Write First, Ask Questions Later

This blog really needed a revamp. A new name, a shiny new background, and here's the new post to introduce it. Ben's Blog 2.0! Now with more pizzazz! Shazam! Huztpah! I don't know what that word means. Anyways, the blog needed a change. The title was old and boring. It communicated nothing about the blog, or what it's about, not very attention-grabbing or note-worthy in any way. You don't have to lie to me, I know it was a bad title.

After brainstorming with friends, I feel like the new title is monumentally improved. Write First, Ask Questions Later. BAM! You know the blog is about writing. My work here is done.

The title also makes perfect sense. It's a motto. A phrase of wisdom for a writer. You know what writers always complain about? Writer's block. The demon of all authors, the black pit of imagination, the black hole of creativity. It sucks life out of the creative work, drains the fun from fiction and drags us kicking and screaming out of the zone, out of our focus. The veritable kryptonite for any author. You know oftentimes where that writers block comes from? Questions. What do I do now? Where does this character go from here? How do I solve this plot hole? How do I get past this scene? How will the character get out of this situation? Blah blah blah. The questions add up and the answers elude us. So we put off writing. We say 'fuck this, I can't write right now, I've got writer's block! I'll think on it some more, wait until this mysterious block goes away and then I'll get right to it!' But you know what it is? Bullshit. Writer's Block is bullshit. A vague all-encompassing excuse not to write. Well you know what you can say to WRITERS BLOCK? FUCK YOU WRITERS BLOCK YOU WONT TAKE ME THIS TIME! So here's what you do. Write First, ask questions later.

Basically, screw the questions, screw the block. Just write. Keep writing. Who cares how the situations going to resolve, how to solve a plot-hole, etc. It doesn't matter. Just write. Write about something completely unrelated, write bullshit, write nothing, write anything, it doesn't matter. Skip to another part of the piece you're working on and write that. There is no true excuse to simply 'Not Write'. You can always write. Writer's Block cannot take over your entire imagination, your entire creative mind. It cannot stop you from writing, only you can stop you from writing.

So yeah, I like the new title. It makes sense. It fits, in many aspects of life. You're never going to know the answers to all the questions you want to ask, so screw it. Forget the questions. Do whatever you need to do. The questions can come later.

There it is, the title, the revitalized blog, new and improved. Here it is. Note the change in the url. It is now write-first.blogspot.com, you will need to re-bookmark it and such. You can also check out my tumblr at http://ingdowntherabbithole.tumblr.com/. Tumblr is...difficult to describe, like a mini-blog.

Anyways, that's all for now.

WRITE FIRST, ASK QUESTIONS LATER.

Metaphorical Java

I love putting cream or milk into a cup of coffee. This probably sounds strange, but it's true.

Coffee is a revered beverage in our society. We drink it more than water, we guzzle cups and cups and want more. It fuels us. It keeps us going, energizes us, makes us happy and alert. It also twists our stomach if you have too much. It gives us headaches and migraines and makes us feel generally unpleasant. The drink that provides our good mood can corrupt it just as quickly.

Does anyone know the exact measurement of "one cup of coffee?" Is it a mug? What if you have a large mug? What about the sizes at the coffee shop? 12 or 16 or 20 ounces, which is a single cup? Or is it less of a perfect measurement and more of a subjective 'idea'. A cup of coffee is perhaps not strict in its definition but allows for a wide range of actual sizes, a personal measurement, one cup of coffee to you is different than one cup of coffee to me. And what about ice coffee? Does it matter how much ice is in it? If you just have cold coffee with no ice, is it still ice coffee? What the fuck am I talking about? Let's get back to the point.

Why do I love putting cream in the coffee? Because of the conflict. The battle between black and white. Before the cream, the coffee lies black and bitter. Dark and unchanging. Then the cream comes, dumping in. The perfect amount will pulse up to the surface and swirl around. Black and white coming together into a tan color, promising deliciousness. The tan billows up into the black, taking over. That's why I enjoy putting cream into coffee. That little explosion of color in the cup.

Equilibrium-Change-New Equilibrium. It's the form of the narrative at its most basic. At first there is the equilibrium, the status quo, before the story actually begins, the coffee before the cream. Then, change. Something happens. Something destabilizes the narrative, occurs in the character's life, upsets the normal way of things. The cream bursts into the blackness of the coffee, a tiny swirl of violence in a cup. The change is dealt with in some way and the story once again returns to an equilibrium, but one that is different than before, one that's been changed. The new equilibrium. Frodo was just sitting in the Shire not doing much until the Ring came along. The Change. He went on an adventure and eventually returned to the Shire, but everything was different. He couldn't live in the Shire so he went to live with the elves. That is the new equilibrium. In a narrative, things have to change, characters have to change and nothing is the same after The Change. The black coffee fights the cream but in the end the two converge, becoming different but settling into a new equilibrium, a new color.

