Tuesday, March 31, 2015
Monday, March 30, 2015
Let’s Do A Twist…
As some of you know, I have a fiction blog over at R. Todd Writes, and for those that don’t, I invite you to click the link and check out some of my writing.
Here’s why I’m saying that. Today’s daily prompt (which I am actually writing about a day late), is all about twist endings and what not. Well, that happens to be something I really enjoy including in many of my stories. I find that the twist endings or the surprises in the last lines is akin to eating your bowl of Lucky Charms cereal and saving all the marshmallow (are they really marshmallow?) bits til the end.
Yes, that is actually something I did (along with most of you, I am sure). Why? Because I think we all like that kind of ending. The sweet surprise at the end. It’s something we hope for, and even look for, in the stories we read. It’s a kind of sentimental expectation.
When stories don’t end that way, I feel that there is some kind of let down. It’s the conclusion with out the fusion. The ending without the bending. The climax without the… nope, that’s all I had.
A lot of the novels I enjoy have this aspect in them: Ender’s Game; Wizard’s First Rule; Armor: all have endings that are twisted. The same is true with short stories: “The Lottery”, “A Good Man is Hard to Find”, “Tell Tale Heart”… ok, so those are kind of dark too. But the point is that I like that they just don’t tell a story, but that they are almost hiding something in the telling that gets revealed in the end.
Maybe that’s why I like mysteries and puzzles so much. Or maybe it’s because I like these kind of stories that make me like mysteries and puzzles.. I’m sure they are connected. Somehow.
But, yeah, all that to say…
If you like twist endings, go check out my other page for some of the stories.
Again, that link is R. Todd Writes.
That’s R. Todd Writes.
(I totally wanted to sound like a radio commercial with those last two lines)
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “What a Twist!.”
Let’s Do A Twist…
As some of you know, I have a fiction blog over at R. Todd Writes, and for those that don’t, I invite you to click the link and check out some of my writing.
Here’s why I’m saying that. Today’s daily prompt (which I am actually writing about a day late), is all about twist endings and what not. Well, that happens to be something I really enjoy including in many of my stories. I find that the twist endings or the surprises in the last lines is akin to eating your bowl of Lucky Charms cereal and saving all the marshmallow (are they really marshmallow?) bits til the end.
Yes, that is actually something I did (along with most of you, I am sure). Why? Because I think we all like that kind of ending. The sweet surprise at the end. It’s something we hope for, and even look for, in the stories we read. It’s a kind of sentimental expectation.
When stories don’t end that way, I feel that there is some kind of let down. It’s the conclusion with out the fusion. The ending without the bending. The climax without the… nope, that’s all I had.
A lot of the novels I enjoy have this aspect in them: Ender’s Game; Wizard’s First Rule; Armor: all have endings that are twisted. The same is true with short stories: “The Lottery”, “A Good Man is Hard to Find”, “Tell Tale Heart”… ok, so those are kind of dark too. But the point is that I like that they just don’t tell a story, but that they are almost hiding something in the telling that gets revealed in the end.
Maybe that’s why I like mysteries and puzzles so much. Or maybe it’s because I like these kind of stories that make me like mysteries and puzzles.. I’m sure they are connected. Somehow.
But, yeah, all that to say…
If you like twist endings, go check out my other page for some of the stories.
Again, that link is R. Todd Writes.
That’s R. Todd Writes.
(I totally wanted to sound like a radio commercial with those last two lines)
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “What a Twist!.”
Saturday, March 28, 2015
Friday, March 27, 2015
Thursday, March 26, 2015
My Buddy Dylan…
I have a poetry presentation I have to do tonight in my English class. Not a reading, but a critical analysis of a poem from our book. So, for 5 minutes I get to stand in front of a classroom filled with people who literally younger than half my age (there are only 5 of us in the class over the age of 35, everyone else is 20 and under with the majority of them being dual enrolled high school students), and explain the breakdown of a poem.
