But then lightning struck very close to the tent and with a jump and a hollar Shad found himself inside the it. In seconds the blue bear was upon him. Shad awoke with a start and once more started to cry.
Alex came in and comforted him.
"I'm not going to sleep until mom gets home," Shad said, and crossed his arms defiantly.
"Oh you won't, eh," Alex laughed, "She's not getting home for a whole two hours still. You think you can last that long."
Shad knew that he could not.
"Yeah, I can," he said all the same. "I once stayed up for a whole week."
Alex laughed some more.
"Well, if you're going to stay up, you have to stay in your bed. You can read if you want, but you have to stay in your bed. Is that fair?"
Shad nodded, but then asked, "What if I, for some reason, fall asleep, not that I will, but what if? And what if the tent and the storm and the bear are there?"
Alex thought about this. She rested her chin on her thumb and placed her finger over her mouth as she thought. She had dark skin, and thick, but long curls that fell down past her shoulders. And she wore jeans and yellow t-shirt. Shad realized that she was still very much a girl despite her boyish name.
There is a girl sitting on my bed, he thought.
"It seems to me you need something to take into the tent to keep you safe," said Alex. "That way you can tell the bear to stop eating you and behave."
"Like what?"
Alex snapped her fingers.
"Like a light," she said.
"But what if the bear doesn't care about the light?"
Alex looked Shad straight in the eyes, placed a finger on his forehead, and said, "This is your head. If you don't want that bear there, you can make it go away. Just have faith that the light is stronger."
Shad was silent for only a moment. Then he said, "What is faith?"
"Just imagining. Faith is thinking about what doesn't seem real and imagining it is real. You can imagine, can't you?"
"I can imagine," Shad said.
"Then imagine you have the light, just imagine, and you will."
For the third time that night Shad went to bed, tucked in by Alex, the girl. Immediately he was in the open field with the thunder and lightning above him. The storm was FIERCER than ever. The LIGHTNING CRACKED AND WHIPPED across the sky, and the THUNDER BOOMED AND BLASTED in the air. Shad shut his eyes, and found that everything was suddenly silent. He imagined the sun, with red and orange flames licking up from all sides. He imagined holding the sun in the palm of his hand, and then placing it in a flashlight. The sun shone brightly out of the flahslight in a mighty beam. Then Shad opened his eyes. The thunder and lightning started up again, immediately. Shad looked at his hand. In it he held the flashlight.
Shad shone the light into the air. Wherever the beam went the clouds parted revealing magnificent stars above. At one point he found the moon. It winked at him.
"I sent a storm to protect you from the bear," the moon said.
"Thank you moon," Shad replied, "but I must deal with it myself."
The moon lowered itself so that its face stuck out from the clouds which had become much quieter. Even some of the stars pushed the clouds out of the way to get a better view.
Shad turned and walked up the path toward the tent. Something like a whisper rushed through the grass. Shad shone his light into the grass, and there he saw a woman made out of leaves in a small whirlwind. She was the earth.
"We grew you a tent," said the earth, "to capture the bear and protect you from it."
"Thank you," Shad replied, "but now I must deal with it."
And the stars called down, "And we threw the lightning to keep the bear at bay."
"Thank you," Shad replied, "but now, this bear is mine."
Shad pulled open the flap of the tent. Inside it was dark. It smelled like old chocolate and dusty rooms. Somewhere in the dark was the murmur of a growl. Shad took a deep breath and went in.
The bear sat in the ring, facing the door. At first it was only a dark, heaving and growling shadow. Shad remembered his light and shone it towards the bear. The bear rose on its hind legs and roared. Then it looked down. To both the bear's and Shad's surprise, the light shone right through the bear's torso! It was like a light to any other shadow.
The bear's expression changed from fearless to fearful. Shad brought the light up to its head and the head disappeared! Then he brought it down to the feet. The feet were different. The great, furry legs disappeared, but in their place, a blue newt remained. It was small and timid, and looked like it was made out of soft, blue flames.
“Who are you,” Shad asked the newt.
“Me, uh, well,” it looked around, “I thought you knew.”
“You’re my nightmarer,” said Shad.
“I’m not a nightmarer,” the newt said, “I’d never stoop so low as them.”
“You’ve scared me a lot.”
“But, ain’t that what you want?” The newt looked down ashamed. “I mean, me being your imagination and all, I just was doing what I thought you wanted.”
“Well, I don’t and you can get lost now,” Shad said sharply.
The newt winced. Tears watered its eyes and it began to cry.
Shad suddenly remembered what Alex had told him. He touched his forehead.
This is mine, Shad thought. Then he opened the flashlight and pulled out the sun. He walked over to where the newt was curled up and crying on the ground.
“Here,” Shad said, crouching next to the newt and holding the sun up to it. “Can you use this?”
The newt dried its eyes.
“You mean, you’re not mad at me?”
“No,” Shad said, “Sorry I yelled.”
“It’s okay,” said the newt, “I’m sorry I tried to gobble you up.”
The newt stood up on all fours and turned to face the sun. With a quick SNAP! it swallowed the sun the whole. At first nothing happened. Then a bit of dark green rippled through the newt. The newt grew a little. Then there was a rippled of lighter and then even lighter green. The newt grew a little, and a little more. Then there was a greenish yellow that replaced the blue all-together, and the newt was up to Shad’s waist. Shad stepped back as a greenish gold flashed across the newt and it grew tremendously, turning gold where it had been greenish yellow.