Pretty lame, right? Don't listen to me, I'm just some strange dude that likes putting cream in coffee.

THEY FIGHT CRIME

He's an old-fashioned chivalrous werewolf from a doomed world. She's a hard-bitten bisexual lawyer who hides her beauty behind a pair of thick-framed spectacles. They fight crime! (from theyfightcrime.org)

“Frederick, you don't have to hold the door open for me,” she snapped, stepping out of the car. She shut the door hard, nearly slamming his fingers.

Frederick grunted and shrugged. “Sorry, Selene, that's just what I'm used to, where I'm from.”

“Maybe that's why your world is dying, everyone's too stuck in the past.” she said, piercing eyes glaring behind her thick glasses.

“You're one cold bitch,” he snarled, glaring back.

“Somebody has to be,” she replied and started walking up the path to the house.

He grumbled to himself, following. “What are we doing here anyways?”

“Mary Andrews is a single woman living alone on the third floor. She's been threatened.”

“Why didn't she go to the police?”

“It was the police who threatened her. That's why she called us.”

He grunted, surprised. “Nice cops in your world,” he muttered.

She gave him a scowl before buzzing the third floor.

“Who is it?” A tentative voice spoke through the speaker.

“It's Selene and my partner, Frederick. We spoke on the phone.”

The door clicked and Selene opened it. They walked past faded paint and up creaking stairs. Selene knocked at the door and it opened a few inches. A woman with frazzled blond hair and wide eyes stared past a silver chain that held the door.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “Had to be sure...” she closed the door and unhooked the chain.

Frederick felt anger building within him and kept it buried. It would not do to change now. He took a deep breath. The woman's face had looked bruised and battered.

Mary opened the door and welcomed them in. A shabby place, the door opened into the living room. A red ikea couch sat in front of a big box television. A doorway led into a cramped kitchen and another hallway beyond.

“I don't have much but...you can sit on the couch. I just made some coffee...” Mary's voice trembled ever so slightly.

“No thanks-”

Frederick cut Selene off. “Coffee would be great,” he said with a smile.

Selene scowled as Mary went into the kitchen.

“We need to put her at ease,” he said in a low voice, sitting on the couch.

Selene didn't respond, which told Frederick she knew he was right.

He noticed her watching Mary in the kitchen. Though the woman wore loose sweatpants and a sweatshirt, her body was still noticeable. Fredrick noticed Selene watching the woman with interest.

“Hey,” he said. “We've got a job to do.”

She turned away. “Just because your mind's always in the gutter does not mean...” she muttered to herself.

He could hear Mary in the kitchen, getting out mugs and filling them up. He listened for anything else, a sign of someone else there. He heard nothing.

She brought in three mugs of steaming coffee and set them on the dusty glass coffee table. She hesitated. “I'm sorry, I forgot to ask if you wanted crea-”

“It's fine,” Selene said, taking a cup. She even managed to crack a smile, though it looked more menacing than comforting.

At least she was trying, Frederick thought. “Thank you, ma'am. Please, sit,” he said, motioning to a faded blue lazyboy chair.

Mary sat, taking a cup for herself and sipping at it. She looked down into the black liquid.

“What happened?” Selene asked.

Mary gulped. She sipped at her coffee.

Frederick followed her example. It tasted burnt but he didn't mind. Something smelled...wrong. It seemed to come from the kitchen. Mary kept glancing that way.

“I saw...something. I-I wasn't even sure I believed it until...” She took a deep breath. “I should hurry, in case he wakes up....”

“Someone's here?” Selene asked, eyes widening.

Frederick frowned. With his ears, he'd be able to hear someone even just breathing in the bedroom. That, along with the smell...”Vampire,” he growled, standing.

Selene put a hand on his arm.

He looked down, muscles tensing.

“Sit,” she said.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could feel the change, feel the beast wanting to come out. Not now. He sat and looked at Mary. “I...apologize.”

“No need,” Mary whispered. “I saw a police man...in uniform. He was in an alleyway and he...he bit this girl right on the neck. She bled everywhere and he...it looked like he was drinking it. I wouldn't have believed it if...if they hadn't shown up last night. They...threatened me. One...stayed over.” She gave a shuddering breath. “He's still here. They all think...think I'm too scared to do or say anything...” She looked down at the coffee cup shaking in her hands.

“You're braver than you know,” Selene said. “To call us and meet us with one still here? That takes courage.”

“I just want them out of my life,” Mary said. “I don't have much to pay you...”

Selene frowned but Frederick shook his head. “Whatever you can give will be enough.” Selene gave him a look but Frederick didn't care. They couldn't leave this woman to be preyed on by blood-sucking leeches. He stood up.