I was going to do Robert Frost and his “The Road Not Taken” (a highly misquoted and oft not understood poem), but I have already done that one this year for my American Literature class. Now, I love Frost, he is one of my top 5 favorites, and that particular poem ranks up there in my top 10. But I am a glutton for punishment, so I chose to pick someone else. So, flipping open my book, I started skimming through the pages of poets, looking at Tennyson (another favorite), Whitman, Keats, Brown, Cummings, Yeats…
And then my eyes were treated to something akin to Jason finding the fleece. A bright glow in the midst of the book.
Thomas.
Dylan Thomas to be exact.
And not just any Dylan Thomas poem, but what is quite honestly one of my absolute favorite poems of all time…
“Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night”.
I could almost feel my heart beat a bit faster. This was it. This was the poem. This was the one I wanted to present.
I have loved this poem for a long time. I even have a copy of it taped to my desk. It’s raw. It’s powerful. It’s Thomas at his best. So, for the last few days I have been piecing together this presentation, digging into the life of Thomas, and finding out things about him that I never knew. Some insightful, some ironic. But anyway, I’m finally done. Presentation locked down. And now I just get to wait.
But, because you have hung in with me through this.. let me at least entertain you with the poem I am speaking of.. so.. without further ado… I present…
Do not go gentle into that good night
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Awesome, right??
My Buddy Dylan…
I have a poetry presentation I have to do tonight in my English class. Not a reading, but a critical analysis of a poem from our book. So, for 5 minutes I get to stand in front of a classroom filled with people who literally younger than half my age (there are only 5 of us in the class over the age of 35, everyone else is 20 and under with the majority of them being dual enrolled high school students), and explain the breakdown of a poem.
I was going to do Robert Frost and his “The Road Not Taken” (a highly misquoted and oft not understood poem), but I have already done that one this year for my American Literature class. Now, I love Frost, he is one of my top 5 favorites, and that particular poem ranks up there in my top 10. But I am a glutton for punishment, so I chose to pick someone else. So, flipping open my book, I started skimming through the pages of poets, looking at Tennyson (another favorite), Whitman, Keats, Brown, Cummings, Yeats…
And then my eyes were treated to something akin to Jason finding the fleece. A bright glow in the midst of the book.
Thomas.
Dylan Thomas to be exact.
And not just any Dylan Thomas poem, but what is quite honestly one of my absolute favorite poems of all time…
“Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night”.
I could almost feel my heart beat a bit faster. This was it. This was the poem. This was the one I wanted to present.
I have loved this poem for a long time. I even have a copy of it taped to my desk. It’s raw. It’s powerful. It’s Thomas at his best. So, for the last few days I have been piecing together this presentation, digging into the life of Thomas, and finding out things about him that I never knew. Some insightful, some ironic. But anyway, I’m finally done. Presentation locked down. And now I just get to wait.
But, because you have hung in with me through this.. let me at least entertain you with the poem I am speaking of.. so.. without further ado… I present…
Do not go gentle into that good night
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Awesome, right??
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
A Joke A Day…
I’m more of a zinger kind of guy when it comes to the humor I like. Zinger as in.. short.. sweet.. funny.. deep and sometimes (read that as.. most times) even provocative (Who? Me? Never!) To that end, I tend to take the ones I like (from others and thoughts of my own) and create Instagram covers for them. It’s almost like my Peaches record album covers from back in the 80’s..
So.. here you have it.. a collection of my (or someone else’s) jokes…
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Ha Ha Ha.”
A Joke A Day…
I’m more of a zinger kind of guy when it comes to the humor I like. Zinger as in.. short.. sweet.. funny.. deep and sometimes (read that as.. most times) even provocative (Who? Me? Never!) To that end, I tend to take the ones I like (from others and thoughts of my own) and create Instagram covers for them. It’s almost like my Peaches record album covers from back in the 80’s..