The newt got longer, too, stretching and stretching as flashes of color erupted across its body. Then it was yellow, bold and bright like the sun. Ripples of red and orange, purple and blue, and even the occasional green, all constantly splashed across its body, but it had stopped growing.
“Tell me when,” the newt said to Shad, its voice much deeper now.
“When!” Shad laughed. The newt bowed, and Shad bowed back. Then the tent crumbled into the grounds, the clouds left, and the wind blew no more. Earth and the Moon smiled at the newt. They hugged and kissed it and then the three turned to Shad.
“What shall we do now,” asked Earth.
“Yes,” said the Moon, “We have the rest of the night.”
“No more nightmares,” Shad asked, looking at the newt.
“No promises,” the newt said. Then it smiled. “But I’ll do my best.”
Shad noticed that when the newt smiled, its teeth were still a dark blue. Maybe it would give Shad trouble again sometime. Maybe he couldn’t always control it. But for now, Shad knew the trouble was over. They had a whole land of adventures before them, boundless in its sprawl and possibility. At least for the night he could dream in peace.
“Do you like legos?” Shad asked.
But one night Shad’s mother decided to go on a date. She told Shad not to worry, but Shad only stomped his feet and rolled his eyes and sulked in his room rather than play with his Legos.
“I’ve hired a babysitter,” Shad’s mother told Shad from the bathroom, “She’s very nice.”
Shad’s mother came into Shad’s bedroom as she put in her left earring.
“Shad,” she said to her son, “I promise you’ll like her. Her name is Alex, and she plays with Legos!”
“What kind of a girl has the name Alex?” Shad complained.
“What kind of a boy has the name Shadrach,” Shadrach’s mother replied. “Shad, please, I really want this. I’ll be back before you know it.”
Shad flicked one of his Lego men across the room without looking up.
Then the doorbell rang and Shadrach’s mother left to answer the door.
“Hey Ms. Tillengull, sorry I’m late,” came a teenage girl’s voice. “Pigsparis Drive was really busy today.”
“No worries,” said Shadrach’s mother. “He’s in his room.”
Then Shadrach’s mother came into Shad’s room and introduced him to Alex. Alex was bright, and cheerful, and really did like Legos. Shadrach’s mother said goodbye, kissing him on the cheek before leaving. Shad quickly forgot all about being sad. He and Alex played Legos and Dinosaurs for hours. Then they each had a bowl of ice cream while they watched the sunset in Shad's backyard. Finally, it was time for Shad to go to bed.
Alex said goodnight and turned off Shad’s light. Shad yawned, closed his eyes, and fell fast asleep.
Suddenly Shad was standing on a dark lawn. Storm clouds burst with lightning out ahead of him. The wind blew his hair and howled in his ears. All of a sudden there was a big, red and yellow circus tent in front of him. The wind ruffled the tent, but the tent wouldn't budge, so Shad went in to take cover from the storm.
Inside though it was dark and the howling of the wind sounded even scarier through the tent's walls. Shad took another step inside and stopped. Something else did the same. He took another step, and something else did as well. And another, and another, and another, until a great, dark, blue bear was right in front of Shad! Shad yelled and screamed, but all the same the bear gobbled him up.
Shad woke up crying. Alex heard his crying and came to see what was wrong.
"I dreamt about a bear, and a storm, and a tent," said Shad, wiping snot on his sleeve.
Alex gave him a big, warm hug.
"Well, I kicked all the bears out of this house, so don't you worry," Alex said. "You think you can go back to sleep?"
"What if the bear is there?" Shad asked.
"Well, is the bear in the tent?"
Shad nodded.
"Well, then, don't go in the tent," said Alex.
Shad said okay, and Alex gave him another big, warm hug before tucking him in for the second time that night.
No sooner was Shad asleep than he found found himself once again on the lawn, next to the tent, and in that mighty storm. Over the wind and the lightning, Shad thought he could just hear the growling of the bear inside the tent.
"I won't go in," Shad shouted at the sky.
But the wind ROARED, and the lightning CRACKED, and the clouds grew darker still. At last, Shad could no longer stay in the storm. He prepared himself, setting his shoulders straight, sticking his chest out, and straightening the frown on his face. But then lightning struck very close to the tent and with a jump and a hollar Shad found himself inside the it. In seconds the blue bear was upon him. Shad awoke with a start and once more started to cry.
Alex came in and comforted him.
"I'm not going to sleep until mom gets home," Shad said, and crossed his arms defiantly.
"Oh you won't, eh," Alex laughed, "She's not getting home for a whole two hours still. You think you can last that long."
Shad knew that he could not.
"Yeah, I can," he said all the same. "I once stayed up for a whole week."
Alex laughed some more.
"Well, if you're going to stay up, you have to stay in your bed. You can read if you want, but you have to stay in your bed. Is that fair?"
Shad nodded, but then asked, "What if I, for some reason, fall asleep, not that I will, but what if? And what if the tent and the storm and the bear are there?"
Alex thought about this. She rested her chin on her thumb and placed her finger over her mouth as she thought. She had dark skin, and thick, but long curls that fell down past her shoulders. And she wore jeans and yellow t-shirt. Shad realized that she was still very much a girl despite her boyish name.
There is a girl sitting on my bed, he thought.
"It seems to me you need something to take into the tent to keep you safe," said Alex. "That way you can tell the bear to stop eating you and behave."