“Do you have garlic?”

In a few minutes, Frederick stood next to the bed. Curtains covered the windows, making the room dark. A pale naked man lay on the bed, sleeping.

“Get ready,” Frederick said.

Selene stood next a window, hand on the curtain. Mary waited in the living room, just to be safe.

Frederick held chopped garlic in his hand. He opened the sleeping man's mouth and shoved the garlic inside.

The man screamed into Fredrick's palms, his eyes wide. Smoke seeped out from between Frederick's fingers.

The man struggled, grasping at Frederick's arms but unable to move them. Vampires were weak in the day time.

“Shut up,” Frederick said.

The man stopped shrieking, whimpering instead.

“You're going to tell us where your nest is.”

The man nodded.

Frederick pulled his hand away.

The man spat out the garlic into the bed, dry heaving and spitting up blood. The man wiped his mouth and glared. “You're going to pay for that,” he hissed. “You don't know who-”

Selene threw the curtain back. Sunlight poured onto the man.

He shrieked, curling up, body beginning to smoke. It smelled toxic, like rotting burning flesh.

Selene pulled the curtain into place, blocking out the sun.

The screaming died down. The vampire shivered.

Frederick gripped the man by the throat. “Where is your nest?”

The man's eyes widened in realization. “You're one of them,” he gasped. “A Beast...”

Frederick's grip tightened. “Where. Is. Your. Nest.”

“24 Lexington st,” the man choked out.

Frederick looked at Selene and nodded.

“Wait-”

Selene opened the curtain while Frederick held the vampire down until he was gone.

“Mary,” Frederick called, leaving the bedroom.

Selene watched where the vampire lay, now only ashes, and took a deep breath before following her partner.

“You need to leave,” Frederick said. “Is there anywhere you can go? Friends, family, the farther away the better. Hopefully, only for a couple days.”

Mary licked her lips, wringing her hands. “My-my mothers. It's two hours from here.”

“Good. Pack a bag and go there, as soon as you can.”

“What-What's going on?”

Frederick gripped her wrists gently. “The man in your bedroom is gone. He will not hurt you again. The others are still out there. Until we take care of them, you need to go somewhere safe.”

Back in the car, Frederick sat in the driver's seat. He turned on the car and put the gear in drive when Selene gripped his wrist.

He turned to her and noticed she was shaking. Her eyes were wide behind her glasses.

“Fred, tell me what the fuck is going on.”

He'd never seen her like this, without her tough exterior. “I told you about vampires.”

She threw up her hands. “No. You said there were such things where you came from. You never said anything about them being here.”

“I didn't know.”

She shook her head and looked away. “I've swallowed a lot of shit, Fred. I can accept some of it. That you're a werewolf, well, I've seen it with my own eyes. That you come from another world, like mine but with shapeshifters and vampires? That's a tall order but I can take it. But these...vampires? Here? Killing and drinking blood?” She shook her head again. “It's out of a fucking nightmare.”

Frederick turned to her. “If you're scared, I get it. If you want out, I understand,” he said in a soft voice. He knew exactly what he was doing.

She gave a fierce glare. “I am not afraid,” she snapped. “And if you think you're going to get rid of me that easy...” She stopped, making a noise of frustration. “I know what you're doing.”

He smirked. “You going soft on me, Selene?”

“Never. Just tell me everything.”

He shrugged and spoke as he drove. “I told you most everything. I do not know how I came here, only that I am here. It is similar to my own world...only more alive. It was the vampires that doomed my home. They are monsters who only live to feed and feast upon the living until there is nothing left. They perpetuate their numbers with a single bite. That is why my home dies, overrun by them. I had hoped never to see them again. To find them here...and as police officers? It bodes ill.”

Selene pulled out the pistol she kept in a shoulder holster underneath her business suit. She checked the ammo and snapped the clip back in. Back to business. Nothing disturbed her for long. On the outside, at least. “Well, let's fucking kill them then.”

He pulled up to a ratty two-story house, dulled yellow paint and windows covered by cardboard.

“They'll have guards.”

“Guards?”

“Vampires are slow and weak during the day. It's when they sleep. That's why the one back there was so easy to handle. This is their nest for the day. They wouldn't leave themselves undefended.”

“Who would guard a fucking blood-sucking vampire?”

“They find people, give them a taste of their blood, sweeter than any drug. One taste and the human's addicted for life. We called them the Devoted.” Frederick looked at his partner. “I didn't think you'd be so keen on killing them. Figured you'd want to get evidence against them, get them arrested, follow the law, you being a lawyer and all.”

“I know what things the Law can take handle. Blood-sucking vampires from another world ain't one of those things.”

Frederick nodded. “Let's get on with it, then.”

Selene slipped the gun into her purse as she got out of the car.