So.. here you have it.. a collection of my (or someone else’s) jokes…
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Ha Ha Ha.”
Tuesday, March 17, 2015
Thursday, March 5, 2015
The Raging Storm…
Sometimes I just need to write. sometimes I just need to get out of my head and get things on paper. The swirling madness that engulfs me mentally causes this spinning sensation that keeps me from being able to do anything. My thoughts get jumbled, my emotions rage, my clarity fogs, and my world goes into neutral…
with that awful grinding noise that is made when shifting gears and you don’t quite push the clutch in enough.
This happens to me a lot it seems.
Not sure what the triggers are. Sure would be nice to know though. Not that I could avoid them, but.. at least know that I was dangerously close to slipping into the whirlwind again.
Frustration, confusion, desire, passion, anger, rage, ideas, concepts…
all pushing.
At the same time. Trying to all make it out at once. There just isn’t enough room for it all to fit.
I look at the keyboard and just…
Cry? Not physically. No tears or anything like that.
But I hate the keyboard or the pencil or the tool that I currently am using to try to get my thoughts out.
All because I can’t.
All because something has me mentally or emotionally constipated. (great visual, right?)
There is a lot of screaming during this part. It’s mostly internal. Every now and again it seeps out and I explode onto someone I care about. Sometimes, just the opposite happens. I shut down. Bar myself in behind a wall of ice. I get quiet. Sullen.
And stew.
The blank page mocking me the entire time.
Coloring in my coloring books helps. I tell people that it’s to relieve my stress. There is some truth in that. Some. But mostly, there is this sense that I can accomplish something. Simple. Easy. Focused.
I revert to some of my childlike (not childish.. big difference) qualities. Not really sure what they are, but.. it has something to do with cartoons sometimes.
Eventually, I relax enough. The writing returns.
Or… I go in the exact opposite direction.
I put my fingers to the keys and just start pressing them. Forming words without thought. That’s how this whole thing started. No idea where I was going, no concept or idea to write about. Just.. dumping. If you have followed me for any length of time, I tend to do this every now and again.
Maybe it’s cathartic. Maybe it’s not.
But just feeling like I wrote something… anything… brings a bit of peace into my mind and calms the storm just enough to let me breath. I like that.. the raging storm.. think I’ll name this post that.
And if you are curious… yes, the storm is still raging. The clouds are dark grey, the seas are tumultuous (I really like that word), and the rain is coming down in sheets, highlighted by the thunder that rolls across the waves and illuminated by the lighting dancing in the sky.
But.. at the moment, I can see the sun breaking through a small opening. Respite.
For at least a few minutes.
The Raging Storm…
Sometimes I just need to write. sometimes I just need to get out of my head and get things on paper. The swirling madness that engulfs me mentally causes this spinning sensation that keeps me from being able to do anything. My thoughts get jumbled, my emotions rage, my clarity fogs, and my world goes into neutral…
with that awful grinding noise that is made when shifting gears and you don’t quite push the clutch in enough.
This happens to me a lot it seems.
Not sure what the triggers are. Sure would be nice to know though. Not that I could avoid them, but.. at least know that I was dangerously close to slipping into the whirlwind again.
Frustration, confusion, desire, passion, anger, rage, ideas, concepts…
all pushing.
At the same time. Trying to all make it out at once. There just isn’t enough room for it all to fit.
I look at the keyboard and just…
Cry? Not physically. No tears or anything like that.
But I hate the keyboard or the pencil or the tool that I currently am using to try to get my thoughts out.
All because I can’t.
All because something has me mentally or emotionally constipated. (great visual, right?)
There is a lot of screaming during this part. It’s mostly internal. Every now and again it seeps out and I explode onto someone I care about. Sometimes, just the opposite happens. I shut down. Bar myself in behind a wall of ice. I get quiet. Sullen.
And stew.
The blank page mocking me the entire time.