"Like what?"
Alex snapped her fingers.
"Like a light," she said.
"But what if the bear doesn't care about the light?"
Alex looked Shad straight in the eyes, placed a finger on his forehead, and said, "This is your head. If you don't want that bear there, you can make it go away. Just have faith that the light is stronger."
Shad was silent for only a moment. Then he said, "What is faith?"
"Just imagining. Faith is thinking about what doesn't seem real and imagining it is real. You can imagine, can't you?"
"I can imagine," Shad said.
"Then imagine you have the light, just imagine, and you will."
For the third time that night Shad went to bed, tucked in by Alex, the girl. Immediately he was in the open field with the thunder and lightning above him. The storm was FIERCER than ever. The LIGHTNING CRACKED AND WHIPPED across the sky, and the THUNDER BOOMED AND BLASTED in the air. Shad shut his eyes, and found that everything was suddenly silent. He imagined the sun, with red and orange flames licking up from all sides. He imagined holding the sun in the palm of his hand, and then placing it in a flashlight. The sun shone brightly out of the flahslight in a mighty beam. Then Shad opened his eyes. The thunder and lightning started up again, immediately. Shad looked at his hand. In it he held the flashlight.
Shad shone the light into the air. Wherever the beam went the clouds parted revealing magnificent stars above. At one point he found the moon. It winked at him.
"I sent a storm to protect you from the bear," the moon said.
"Thank you moon," Shad replied, "but I must deal with it myself."
The moon lowered itself so that its face stuck out from the clouds which had become much quieter. Even some of the stars pushed the clouds out of the way to get a better view.
Shad turned and walked up the path toward the tent. Something like a whisper rushed through the grass. Shad shone his light into the grass, and there he saw a woman made out of leaves in a small whirlwind. She was the earth.
"We grew you a tent," said the earth, "to capture the bear and protect you from it."
"Thank you," Shad replied, "but now I must deal with it."
And the stars called down, "And we threw the lightning to keep the bear at bay."
"Thank you," Shad replied, "but now, this bear is mine."
Shad pulled open the flap of the tent. Inside it was dark. It smelled like old chocolate and dusty rooms. Somewhere in the dark was the murmur of a growl. Shad took a deep breath and went in.
The bear sat in the ring, facing the door. At first it was only a dark, heaving and growling shadow. Shad remembered his light and shone it towards the bear. The bear rose on its hind legs and roared. Then it looked down. To both the bear's and Shad's surprise, the light shone right through the bear's torso! It was like a light to any other shadow.
The bear's expression changed from fearless to fearful. Shad brought the light up to its head and the head disappeared! Then he brought it down to the feet. The feet were different. The great, furry legs disappeared, but in their place, a blue newt remained. It was small and timid, and looked like it was made out of soft, blue flames.
“Who are you,” Shad asked the newt.
“Me, uh, well,” it looked around, “I thought you knew.”
“You’re my nightmarer,” said Shad.
“I’m not a nightmarer,” the newt said, “I’d never stoop so low as them.”
“You’ve scared me a lot.”
“But, ain’t that what you want?” The newt looked down ashamed. “I mean, me being your imagination and all, I just was doing what I thought you wanted.”
“Well, I don’t and you can get lost now,” Shad said sharply.
The newt winced. Tears watered its eyes and it began to cry.
Shad suddenly remembered what Alex had told him. He touched his forehead.
This is mine, Shad thought. Then he opened the flashlight and pulled out the sun. He walked over to where the newt was curled up and crying on the ground.
“Here,” Shad said, crouching next to the newt and holding the sun up to it. “Can you use this?”
The newt dried its eyes.
“You mean, you’re not mad at me?”
“No,” Shad said, “Sorry I yelled.”
“It’s okay,” said the newt, “I’m sorry I tried to gobble you up.”
The newt stood up on all fours and turned to face the sun. With a quick SNAP! it swallowed the sun the whole. At first nothing happened. Then a bit of dark green rippled through the newt. The newt grew a little. Then there was a rippled of lighter and then even lighter green. The newt grew a little, and a little more. Then there was a greenish yellow that replaced the blue all-together, and the newt was up to Shad’s waist. Shad stepped back as a greenish gold flashed across the newt and it grew tremendously, turning gold where it had been greenish yellow.
The newt got longer, too, stretching and stretching as flashes of color erupted across its body. Then it was yellow, bold and bright like the sun. Ripples of red and orange, purple and blue, and even the occasional green, all constantly splashed across its body, but it had stopped growing.
“Tell me when,” the newt said to Shad, its voice much deeper now.
“When!” Shad laughed. The newt bowed, and Shad bowed back. Then the tent crumbled into the grounds, the clouds left, and the wind blew no more. Earth and the Moon smiled at the newt. They hugged and kissed it and then the three turned to Shad.
“What shall we do now,” asked Earth.
“Yes,” said the Moon, “We have the rest of the night.”
“No more nightmares,” Shad asked, looking at the newt.
“No promises,” the newt said. Then it smiled. “But I’ll do my best.”
Shad noticed that when the newt smiled, its teeth were still a dark blue. Maybe it would give Shad trouble again sometime. Maybe he couldn’t always control it. But for now, Shad knew the trouble was over. They had a whole land of adventures before them, boundless in its sprawl and possibility. At least for the night he could dream in peace.