They walked up to the door and Frederick pounded on it. The sun hung high in the sky, not long after noon.

The knob turned and the door opened a couple inches, chain near the top cinching tight. A haggard face peered out.

Frederick saw red in the man's eyes and knew.

“Who the fuck are you?” The man asked.

Frederick threw his shoulder into the door, busting the chain off. It caught the man square in the nose, knocking him back. Frederick charged inside, grabbing the man and shoving him against the nearest wall.

“How many?” Frederick growled.

The man grunted, stunned.

Footsteps in the hall. A man turned the corner wearing only sweatpants but holding an uzi and swinging it up in their direction.

Selene was quicker. The gun kicked in her hand, gunshots ringing in the air. The man fell before he could fire a shot.

“Cops are going to be here quick after that,” Selene said, her eyes on the fallen man.

“Forget him, he's barely human.” Frederick gripped the man's head in his hands and slammed it against the wall until he collapsed. Frederick growled, changing. Fur sprouted all over. He grew taller, muscles bulging, face mutating into the visage of a wolf.

More footsteps. Frederick could hear them, tell where they were and where they were going.

“One from that way, two from the kitchen.” Frederick growled around long fangs. He went to the kitchen.

Two men came, pistols in hand. They fired, bad shaky shots but a couple hit Frederick. He didn't notice. He charged them, grabbing one in each clawed hand and hurling them against the wall. A couple quick movements, claws tearing open throats and guts and the Devoted fell, dying.

He heard a couple shots from Selene and a short burst of return fire. He found her and another dead man next to the stairs.

“We go up,” he growled. He heard no movement on the ground floor.

She nodded. Her eyes were wide with shock but she moved with ease, unhindered. It would hinder her later, he knew. Killing humans, even wretches beyond saving.

He headed up first, his ears twitching. He heard movement but it was slow. Bedsheets moving. The Devoted were dead, that only left the vampires.

They went to each bedroom. The men within struggled to stand and fight. Frederick ripped them apart. Selene kept an eye out. Sirens could be heard when they entered the last bedroom.

“Wait,” Selene said.

Frederick hesitated. The man before them stood, eyes half-closed, lips peeled back revealing fangs.

“What is it?” Frederick snarled.

“I recognize him,” Selene said. “Fuck, he works for Marlon.”

Marlon, the local crime boss, involved with vampires. Marlon hissed.

Frederick bit through his neck and let him vanish to ashes. “Let's go.” They rushed back through the home, now filled with bloody corpses and piles of ash. They raced to the car, Selene to the driver's seat.

Frederick compacted his large self into the passenger seat and changed back to human. He grabbed a black bag from the back as Selene took off, flashing lights in the rear view mirror.

“They're not following,” Selene said and smirked. “Will you put on some fucking clothes?”

“Working on it,” Frederick replied with a grin. He pulled sweatpants and a sweatshirt out of the bag and put them on.

They drove in silence for a few moments, the adrenaline burst fading, the realization of what they had just done hitting home.

“Marlon and vampires...” Selene said. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“Either the vampires are infesting organized crime or the crime boss himself is a vampire....who knows. It's not good.”

“No, it's fucking not.”

“It'd make sense though. Vampires like to insinuate themselves into the local organizations. Government, the police, positions of power. Organized crime has a lot of power.”

“Shit,” she swore. “This is big.”

“Yes,” he said. “It is.”

“This is a big fucking job.”

“And we're the only ones who can do it.”

Winter in Vermont

The Garden

(I took part in a flash fiction challenge, though technically I am putting up late, was supposed to be done by noon today and only 1500 words. Oh well, mine's 2500 words, guess I'm a rebel.

The challenge is here, by Chuck Wendig. It's basically this: Pick a number between 1-10 three times. I rolled a d10 using an online dice roller(I am a nerd). The numbers correspond to these choices in three corresponding aspects: Subgenre/Setting/Element.

My random picks?
Subgenre: Sword and Sorcery
Setting: At the Gates of the Garden of Eden
Element: A Talking Sword.

This is what I came up with.)



The Garden

The knight walked the pitted road alone. His armor no longer shined, covered in dried blood and mud. Black hair hung down to his shoulders, dirty and unkempt. He'd lost his helm long ago. He carried a sword, its tip dragging in the dirt.

"How can you be sure?" The sword asked.

"I believe it," the man replied.

"But you don't know. You can't."

"I do know. I have faith. That is enough."

"How do you know you'll make it? It has not been an easy road."

No, it had not. He'd faced hordes of dark men, monstrous beasts and turned death aside each and every time. "Like I said, I have faith."

"You really believe. You really trust in Him. After everything."

"Yes. After everything."

"How will you find it?"

"Faith. Faith, my old friend."

The man walked on, the sword silent. The land lay flat all around, dark and sandy. A hot wind blew dust about. The man covered his mouth with his hand and closed his eyes. It passed and he moved on.