Coloring in my coloring books helps. I tell people that it’s to relieve my stress. There is some truth in that. Some. But mostly, there is this sense that I can accomplish something. Simple. Easy. Focused.
I revert to some of my childlike (not childish.. big difference) qualities. Not really sure what they are, but.. it has something to do with cartoons sometimes.
Eventually, I relax enough. The writing returns.
Or… I go in the exact opposite direction.
I put my fingers to the keys and just start pressing them. Forming words without thought. That’s how this whole thing started. No idea where I was going, no concept or idea to write about. Just.. dumping. If you have followed me for any length of time, I tend to do this every now and again.
Maybe it’s cathartic. Maybe it’s not.
But just feeling like I wrote something… anything… brings a bit of peace into my mind and calms the storm just enough to let me breath. I like that.. the raging storm.. think I’ll name this post that.
And if you are curious… yes, the storm is still raging. The clouds are dark grey, the seas are tumultuous (I really like that word), and the rain is coming down in sheets, highlighted by the thunder that rolls across the waves and illuminated by the lighting dancing in the sky.
But.. at the moment, I can see the sun breaking through a small opening. Respite.
For at least a few minutes.
Sunday, March 1, 2015
How Are You Doing?
I get asked many questions during the day. “What’s up?”, “Can I get you anything else?”, “What would you like?”, “Large or extra-large?”, “Can you please stop bothering me?”, “Why do you have to be so weird?”, “What’s with all the stalking you do?”….
You know.. normal things.
However, in my life, there is one question that beats them all. One question that if I am never asked again in my entire life, I will be so perfectly fine that I might do a dance. Granted, I would have to be dead in order for me to know whether it happened or not, and a dancing dead body might freak out the locals.. but I’d be cool with that.
Digression at it’s finest folks…
Anyway, that question is, “How are you doing?”. Now, this sounds like a normal question, I know. But let me put this into the context for you. At a funeral, or after someone passes, everyone pours out of the woodwork and is overly concerned with your well-being. Genuine, I know, so I don’t hold it against them. But every one of them walks up with sympathy in their face and espouses to you that same question.
“How are you doing?”
I’m civil. Or at least I lie to myself and tell myself that myself is civil. Myself. (it just needed one more myself). So, I smile and act polite and recite the words, “I’m fine” or some other combination of words that means about the same thing.
I know I sound jaded. Let’s not beat around the bush. I am. Most likely. Never been diagnosed by a doctor, so I’m not particularly sure if you can self diagnose that particular prognosis. But, after the amount of family members and close friends who had died on my over the last 10 years, I have gotten a bit tired of that question. (by the way, I stopped counting after 15)
“How are you doing?”
It’s like this cannon-shot going off next to my ear that I just want to look at the person right in the face and go…”Gee, I don’t know. My (insert close family member here) just died, someone who I’m never going to be able to see again and only have the memories of them to hold onto. It only happened a few days ago and I have been trying to take care of taking care of their last wishes, so I haven’t had time to process my loss yet, but, hey, I just want to thank you for checking on me and reminding me that I just lost someone dear to me and haven’t really worked out how that all makes me feel as of yet. So you want to know how I’m doing… I’m FINE!”
Granted that is exactly how I answer that question.. minus everything before the last two words. And without the capitalization.
Like I said.. Jaded. I get that.
These days, when I am placed in the position of the person offering condolences, I have a completely different view-point of what that looks like. I no longer ask “How are you doing?”, I just walk up, stand quietly and just let them know I am there. Sometimes I offer something encouraging like a hug, a “hey, or a “love you bro” kind of thing (bro-dette if it’s a she). I talk a bit about the person who passed, if I knew them, remembering some good times. If I didn’t, I will ask a question or two to get the person to share with me a little about their memories. I usually conclude with something like.. “sucks man” before I walk away.
However, there is one thing I will never say to someone in this situation. And for the love of God can we please take this phrase out of our vocabulary… “Call me if you need anything.”