“Do you like legos?” Shad asked.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Little Wings (and then the evening)
I could hear it call.
It is a frstrating path, the way of gender studies. One must constantly remember that gender differences, or least the perspectives that proclaim gender differences, differ by generation, class, and region. It is important to constantly remain patient and listen. Stay humble and be slow to anger in conversation. Again, listen, and one will hear the differences within each individual and know the unique-or unoriginal-perspectives of each. Then all arguments will be clear, all disputes known. One will see the challenge that can be made with least resistance. Only then can one truly study.
It is a frstrating path, the way of gender studies. One must constantly remember that gender differences, or least the perspectives that proclaim gender differences, differ by generation, class, and region. It is important to constantly remain patient and listen. Stay humble and be slow to anger in conversation. Again, listen, and one will hear the differences within each individual and know the unique-or unoriginal-perspectives of each. Then all arguments will be clear, all disputes known. One will see the challenge that can be made with least resistance. Only then can one truly study.
Little Wings (the afternoon arrives)
I heard it flutter.
Be who you are. Be yourself. Give yourself, your real self, and do not fear of losing those that love you. You will never truly feel loved until people can love who you truly are.
Be who you are. Be yourself. Give yourself, your real self, and do not fear of losing those that love you. You will never truly feel loved until people can love who you truly are.
Little Wings (at the end of morning)
Another owl caught my eyes.
The microscopic explosions of our atoms are so imitated by the larger world. The grinding particles that fuel the sun and power our very solar system. The pulsing electrons that activate our bodies. The evolution of species and planets, as each out lasts the other. Do these not all stem from conflict? The universe is perpetuated by conflict—both major and minor—and that which survives conflict is that which continues existence. This is a core law of creation. But the human race is no longer required to create conflict in order to survive (though we rarely avoid it); rather, we are obligated to resolve conflict. To continue our existence, humans must now overcome conflict more than ever. To fail is to go extinct. We are without any other choice. How amazingly the grace of God has woven itself into the nature of things. That we grow through conflict and yet survive by forgiveness. Our very nature functions on some level within the boundaries of humility. The fruits of the spirit bring life, and no one lives without the spirit. This is the evidence.
The microscopic explosions of our atoms are so imitated by the larger world. The grinding particles that fuel the sun and power our very solar system. The pulsing electrons that activate our bodies. The evolution of species and planets, as each out lasts the other. Do these not all stem from conflict? The universe is perpetuated by conflict—both major and minor—and that which survives conflict is that which continues existence. This is a core law of creation. But the human race is no longer required to create conflict in order to survive (though we rarely avoid it); rather, we are obligated to resolve conflict. To continue our existence, humans must now overcome conflict more than ever. To fail is to go extinct. We are without any other choice. How amazingly the grace of God has woven itself into the nature of things. That we grow through conflict and yet survive by forgiveness. Our very nature functions on some level within the boundaries of humility. The fruits of the spirit bring life, and no one lives without the spirit. This is the evidence.
Little Wings (early morning)
I found a couple owls this morning:
One can only rise to the level of his or her interpersonal competence. That is to say, communication is the key.
One can only rise to the level of his or her interpersonal competence. That is to say, communication is the key.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
To My Childish Mind
There has been brooding afoot. Quite frankly, perhaps it has only been the Holy Spirit once again kicking my ass, but I cannot say and truly fear the implications of such an idea.
However, I read my Bible yesterday in my first attempt to experience a quiet time. To be honest, it is a difficult time for me. I'm in a place away from other people my age and I know no one. I'm working eight or more hours a day at a mundane job that leaves me only a few hours of free time each day, and most of which is useless since such a job often depletes the mind of all vigor and passion.
On top of all of this, I am still just leaving the desert of my faith, a place I have wasted too much time in already. And then last weekend I spent time with my closest family friends, the Bennetches. They are missionaries, and nothing is more terrifying to the cynical. Such people insight anger and ignorance in swift blows to entire communities. But no, there was no place to run and hide, and I was in no mood to argue with large parties. Instead I stood my ground and did something I have been struggling to do for my entire life. I listened.
I left the faith over a year ago, came back seven months later, and have spent the last six or seven months as a distortion, a shadow of scholarship, questions, and yearning, caught between the worlds of reason and faith. Like a leaf in the foyer, I was constantly fluttering back and forth, unsure of where I aught to stand, and too often finding myself outside of faith and yearning to have it. And yet what does the Bible tell us? The one thing that scholarship wishes it can promise and yet can never give. The one thing that faith can promise though it does not always wish to. Ask and you shall receive!
Oh, my God!
Such a concept! Such a reality!
I knew that I was to always be a Christian, and still I never wished to neglect other faiths. I called myself a Unitarian, but I knew nothing of the word. I persisted in nothingness, both a Christian and yet not at all. And then one day the terror found me. At first just the tree scratching on my window, then long shadows in my room, and soon the mortality of my position seemed unavoidable. The great questions of such a place tore at my confidence until nothing was left. What if I am rejected by God for my own vacillating faith? What if he did spit out the lukewarm and kept both the hot and the cold? What if I were dooming myself to eternity without God? And still what is to be done about the non Christians?
Then Jenn and I were talking just this evening about it. The truth is, I cannot leave Christianity, nor stop being a Christian because that is the faith that I was given. Like Jesus' parable of the three men given three different amounts of mina (talons/talents), Christianity is my mina (talon/talent).