"We've seen nothing for miles," the sword said. "Perhaps there is nothing left."

"Remnants. Vestiges of what we once were. Pieces that are not whole."

"Will never be whole."

The man shook his head. "We will be, again. There is always hope."

"Hope for what?"

"Salvation. For those of us left in this broken world."

A hut appeared in the distance, as the sun neared the horizon and the sky, always gray, grew darker. It stood, walled with gray brick scoured by ages of time. A light shone from the one window.

"We are close," the sword said. "Be wary."

"I will be faithful." He found the strength to pick up the sword and sheath it on his back. The door to hut stood strong and wooden. He pounded on it.

"Who be there?" A frail voice called. "These be evil times."

"A humble traveler, asking only shelter for the long night."

"Do you have anything to offer?"

"I have nothing."

The door creaked open, revealing a wizened old face. The old man peered curiously through a gap in the door. He took notice of the armor and the sword. "You look like one from ancient times."

"I follow an ancient path."

The door opened fully, revealing the one room shack within. A dusty table stood in the center, wooden cupboards against the wall and a cot in the corner.

"I don't have much but what I do have, I offer."

"You have my thanks."

The old man nodded and gestured to the table where two rickety chairs sat.

The knight took a seat as the elder walked around the home, opening the cupboards. He took out a bottle of brownish liquid, sloshing about. He grabbed two glasses and set everything upon the table.

"I thank you but I do not drink liquor," the younger said.

The old man halted, muttering to himself. He went back to the cupboards and pulled out another pitcher. This of water. He poured the liquor in one glass and water in the other. He slid the water glass over to the other man.

The knight took it and drank. "I thank you."

The old man took a seat across the table and drank from his own glass. "Are you a knight?"

"Yes."

"You truly do follow an ancient path, then, one long forgotten in this world. What does a knight do, in a world so lost in darkness?"

"Bring light to the darkness. Seek forgiveness and salvation. Believe."

"Believe?" The old man snapped, drinking more. He cackled. "Believe? You are a fool!"

The knight put the glass down. "If I have offended you, I will seek shelter elsewhere."

The old man chuckled at that. "There is no other shelter here." He shook his head. "Stay. I have not had company in a very long time. Tell me, knight, what do you seek? The Holy Grail?" The old man smiled as if he'd made a joke.

The knight finished the water in his glass. "I seek no holy relic, only a holy place where I can finally rest."

"You seek a temple?"

The knight shook his head. "I will know it when I find it."

The old man, in gray rags and long ragged white hair, smiled a toothless grin. "You search the wrong way. There is nothing up this road but death. Go back the way you came, I tell you."

The knight shook his head. "I must keep on as I am."

The elder nodded. "Very well." He stood and picked up the water pitcher. "Let me refill your glass." He walked around the table.

The other man put his glass down as the elder walked over. The old man threw the water into the knight's face.

The knight's head snapped back.

The old man thrust a dagger at the other man's neck.

The knight caught the wrist, twisting it away.

The pitcher crashed against the knight's head, knocking him over and out of his chair.

He rolled, standing, lights flashing in his eyes.

The old man came on.

The sword flashed out in the knight's hand, knocking dagger and pitcher away. He held the point of the blade against the old man's neck.

"Yield!" The knight called.

The old man hesitated.

"Adam," the knight said, his voice soft and low, vision clearing. "Yield or die."

Adam sighed and raised his arms. "I yield."

The knight sheathed his sword.

Adam gestured to the table. "Shall we break bread and talk?"

The knight nodded.

Adam went to the cupboards and brought out a loaf of bread. He brought it to the table and broke it in half.

The knight sat, accepting half a loaf.

"We tried to come back," Adam said, nibbling at a piece of bread. "We knew we couldn't go back, just as you cannot go there...but we tried. Just as you will try, and fail."

"I will not fail. You guard it now?"

"I suppose we do. What do you expect to find? Paradise?" Adam laughed without mirth. "You will not find that."

"I do not search for paradise."

"You seek the Garden. You are close but the way, the way is perilous."

"Is Eve here, too, then?"

Adam nodded, his eyes heavy with sadness. "The most beautiful woman. The only woman. We tried to come back." His voice filled with regret, he looked ready to cry. "I would cry but I have no more tears left. I have cried for all that I have done, all the sorrow I have wrought. I have no more tears left."

The knight ate in silence.

"You should kill him," the sword spoke.

Adam's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Your sword speaks? The voice...it sounds familiar." Adam stared at the weapon. "Who is it?"

"That is none of your concern," the knight said.

"You should kill him and abandon this quest," the sword said. "The pathetic man is right. You will not find salvation."

"What?" Adam asked, standing up. "It cannot be true! A human believes where an angel does not?" He burst into laughter.

