Two Truths
While the title could imply any number of topics on which I’d love to share my vast thirty-two years of wisdom (politics, parenting, marriage, finance, money-making scams) I thought I’d start off with what I’ve learned about writing.
There are important things I need to remind myself of, disciplines I need to master, that are pretty much necessary to be a writer. They are things that will help me along my way to a successful career in writing. Here are two of the many important things to know and do.
First, to write well I must read quality work in the area I write. These two things are a struggle for me to do simultaneously. I tend to be either on a writing spree or a reading binge. If for no other reason than I have only so much time. I’d like to develop a systematic approach for tackling both of these beasts in the same day. Perhaps I need to read in the daylight and write in the dark. Maybe I spend time in a book in the am hours and on the laptop in the pm hours. Either way I must find time to do both of these important things. What is also important in this area is that I find good reads. Currently, I am reading The Warrior Heir by Cinda Williams Chima. It’s the first book of three (at this time) followed by The Wizard Heir and The Dragon Heir. These are definitely quality books exactly in the genre I like to write.
Second, one must write everyday. I’ve spent months not writing and then wondering why I don’t get anywhere. It’s is a simple and common concept, perfect practice makes perfect. I’d love to be able to write consistently, to have my time blocked off for X number of hours each day. Instead I tend to squeeze it in when I can. I’m getting better. I work on one project or another most every day.
Monday, March 2, 2009
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Should I Try This Again?
Blogging is one of those things, like journal writing, vehicle maintenance, or even sticking to a budget or exercise regime that comes easy for some, with effort for others, and pretty much not at all for most others.
I’ve always wanted to be a person who journals. To write out my daily thoughts or inspirations, to keep a log of important moments, or to track my growth and development is appealing to me. But honestly, it’s never happened. I’ve started multiple times. Always with a renewed energy, a different angle, a greater purpose. Well, here goes again. It’s time to blog. Will this time be any different? We’ll see.
My previous attempt yielded a single post. I am committed to doubling that. In concept, I plan to continue both previous blogs, sharing my projects, reviewing the books I read, the movies I see, and commenting on what inspires me. Facebook is my primary addiction, and so I will likely copy my posts there as well as on this site. I’d love to hear from anyone who stumbles across My Writing Workshop.
Blessings!
I’ve always wanted to be a person who journals. To write out my daily thoughts or inspirations, to keep a log of important moments, or to track my growth and development is appealing to me. But honestly, it’s never happened. I’ve started multiple times. Always with a renewed energy, a different angle, a greater purpose. Well, here goes again. It’s time to blog. Will this time be any different? We’ll see.
My previous attempt yielded a single post. I am committed to doubling that. In concept, I plan to continue both previous blogs, sharing my projects, reviewing the books I read, the movies I see, and commenting on what inspires me. Facebook is my primary addiction, and so I will likely copy my posts there as well as on this site. I’d love to hear from anyone who stumbles across My Writing Workshop.
Blessings!
Tuesday, July 8, 2008
Project: Benjamin (part one)
I could barely open my eyes, still exhausted and tired. There was pain in every inch of my body. My hands touched each other and then rubbed the soreness from my arms. Soon I felt the softness of a t-shirt covering my chest. This was weird. I did not wear a shirt when I went to sleep.
The events of the previous night played through my mind. I remembered heading home from a very physical game of football. The other boys were being called home by their mothers, but I wanted to stay and play into the night. I walked home alone. The stench of sweat, grass stains and dust drifted with me. The mosquitoes were coming out- not at all bothered by the heat and humidity. A very strong mosquito bit me behind my right shoulder. I reached back to slap it.
And then I awoke here in bed, sore-and also clean by the smell of it. Both were strange things because I was never sore after a pick-up game of football and I rarely took the time to shower before crashing on my bed.
I rubbed my eyes, willing them to open. There was a dim light on in my room. It cast a faint glow up on the flat white ceiling. The flat white ceiling? My attic room was blue and the slanted walls left no ceiling to speak of.
“Where the hell am I?” I thought out loud.
Wide awake, I sat up quickly. I was still sore, but now I was dizzy, too. The lights grew brighter then, automatically, like they knew I was up.
This was not my room. It wasn’t really a room at all. At least it was like no room I had ever seen. I sat on a bed that was not my own and as I looked around I had more questions than answers.
The room seemed perfectly round. With a quick glance I noticed there was no door. There was not even a window. The large circular space seemed to be separated into different areas. To my left were a couch and a coffee table in front of a large flat TV. Beyond them were three exercise machines: a treadmill, a stationary bike, and a BowFlex.
Across from me was a toilet, just sitting out in plain sight. It was next to a shower with clear glass sides. Next to that hung some shelves, they were all empty. Closer to me there were some drawers and cabinets in the round wall. And in the middle of the room sat a table with only one chair.
I was trapped. I knew it. Who ever put me here planned to keep me here. And they were watching me. There were six large mirrors evenly spaced around the room. I had seen enough TV to know that beyond those mirrors someone was probably staring back at me. And in the center of the ceiling was a small black bubble. The kind you see in the department stores concealing the security cameras.
There was something on the table. I could see it from where I was sitting on the bed. It was an envelope.
I was hesitant. This could be a dream. It certainly was unlike any reality I had ever known. And yet I knew it was no dream. I could feel the bed beneath me, the shirt on my back and even the socks on my feet. I hate socks.
There was a smell in the air like nothing. I could not smell dirty clothes from my hamper. I could not smell the grass from the yard or the stale pond water outside my window. I could not smell my mothers cooking drifting up from the kitchen. But I could smell the nothing smell of this sanitized and dustless chamber.