That is precisely when it hit me, the whole purpose for this essay. Perhaps this is exactly how we should view differing faiths, as different minas (talons/talents). We are each given our own, unique mina or minas--some are born Christian, others Muslim, others still Atheist. We are thus charged to go forth and multiply what we have been given. More than that, I'll wager that we are required to do all we can for others with it. Not simply convert, but love, heal, nurture, and renew. Do not worry of the others and their missions. Just do the duties you were given.
In this way, perhaps my feet can finally leave the desert.
However, I read my Bible yesterday in my first attempt to experience a quiet time. To be honest, it is a difficult time for me. I'm in a place away from other people my age and I know no one. I'm working eight or more hours a day at a mundane job that leaves me only a few hours of free time each day, and most of which is useless since such a job often depletes the mind of all vigor and passion.
On top of all of this, I am still just leaving the desert of my faith, a place I have wasted too much time in already. And then last weekend I spent time with my closest family friends, the Bennetches. They are missionaries, and nothing is more terrifying to the cynical. Such people insight anger and ignorance in swift blows to entire communities. But no, there was no place to run and hide, and I was in no mood to argue with large parties. Instead I stood my ground and did something I have been struggling to do for my entire life. I listened.
I left the faith over a year ago, came back seven months later, and have spent the last six or seven months as a distortion, a shadow of scholarship, questions, and yearning, caught between the worlds of reason and faith. Like a leaf in the foyer, I was constantly fluttering back and forth, unsure of where I aught to stand, and too often finding myself outside of faith and yearning to have it. And yet what does the Bible tell us? The one thing that scholarship wishes it can promise and yet can never give. The one thing that faith can promise though it does not always wish to. Ask and you shall receive!
Oh, my God!
Such a concept! Such a reality!
I knew that I was to always be a Christian, and still I never wished to neglect other faiths. I called myself a Unitarian, but I knew nothing of the word. I persisted in nothingness, both a Christian and yet not at all. And then one day the terror found me. At first just the tree scratching on my window, then long shadows in my room, and soon the mortality of my position seemed unavoidable. The great questions of such a place tore at my confidence until nothing was left. What if I am rejected by God for my own vacillating faith? What if he did spit out the lukewarm and kept both the hot and the cold? What if I were dooming myself to eternity without God? And still what is to be done about the non Christians?
Then Jenn and I were talking just this evening about it. The truth is, I cannot leave Christianity, nor stop being a Christian because that is the faith that I was given. Like Jesus' parable of the three men given three different amounts of mina (talons/talents), Christianity is my mina (talon/talent).
That is precisely when it hit me, the whole purpose for this essay. Perhaps this is exactly how we should view differing faiths, as different minas (talons/talents). We are each given our own, unique mina or minas--some are born Christian, others Muslim, others still Atheist. We are thus charged to go forth and multiply what we have been given. More than that, I'll wager that we are required to do all we can for others with it. Not simply convert, but love, heal, nurture, and renew. Do not worry of the others and their missions. Just do the duties you were given.
In this way, perhaps my feet can finally leave the desert.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
My English 325 - Children's Literature Final Paper
As we write for children it is important to remember that we are crafting the world for the unassuming mind. Ergo, if we seek to clearly convey information, said information must be present unmolested by that which might distract. However, we are thus stuck in the ruts of a conundrum. For though we may seek to convey information, do we not also wish to foster imagination? Who is to say which is of a greater value? But it is clear that the path that provides both goals is one that is both straight and narrow.
Gary Paulsen stooped over Sally Lloyd-Jones’ body. Blood dripped from his hatchet. Kate DiCamillo drew a rapier from her belt. Tears streamed from her eyes as she screamed obscenities at Paulsen. A. A. Milne and Sharon Flake both ran to the bathroom, most likely to be sick.
“She had to go,” Paulsen growled through clenched teeth. “People die, this is life. How dare she make the world look so bubbly!”
“But you murdered her!” DiCamillo barely held onto her sword. “She didn’t just die.”
Paulsen glared at DiCamillo.
“Put it away Kate.”
I was suddenly aware that the café had emptied. Tables and chairs had been toppled. Steam continuously rose from a steamer wand, abandoned by the barista. I wondered if anyone had even called the police in the panic of the café’s evacuation.
I looked at Avi. He seemed unimpressed.
“I would write this very situation,” he said as he sipped his coffee.
“I would too,” Kate DiCamillo said, though her voice shook with rage, “But I would never murder someone so sinless.”
“You’ve harmed the innocent many times within your books,” Paulsen said. “Look at Mig, the poor child, you ruined her, and she had done nothing to deserve it.”
“A sacrifice for the sake of the story.”
“Consider this a sacrifice then, for the preservation of realism.”
“The sacrifice of imagination, maybe,” Lois Lowry scoffed.
“Either way” I said, “It seems like a corrupted genre if it requires sacrifice.”
Professor Schmidt made to object, but Gene Luen Yang interrupted him.
“How dare—“
“True there is death and hardship, but children don’t deserve something so horrible, even in realism” Gene Yang said.
“What age group are we talking about?” Sharon Flake asked as she emerged from the bathroom wiping her mouth.
“Young adult or teen,” they all seemed to respond in unison.
“Are there no strictly children’s authors among you?” I asked.
“One is dead, and the other is in the bathroom,” Avi said once again. His coffee had iced over though he still managed to sip it.