The knight finished his bread and stood. "I will seek shelter elsewhere," he said and headed for the door.

"He abandoned us, knight!" Adam called out. "You will not find Him!"'

The knight left the old man bent over, cackling with laughter.

Night had fallen, pitch black and thick. The knight walked along the road, leaving the hut behind.

"You will not sleep this night?" The sword asked.

"I will walk. We are close."

"You will do no good if you get yourself killed."

"You forget, you always forget. My faith protects me."

Silence held the air as the man walked, boots crunching dirt.

"You are a good man," the sword broke the silence. "I am glad you are the one who found me. I hope you find what you are looking for."

The knight gripped the handle of the blade. "He forsake us for our sins and left us to destroy ourselves. We did so and now we are left, broken and bleeding. He did not believe we deserved saving. I will show Him we can be pure of heart and mind, we can be saved. I will ask for forgiveness, for all of us. And he will give us salvation."

The sword did not answer.

The knight kept on, his muscles drained and his body exhausted. The sun rose, lightening the dull gray sky and illuminating the flat plain around him. The road led on, empty and lifeless. The air around him seemed to thicken. Each step felt harder to take than the last until it seemed he walked through water. Haze obfuscated the land around him, blurry and distant. His vision grew distorted, colors swirling, mixing, spreading, growing.

"What manner of trick is this?" He asked, spitting out the words, sounding shaken.

"I know not, but it is dangerous. Do not..." The sword's voice faded from his mind.

His feet no longer touched the ground. His body fell miles.

He forgot.

He opened his eyes. He lay on a bed in a white room underneath white blankets. Pain was gone. Exhaustion was gone. He struggled to remember. Why would he be in pain? Why would he be exhausted? He realized he was naked in the bed and looked for clothes around the room, but there were none. No sword, either. Why did he think of a sword? He had no need of a sword. This place felt safe, peaceful.

He pushed himself to sit up and the door swung open. Had there even been a door before...His thoughts stopped abruptly as a beautiful woman walked in, wearing nothing but a flimsy black robe. Long and flowing brown hair fell down her back, her eyes not pools but oceans of blue you could drown in and she flashed a radiant smile at him.

"You're up," she said, her voice as beautiful as her body, light and magical.

"Yes but..." He frowned. "Something's wrong..."

"Don't worry," she said. "I'll join you in bed. We can forget about everything, here."

"No, wait." His cheeks flushed red. “We can't-”

She pulled the robe apart. “Why can't we?”

He closed his eyes. "No, something...this...this is wrong."

"Then why does it feel so right?" She whispered, coming closer.

He felt her sliding into the bed, getting close to him. He slid away, falling to the floor in his haste. "I cannot." He remembered...something. "I've taken an oath."

"Oaths were made to be broken. Trust me, I know."

"No," he said, standing. "I'm sorry but I need my clothes. I need to leave. Now."

"You are a fool." Her voice changed.

He turned as she threw herself from the bed, stabbing him in the side with a dagger. Her hair turned filthy white, her face wrinkled and her eyes black. Her voice blazed with anger.

"Fool!" She screamed.

With a roar he grabbed her arms and threw her away. He stumbled back, clutching at the dagger. "Eve!" He howled, pulling the dagger out and throwing it at her. The world fell away into darkness.

He remembered.

"Wake up!" The sword called. "She's going to kill you!"

The knight awoke, laying on the ground. He wore his armor and his sword but felt blood gushing from his side. He pushed himself up, side spiking in pain. A shriek hurtled through the air and he saw her, dark and old, floating in the air. She looked as she had in the dream at the end, hair white, skin stretched and wrinkled, eyes oozing darkness. She raised a hand and fire flew from her fingertips.

The knight dove to the side, fireball exploding behind him. He ducked another and threw himself back from a third. His body, still weary, seemed slow to respond. He felt burns across his open skin.

Eve screamed and flew at him, fingers extended, claws reaching for him. He turned but too slow. She raked his face bloody. He hit the ground hard.

"Give up!" She screamed like a banshee. "Give up and live!"

"You couldn't forgive yourself, could you Eve?" The knight called out, standing up. "You couldn't ask for forgiveness for your sin. It's eaten at you all this time, turning you to this wretched thing."

Eve snarled like a beast, throwing another ball of flame.

The knight stood tall, open armed and let it strike his armor. It billowed around him but did not harm him, though the metal warmed up. He drew his sword as she threw another. The blade struck it and sent it back. She barely dodged the explosion.

"Let's kill the bitch," the sword said.

"For once, we agree," the knight said, taking steps forward. He ignored the pain in his side, the ache in his muscles and the sheer exhaustion he felt. He strove towards the witch.

Eve threw visions but he saw through them, she threw lies yet he saw truth. She summoned up beasts and he slew them.