Cause, yeah, in the middle of all of this.. that’s exactly what I was thinking.. who can I call if I need help. Oh, the 8 billion people who have told me to call them. Seriously!?!?
Instead… how about we change that to…”Hey, I’ll call you in the next few days.” or “Hey, I’m bringing dinner over tomorrow.” or.. something like that.
Ok.. I seriously could rant about that for another 1500 words… but.. so not the point right now.
So after reading all that…
How are you doing?
(and if you don’t get the sarcasm in that… /facepalm)
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Plead the Fifth.”
How Are You Doing?
I get asked many questions during the day. “What’s up?”, “Can I get you anything else?”, “What would you like?”, “Large or extra-large?”, “Can you please stop bothering me?”, “Why do you have to be so weird?”, “What’s with all the stalking you do?”….
You know.. normal things.
However, in my life, there is one question that beats them all. One question that if I am never asked again in my entire life, I will be so perfectly fine that I might do a dance. Granted, I would have to be dead in order for me to know whether it happened or not, and a dancing dead body might freak out the locals.. but I’d be cool with that.
Digression at it’s finest folks…
Anyway, that question is, “How are you doing?”. Now, this sounds like a normal question, I know. But let me put this into the context for you. At a funeral, or after someone passes, everyone pours out of the woodwork and is overly concerned with your well-being. Genuine, I know, so I don’t hold it against them. But every one of them walks up with sympathy in their face and espouses to you that same question.
“How are you doing?”
I’m civil. Or at least I lie to myself and tell myself that myself is civil. Myself. (it just needed one more myself). So, I smile and act polite and recite the words, “I’m fine” or some other combination of words that means about the same thing.
I know I sound jaded. Let’s not beat around the bush. I am. Most likely. Never been diagnosed by a doctor, so I’m not particularly sure if you can self diagnose that particular prognosis. But, after the amount of family members and close friends who had died on my over the last 10 years, I have gotten a bit tired of that question. (by the way, I stopped counting after 15)
“How are you doing?”
It’s like this cannon-shot going off next to my ear that I just want to look at the person right in the face and go…”Gee, I don’t know. My (insert close family member here) just died, someone who I’m never going to be able to see again and only have the memories of them to hold onto. It only happened a few days ago and I have been trying to take care of taking care of their last wishes, so I haven’t had time to process my loss yet, but, hey, I just want to thank you for checking on me and reminding me that I just lost someone dear to me and haven’t really worked out how that all makes me feel as of yet. So you want to know how I’m doing… I’m FINE!”
Granted that is exactly how I answer that question.. minus everything before the last two words. And without the capitalization.
Like I said.. Jaded. I get that.
These days, when I am placed in the position of the person offering condolences, I have a completely different view-point of what that looks like. I no longer ask “How are you doing?”, I just walk up, stand quietly and just let them know I am there. Sometimes I offer something encouraging like a hug, a “hey, or a “love you bro” kind of thing (bro-dette if it’s a she). I talk a bit about the person who passed, if I knew them, remembering some good times. If I didn’t, I will ask a question or two to get the person to share with me a little about their memories. I usually conclude with something like.. “sucks man” before I walk away.
However, there is one thing I will never say to someone in this situation. And for the love of God can we please take this phrase out of our vocabulary… “Call me if you need anything.”
Cause, yeah, in the middle of all of this.. that’s exactly what I was thinking.. who can I call if I need help. Oh, the 8 billion people who have told me to call them. Seriously!?!?
Instead… how about we change that to…”Hey, I’ll call you in the next few days.” or “Hey, I’m bringing dinner over tomorrow.” or.. something like that.
Ok.. I seriously could rant about that for another 1500 words… but.. so not the point right now.
So after reading all that…
How are you doing?
(and if you don’t get the sarcasm in that… /facepalm)
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Plead the Fifth.”