Professor Schmidt looked down at the completely dead and slashed body of Sally Lloyd-Jones, and he began to weep. His pure, white-as-snow heart could not take the death of a character so close to the beginning of a story. Wiping his eyes, he got up and walked over to Lloyd-Jones’ body, and reaching under her arms, lifted her torso and dragged the bloody mess out of the middle of the room. He tore a curtain from the wall and covered her with it, and as he did so, a ray of golden sunlight shone down upon him from the heavens and illuminated the tired, sorrow-laden man. It was almost as though a halo shone about his head—the picture of the perfect, God-fearing, young adult author. Gary Paulsen took Professor Schmidt’s seat.
“You know,” said Lois Lowry, “A lot people gave me flak when I first released the giver.”
“Most likely due to its inappropriate content,” A. A. Milne spat as he emerged from the men’s room. “All of you! How dare you claim to be children’s authors.”
“Young adult,” Avi corrected. Immense ice was crawling down his seat and his eyes had become completely black and cold.
“I would have never let my Christopher Robin read any of your monstrous corruptions,” Milne said.
“No, you’d prefer him playing with a stuffed bear in the woods for the rest of his life,” said Sharon Flake. “No wonder he married his cousin.”
I had to chuckle, but A. A. Milne did not appreciate it.
“A lot coming from a hardly known children’s author.”
“Milne, what do you know? You’ve been dead like sixty years!”
“I know that children should not read about the daughter of a whore whose hands cannot withstand the temptations of mammon.”
Sharon Flake was to her feet in an instant. Paulsen was laughing.
“You did give your protagonist a hooker name.”
“That’s not the point of the story,” I said, though none of them seemed to hear me. “It’s about sticking close to family in hard times, and how what we think we need is sometimes the farthest from it.”
“Don’t even start this, Paulsen,” Flake said. “Just because you wrote about slavery doesn’t mean you’ve suddenly got street cred.”
“Enough!” DiCamillo suddenly shouted. “Does anyone else realize that he just killed a person!?”
“It certainly makes for excellent writing material,” Avi said as casually as ever. He was now living, breathing ice. Even the floor beneath his feet had severely frosted over.
“Kate,” Paulsen growled. “You’re not a fighter. Put down the sword.”
But DiCamillo would not hesitate. With a renewed fierceness in her eyes she crossed the room towards Paulsen, rapier drawn, and her features suddenly very mouse-like.
“You will pay, monster!”
“We’ll just see about that.” He moved towards her, hatchet in hand.
“No, you will all pay,” A. A. Milne said, suddenly producing two .357 magnums from his suit coat.
Sharon Flake grabbed me by the arm and pulled me behind an upturned table.
“Dave, I think the shit just hit the fan,” she said, pulling an Uzi from her purse.
The first shots hit Yang, who was transforming into the Monkey King. He fell with a tremendous howl. Lowry got it next before she could run to her jet fighter. A. A. Milne then ducked behind the coffee counter just missing multiple ice spikes shot from Avi’s hands. Avi continued hurtling ice at the coffee counter until Paulsen’s hatchet cut off one of his arms.
Part of my table exploded from one of Milne’s shots and I quickly darted to another table as Sharon Flake provided cover fire. Paulsen had lost the hatchet and had somehow materialized an AK-47 which he fired haphazardly as he ran for the cover of the bathroom. DiCamillo was in pursuit with a lightsaber when Avi caught her in the side with a chunk of ice, sending her reeling out the window. Only four remained now, firing at each other from their various covers.
At that moment the great Monkey King arose again, and with a mighty roar, summoned all of his monkey minions. Avi, Flake, Milne, and Paulsen were forced to focus their attention on collectively dispatching the troops of monkeys currently pouring into the café, wave after wave. Flake joined me at my cover and provided support. I used a table leg to bat off any monkey that she missed.
“I think this is it!” Paulsen yelled from a table near the bathroom door. “I never thought I’d die so ridiculously!”
“Too bad for you; I’m already dead!” Milne replied.
“Sharon!” Paulsen called.
“Yeah, Gary?”
“I never thought I’d say this, but I think you’re a sweet woman, and a great author!”
“Thanks, Gary! I still hate you!”
“What! Why?”
But before she could answer, Kate DiCamillo came bursting through the window riding a giant rat, and hordes of rats behind her.
“MAY YOU REAP WHAT YOU SOW!!!!” She screamed, and the rats immediately attacked everything in sight. Most of the monkeys were instantly overtaken, and it seemed we wouldn’t last much longer against these numbers. But before the rats could do their worst, the ceiling of the café burst skyward, and a blinding light shown down.
“STOP THIS! ALL OF YOU,” came an all-too-familiar British accent. A gleaming figure descended towards us, shimmering in the brilliant light of the heavens. It was Sally Lloyd-Jones.
“Sally,” DiCamillo breathed as she wiped tears from her eyes.
“It-it’s not possible,” Paulsen said, shaking in fear.
“It is possible, for you see, my work is not yet finished, though some of you wish it so.” Her words had the authority of thunder and the warmth of God’s love reflecting off her was even enough to melt through Avi’s frozen shell. “You see, all things are possible for those that love the Lord. If you have faith enough to believe in one miracle, you have faith enough to believe in all the possibilities of the imagination. If you do not believe in possibilities of the imagination, how can you believe in even one miracle?”
She looked at Gary Schmidt who had come out of hiding.