I reached under the covers, pulled the socks off my feet and dropped them to the floor. Standing up, I straightened the clothes I was wearing but were not mine. A chill accompanied by tiny bumps swept across my body. Someone had cleaned me and changed my clothes. I quickly looked and yes, even my boxers had been replaced. The clothes were all a pale blue. The t-shirt, the boxers and the pajama pants all the same pale blue.
“Hello? What’s going on?”
There was no reply.
I slowly approached the table. The envelope had my name on it. “Benjamin” They know who I am. I pulled out the enclosed letter.
"Dear Benjamin,
Congratulations. You have the honor of being selected to take part in a five-year research project. We will be observing you in isolation for the duration of the experiment. Consider yourself privileged, Benjamin. Our findings will be of great use to mankind and your contribution will be rewarded.
Your parents will be regularly updated on your progress. Their permission for you to participate in our research has been obtained. They also are being compensated generously. Your parents have asked us to convey to you their confidence in you, that you will cooperate with our requests.
There are a few items we would like to mention for your understanding.
First, as you can see, there is no door, and therefore no way for you to attempt to leave, not that you would want to.
Next, you will receive meals, packages and other items through the cabinet marked “receiving.” You can dispose of anything you wish in the cabinet marked “rubbish.” All items placed into the rubbish cabinet will be sent by vacuum to the incinerator. Do not place anything in there you ever want to see again.
Lastly, although you will have no direct communication with anyone for the next five years, you can make meal, book, or movie requests by writing your desire on the white board. We will acquiesce to your request at the earliest possible occasion.
Let us thank you in advance for your participation. We are honored to have you. Make yourself at home.
Respectfully,
A.R.F."
The events of the previous night played through my mind. I remembered heading home from a very physical game of football. The other boys were being called home by their mothers, but I wanted to stay and play into the night. I walked home alone. The stench of sweat, grass stains and dust drifted with me. The mosquitoes were coming out- not at all bothered by the heat and humidity. A very strong mosquito bit me behind my right shoulder. I reached back to slap it.
And then I awoke here in bed, sore-and also clean by the smell of it. Both were strange things because I was never sore after a pick-up game of football and I rarely took the time to shower before crashing on my bed.
I rubbed my eyes, willing them to open. There was a dim light on in my room. It cast a faint glow up on the flat white ceiling. The flat white ceiling? My attic room was blue and the slanted walls left no ceiling to speak of.
“Where the hell am I?” I thought out loud.
Wide awake, I sat up quickly. I was still sore, but now I was dizzy, too. The lights grew brighter then, automatically, like they knew I was up.
This was not my room. It wasn’t really a room at all. At least it was like no room I had ever seen. I sat on a bed that was not my own and as I looked around I had more questions than answers.
The room seemed perfectly round. With a quick glance I noticed there was no door. There was not even a window. The large circular space seemed to be separated into different areas. To my left were a couch and a coffee table in front of a large flat TV. Beyond them were three exercise machines: a treadmill, a stationary bike, and a BowFlex.
Across from me was a toilet, just sitting out in plain sight. It was next to a shower with clear glass sides. Next to that hung some shelves, they were all empty. Closer to me there were some drawers and cabinets in the round wall. And in the middle of the room sat a table with only one chair.
I was trapped. I knew it. Who ever put me here planned to keep me here. And they were watching me. There were six large mirrors evenly spaced around the room. I had seen enough TV to know that beyond those mirrors someone was probably staring back at me. And in the center of the ceiling was a small black bubble. The kind you see in the department stores concealing the security cameras.
There was something on the table. I could see it from where I was sitting on the bed. It was an envelope.
I was hesitant. This could be a dream. It certainly was unlike any reality I had ever known. And yet I knew it was no dream. I could feel the bed beneath me, the shirt on my back and even the socks on my feet. I hate socks.
There was a smell in the air like nothing. I could not smell dirty clothes from my hamper. I could not smell the grass from the yard or the stale pond water outside my window. I could not smell my mothers cooking drifting up from the kitchen. But I could smell the nothing smell of this sanitized and dustless chamber.
I reached under the covers, pulled the socks off my feet and dropped them to the floor. Standing up, I straightened the clothes I was wearing but were not mine. A chill accompanied by tiny bumps swept across my body. Someone had cleaned me and changed my clothes. I quickly looked and yes, even my boxers had been replaced. The clothes were all a pale blue. The t-shirt, the boxers and the pajama pants all the same pale blue.
“Hello? What’s going on?”
There was no reply.
I slowly approached the table. The envelope had my name on it. “Benjamin” They know who I am. I pulled out the enclosed letter.
"Dear Benjamin,
Congratulations. You have the honor of being selected to take part in a five-year research project. We will be observing you in isolation for the duration of the experiment. Consider yourself privileged, Benjamin. Our findings will be of great use to mankind and your contribution will be rewarded.
Your parents will be regularly updated on your progress. Their permission for you to participate in our research has been obtained. They also are being compensated generously. Your parents have asked us to convey to you their confidence in you, that you will cooperate with our requests.
There are a few items we would like to mention for your understanding.
First, as you can see, there is no door, and therefore no way for you to attempt to leave, not that you would want to.
Next, you will receive meals, packages and other items through the cabinet marked “receiving.” You can dispose of anything you wish in the cabinet marked “rubbish.” All items placed into the rubbish cabinet will be sent by vacuum to the incinerator. Do not place anything in there you ever want to see again.
Lastly, although you will have no direct communication with anyone for the next five years, you can make meal, book, or movie requests by writing your desire on the white board. We will acquiesce to your request at the earliest possible occasion.
Let us thank you in advance for your participation. We are honored to have you. Make yourself at home.
Respectfully,
A.R.F."
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