He reached her. She looked tired, barely able to stand, arms raised but doing nothing. Her face sagged and her eyes were wide in fright. "You will not find what you seek! You will only find death!"

"Yield," he said. "And I will spare your life."

She smiled. "Never," she spat, eyes twinkling as if she knew something he didn't.

"Behind!" The sword called and the knight turned without questioning, swinging the sword.

The witch's head hit the ground and rolled as the body crumpled to dust. Darkness swirled around the knight and then dissipated, revealing a dark forest with a lone dirt path leading through it.

The knight walked the path. Blood left a trail behind him. He pulled off his breastplate and let it fall to the side of the path. The side of his shirt felt patchy with blood. He said nothing. The sword said nothing.

The man's breath caught at the sight of the gate. It stood, looming over him, its height above the trees of the forest. A dark wall extended from the gate in both directions as far as the eye could see. The gate itself was made of golden bars, bright and polished...No, that wasn't right. There were spots of rust here and there along the gate, the brightness dimmed in spots. Still, it was an impressive sight.

"We made it," the man said.

The sword said nothing.

He frowned as the two giant sides of the gate stood ajar, leaving a gap wide enough for him to fit through. He had expected it to be closed, to open at his touch...

"It's not for me to question," he whispered, stepping through the gate.

His feet faltered and he fell to his knees. The view shocked him. The ground looked ancient and dusty, nothing but old dirt and dead foliage. The trees stood tall but their limbs were bare. Many had fallen, not to an axe but to rot. Bones littered the earth. Bones of every kind of animal the man could think of. So many bones, all over. So much death.

A wail escaped him. Everything welled up and poured out. He clutched his bleeding side and fell, weeping. A cold wind blew but nothing in the Garden moved.

The man pushed himself to stand. He unsheathed his sword.

"Don't do this," the sword said.

"I have nothing left," the man said. He put the point of the blade against the left side of his chest and both hands on the grip. He thrust the sword into his heart and fell.

Eventually, all that was left was his bones, the only human bones in the whole Garden, and the sword, lying at the gate.  

Sometimes, Doing Nothing Is A Good Thing

As I sit on the bus back to boston, I have to reflect on my time passed at man-camp. Man-camp is when a group of guys, friends and family, all get together on the top of this mountain at a little wooden cabin in the woods. I guess the question always asked is 'What do you do at man-camp?" The answer is "nothing." And that's the whole point.

Man-camp isn't about being 'manly', not really. I mean, we are out in the woods, using a woodfire, an outhouse, and having no electricity, but mancamp isn't about being manly. Its about...Well, I guess its about whatever you want it to be. You can do anything. You can do nothing.

There's not alot of times in your life when you can simply do nothing and feel good about. There's always pressures in the back of your mind. 'Oh I should do this' or 'I need to do this' so when you actually sit and do nothing, you feel guilty. Because you're not improving yourself or doing anything 'productive'. You're not watching the next new exciting tv show or playing the super cool video game with peers. You're not even consuming entertainment or the media, you're not even watching the news, or reading a book. You're doing nothing, and doing nothing makes you feel guilty.

But doing nothing is important. We all have our ways of 'doing nothing' whether its reality tv, vegetative video games, or putting on a sports game and falling asleep. When we do nothing, we can relax. With these little methods, we can tell ourselves we're doing something so that we don't feel guilty for doing absolutely nothing. Again, doing nothing is important. You can relax. You can not worry about everything for a little while. You can just sit and think, veg out. Sit back and just...do nothing.

And man-camp is all about that. It's a weekend where you do nothing. You may 'shoot the shit' with your buddies or even shoot guns in the distance, or maybe improve the cabin a little bit but essentially you're doing nothing. Because thats the point. It's a place where you can go and do nothing for two days and feel good about it. You can sit on the porch and look at the landscape. You can take a nap an hour after you get up in the morning and that's fine. You can read an old magazine or an old book, you can listen to the radio in the background, not caring what's playing, you can sit in front of the fire with your feet up, drinking coffee or beer and not even know what time it is.

You can forget about emails or calls, there's no service up there. You can forget about meetings and future deals and problems and situations you need to figure out. You can put everything aside for a few days and just do nothing. And after two days of doing nothing, you usually feel pretty good about everything, even if there's trouble or problems you know are coming. You can deal with them. Why? Because you got to do nothing, you had a bit of time to not worry about anything and suddenly, things don't seem so bad as they were, you get that feeling problems will be solved, they always are, you just have to work on them.

It's nice to be disconnected. From society. From the internet, the social networks. It's nice to be on your own out in the middle of nowhere, not worrying about who might be texting you or sending you an email. You realize all that shit can wait, at least for a night or two because that shit doesn't really matter. What matters is who you spend your time with, not who you chat with on facebook.