“You have no justification. Realism is a lie. It is the weeds that grow up around the vine and choke it.”
Then she forgave Paulsen and led all of us in a collective prayer. As soon as the prayer was over we took to repairing the café. With the assistance of Yang’s monkeys and DiCamillo’s rats we made quick work of the project, and we were nearly finished when the police arrived. But that is another story.
--------------------------------------
“That’s it?” asked Professor Hull. “I would have killed way more of them at the beginning.”
Gary Paulsen stooped over Sally Lloyd-Jones’ body. Blood dripped from his hatchet. Kate DiCamillo drew a rapier from her belt. Tears streamed from her eyes as she screamed obscenities at Paulsen. A. A. Milne and Sharon Flake both ran to the bathroom, most likely to be sick.
“She had to go,” Paulsen growled through clenched teeth. “People die, this is life. How dare she make the world look so bubbly!”
“But you murdered her!” DiCamillo barely held onto her sword. “She didn’t just die.”
Paulsen glared at DiCamillo.
“Put it away Kate.”
I was suddenly aware that the café had emptied. Tables and chairs had been toppled. Steam continuously rose from a steamer wand, abandoned by the barista. I wondered if anyone had even called the police in the panic of the café’s evacuation.
I looked at Avi. He seemed unimpressed.
“I would write this very situation,” he said as he sipped his coffee.
“I would too,” Kate DiCamillo said, though her voice shook with rage, “But I would never murder someone so sinless.”
“You’ve harmed the innocent many times within your books,” Paulsen said. “Look at Mig, the poor child, you ruined her, and she had done nothing to deserve it.”
“A sacrifice for the sake of the story.”
“Consider this a sacrifice then, for the preservation of realism.”
“The sacrifice of imagination, maybe,” Lois Lowry scoffed.
“Either way” I said, “It seems like a corrupted genre if it requires sacrifice.”
Professor Schmidt made to object, but Gene Luen Yang interrupted him.
“How dare—“
“True there is death and hardship, but children don’t deserve something so horrible, even in realism” Gene Yang said.
“What age group are we talking about?” Sharon Flake asked as she emerged from the bathroom wiping her mouth.
“Young adult or teen,” they all seemed to respond in unison.
“Are there no strictly children’s authors among you?” I asked.
“One is dead, and the other is in the bathroom,” Avi said once again. His coffee had iced over though he still managed to sip it.
Professor Schmidt looked down at the completely dead and slashed body of Sally Lloyd-Jones, and he began to weep. His pure, white-as-snow heart could not take the death of a character so close to the beginning of a story. Wiping his eyes, he got up and walked over to Lloyd-Jones’ body, and reaching under her arms, lifted her torso and dragged the bloody mess out of the middle of the room. He tore a curtain from the wall and covered her with it, and as he did so, a ray of golden sunlight shone down upon him from the heavens and illuminated the tired, sorrow-laden man. It was almost as though a halo shone about his head—the picture of the perfect, God-fearing, young adult author. Gary Paulsen took Professor Schmidt’s seat.
“You know,” said Lois Lowry, “A lot people gave me flak when I first released the giver.”
“Most likely due to its inappropriate content,” A. A. Milne spat as he emerged from the men’s room. “All of you! How dare you claim to be children’s authors.”
“Young adult,” Avi corrected. Immense ice was crawling down his seat and his eyes had become completely black and cold.
“I would have never let my Christopher Robin read any of your monstrous corruptions,” Milne said.
“No, you’d prefer him playing with a stuffed bear in the woods for the rest of his life,” said Sharon Flake. “No wonder he married his cousin.”
I had to chuckle, but A. A. Milne did not appreciate it.
“A lot coming from a hardly known children’s author.”
“Milne, what do you know? You’ve been dead like sixty years!”
“I know that children should not read about the daughter of a whore whose hands cannot withstand the temptations of mammon.”
Sharon Flake was to her feet in an instant. Paulsen was laughing.
“You did give your protagonist a hooker name.”
“That’s not the point of the story,” I said, though none of them seemed to hear me. “It’s about sticking close to family in hard times, and how what we think we need is sometimes the farthest from it.”
“Don’t even start this, Paulsen,” Flake said. “Just because you wrote about slavery doesn’t mean you’ve suddenly got street cred.”
“Enough!” DiCamillo suddenly shouted. “Does anyone else realize that he just killed a person!?”
“It certainly makes for excellent writing material,” Avi said as casually as ever. He was now living, breathing ice. Even the floor beneath his feet had severely frosted over.
“Kate,” Paulsen growled. “You’re not a fighter. Put down the sword.”
But DiCamillo would not hesitate. With a renewed fierceness in her eyes she crossed the room towards Paulsen, rapier drawn, and her features suddenly very mouse-like.
“You will pay, monster!”
“We’ll just see about that.” He moved towards her, hatchet in hand.
“No, you will all pay,” A. A. Milne said, suddenly producing two .357 magnums from his suit coat.
Sharon Flake grabbed me by the arm and pulled me behind an upturned table.
“Dave, I think the shit just hit the fan,” she said, pulling an Uzi from her purse.
The first shots hit Yang, who was transforming into the Monkey King. He fell with a tremendous howl. Lowry got it next before she could run to her jet fighter. A. A. Milne then ducked behind the coffee counter just missing multiple ice spikes shot from Avi’s hands. Avi continued hurtling ice at the coffee counter until Paulsen’s hatchet cut off one of his arms.
Part of my table exploded from one of Milne’s shots and I quickly darted to another table as Sharon Flake provided cover fire. Paulsen had lost the hatchet and had somehow materialized an AK-47 which he fired haphazardly as he ran for the cover of the bathroom. DiCamillo was in pursuit with a lightsaber when Avi caught her in the side with a chunk of ice, sending her reeling out the window. Only four remained now, firing at each other from their various covers.
At that moment the great Monkey King arose again, and with a mighty roar, summoned all of his monkey minions. Avi, Flake, Milne, and Paulsen were forced to focus their attention on collectively dispatching the troops of monkeys currently pouring into the café, wave after wave. Flake joined me at my cover and provided support. I used a table leg to bat off any monkey that she missed.
“I think this is it!” Paulsen yelled from a table near the bathroom door. “I never thought I’d die so ridiculously!”
“Too bad for you; I’m already dead!” Milne replied.
“Sharon!” Paulsen called.
“Yeah, Gary?”
“I never thought I’d say this, but I think you’re a sweet woman, and a great author!”
“Thanks, Gary! I still hate you!”
“What! Why?”
But before she could answer, Kate DiCamillo came bursting through the window riding a giant rat, and hordes of rats behind her.
“MAY YOU REAP WHAT YOU SOW!!!!” She screamed, and the rats immediately attacked everything in sight. Most of the monkeys were instantly overtaken, and it seemed we wouldn’t last much longer against these numbers. But before the rats could do their worst, the ceiling of the café burst skyward, and a blinding light shown down.
“STOP THIS! ALL OF YOU,” came an all-too-familiar British accent. A gleaming figure descended towards us, shimmering in the brilliant light of the heavens. It was Sally Lloyd-Jones.
“Sally,” DiCamillo breathed as she wiped tears from her eyes.
“It-it’s not possible,” Paulsen said, shaking in fear.
“It is possible, for you see, my work is not yet finished, though some of you wish it so.” Her words had the authority of thunder and the warmth of God’s love reflecting off her was even enough to melt through Avi’s frozen shell. “You see, all things are possible for those that love the Lord. If you have faith enough to believe in one miracle, you have faith enough to believe in all the possibilities of the imagination. If you do not believe in possibilities of the imagination, how can you believe in even one miracle?”
She looked at Gary Schmidt who had come out of hiding.
“You have no justification. Realism is a lie. It is the weeds that grow up around the vine and choke it.”
Then she forgave Paulsen and led all of us in a collective prayer. As soon as the prayer was over we took to repairing the café. With the assistance of Yang’s monkeys and DiCamillo’s rats we made quick work of the project, and we were nearly finished when the police arrived. But that is another story.
--------------------------------------
“That’s it?” asked Professor Hull. “I would have killed way more of them at the beginning.”
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Smoking as a Storm Approaches
The whirlwind apparitions
float and wind
and wrap
their solid wisps
warped wonders deep
and wander out
in the wind
Shadows of Jacob Marley
ascending and
descending
deep
into the dark
as days wait to be dawned
Goodbye my lovely shadows, dear
set loose to sail from
the salty spit
of mine own
mouth
They wave farewell
and twist away
fading into
the world I cannot see
Souls pass as quietly
and I ponder
how my soul will
so pass the same and
say farewell to yet another
float and wind
and wrap
their solid wisps
warped wonders deep
and wander out
in the wind
Shadows of Jacob Marley
ascending and
descending
deep
into the dark
as days wait to be dawned
Goodbye my lovely shadows, dear
set loose to sail from
the salty spit
of mine own
mouth
They wave farewell
and twist away
fading into
the world I cannot see
Souls pass as quietly
and I ponder
how my soul will
so pass the same and
say farewell to yet another
Friday, April 16, 2010
The Empty Pastures
Woke up to a failure. In the midst of rough storms, a bad step feels like a slip at the edge. Dark seas below with churning, roaring froth, and Dark, empty clouds above with terror thundering. I'd rather get struck by lightning than drown.
Today keeps going regardless. There are immense terrors out there, and I'm not allowed to blink.
I need a truly new day. Can't wait to go home and shower. I think I'll wash the tub and actually sit in the warm spray. When I was in high school I'd turn to Empire Strikes Back during rough times. There's no other way to combat one of life's terrible shit storms like watching the most epically galactic shit storm ever captured on film.
Seriously though "Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you. Show me the way I should go, for to you I lift up my soul" (Psalm 143:8). I often resent it when individuals quote Bible at me while my life is a mess. But then I remember that it is the fallen that truly know God. May we all know God in the hard times. Life is generally good, it is the bad that is the anomaly.
Little Dragon - A New
Today keeps going regardless. There are immense terrors out there, and I'm not allowed to blink.
I need a truly new day. Can't wait to go home and shower. I think I'll wash the tub and actually sit in the warm spray. When I was in high school I'd turn to Empire Strikes Back during rough times. There's no other way to combat one of life's terrible shit storms like watching the most epically galactic shit storm ever captured on film.
Seriously though "Let the morning bring me word of your unfailing love, for I have put my trust in you. Show me the way I should go, for to you I lift up my soul" (Psalm 143:8). I often resent it when individuals quote Bible at me while my life is a mess. But then I remember that it is the fallen that truly know God. May we all know God in the hard times. Life is generally good, it is the bad that is the anomaly.
Little Dragon - A New
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