On the ride back to civilization, I turned on my phone and immediately I felt connected again. Plugged in. Emails popped up. Texts came in. Missed calls. Voicemails. I immediately felt like I was back into the whole web of things. Which isn't a bad thing. Being connected with others is a good thing. I just think it is nice to go off by yourself or with a few others once in awhile and just talk or relax or watch the fire or the landscape or what it all is. It's nice to feel free from pressure for a little while. But only for a little while. Only as a break. You need those pressures, those problems to arise because you need to move forward, you need to solve those problems, you need to figure out what you're going to do, you need all those things to improve yourself but giving yourself a break for a short time is never a bad thing. We all need breaks. It's what I tell my students all the time. If things are overwhelming, if you're getting frustrated about something, just take a break. Take a short walk, grab a drink of water and cool off. Sometimes you just need to get your mind off the math problems, take a quick refresher and then dive back into it.

It's like when we used to go camping. I love going camping up in the woods, no electricity. You spend your time eating, relaxing by the fire, maybe taking a walk or a swim, just enjoying the scenery. You don't have to worry about bills or money, you can just enjoy doing nothing.

But now I'm back. My break is over. It seemed like it went by really fast. It's amazing how fast time flies when you're not doing anything. So now, like I said, I have to figure out what the hell I'm doing with my life.

It seems I have to get a graduate's degree earlier than I thought. I'd been hoping to get a full-time teaching job for a couple years, save up some money and then get it but it seems awfully hard to get a job without one. In the programs I'm looking at, I'll be getting an initial licensure rather than the 'preliminary' one I have now, which I think would also give me a better chance. It would be more advanced.

Here's the thing, there's three programs I'm looking at. Master's in Secondary Education would mean teaching English 9-12. I would like that but another program would be Master's in Middle School Education which would be grades 5-8 and I think I would like that better, at least at first, because I think the middle grades might be easier than the older grades, so maybe I would work up to the older grades later in my career or I might end up completely happy teaching middle school english. One thing about middle school is it varies so much school to school. In some schools, middle school teachers teach every subject, others two subjects and others, just one subject. I need to look into the program more but most likely I would get licensed to only teach english 5-8, which may or may not limit my job opportunities.

THe third option is Master's in Special Education: MOderate Disabilities. I do like my job now, working in special education. I know it is alot of paperwork and I know it is alot of hard work. I could see myself as a special ed. teacher and I do see more special ed teacher openings than english teacher openings so it would likely make it easier getting a full-time teaching position.

Now, there's also the fact I'd have to be taking classes while working and I'd be adding to my debt, but it seems like something I have to do. The priority deadline for applying to UMASS Boston, which is one of the colleges I'm currently looking at is March 1st so I do need to 'get my shit together', as the saying goes. It's just hard. Hard knowing that as I barely pay the bills with my low-paying job, I'm going to be adding to my debt and will be sacrificing free time during the week and weekends towards more schooling.

Anyways, that's all for now.

P.S. My brother Morgan was right and I was wrong. I made a silly bet so I had to put this here. End of story.

Writing Like A Madman

I've done something foolish. Crazy. Insane. Committed myself to something I can't honestly hope to succeed. 2500 words a day in February. That's almost 1000 more words a day than I wrote in November and November is my most (if not only) productive month of the year. I can really churn out the words in November because I throw myself into it, writing every spare second I have, and barely make the quota as it is. Now, well, now I'll just have to try harder, writing writing writing. Writing anything and everything that I can. See, that's the only good part about this deal. What I write can be anything. Doesn't have to be one continuous novel, doesn't have to be the sequel I worked on last November, it can be anything. Blog posts, short stories, new novels...hell, it could be essays on the contemporary novels of America if I wanted. I can do anything.

Which is great. I've never really tried to use the Nanowrimo system of writing for anything other than novel-writing but it seems like a good idea to really get me cooking, if you know what I mean. It will force me to churn out words to such a degree that maybe I'll actually finish the story ideas I have in my head. Like the cyberpunk concious-swapping secret agent story, or the couple-in-a-new-house horror idea that's been lurking in my brainpan for awhile. I can do anything. And churning out 2500 words? I'm going to be writing stories, finishing them like crazy and working on new stories. The best part? I can write blog posts about the whole experieince and those words will count too. Hey, maybe I can actually beat Nate for once. We'll see.

So I'm going to write like a madman for a month and see what happens. I guess one hard part will be decided what to work on first. I'll just have to pick something and run with it because I don't have time to dillydally or argue with myself. Just get up and go. Sometimes, that's a really good attitude to have. Sometimes, you just have to try the impossible to see how close you can come to achieving it. We'll see how much of my sanity remains in tact on March 1st.

Good luck and good writing. (PS. 398 words down so far)