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I have a first readers group set up for sharing my fiction and such with friends for the purpose of being first readers. I have just posted to it. If you can't see this weeks writing entry and you want to be in this filter please tell me. I am looking for feedback on some things I am writing and some of them will be submitted places so I kind of want to keep it down to some trusted first readers. On things I have no intention of ever submitting somewhere, I will keep posting those in a more open way.
All in all a good weekend was had. Did some lazy, did some busy and slept well as well. I have to admit going back to work was not something I looked forward to. I feel like I just stepped back in the quicksand. Oh well I have still felt creative though so I am taking advantage of that. I am trying to write podcast scripts and plot submissions and story ideas and various other things.
My heart is less focused right now. I find myself lonely a lot lately. More so than usual for me. I guess I feel needy or something. I just feel cold and depressed lately and it only seems to lesson when I have someone i can talk to. Does that make me a nut? probably. I do find myself standing alone in the dark lately. It also seems like I am not the only one who feels that way.
Maybe I will feel better tomorrow. I seem to be saying that much these days but I do still hope.
My heart is less focused right now. I find myself lonely a lot lately. More so than usual for me. I guess I feel needy or something. I just feel cold and depressed lately and it only seems to lesson when I have someone i can talk to. Does that make me a nut? probably. I do find myself standing alone in the dark lately. It also seems like I am not the only one who feels that way.
Maybe I will feel better tomorrow. I seem to be saying that much these days but I do still hope.
I went to go see Saving Private Ryan when it first came out. I can remember noticing when the film stopped no one talked. No one gave the usual commentary on what they just saw. They were just deathly quietly. I remember crying at the end watching the old man ask his wife if he had been a good man, essentially was he worth the price that was paid for him. I remember the first sequence made me feel undefinable ill. I hadn't watched it since. Some films you watch over and over. Some you watch once.
ABC showed it tonight with out editing for content. I say bravo to that. Though they did put commercials in which was a bit jarring at times I must admit. I chose to watch it and I have to admit it did the same to me as last time. I cant help but think of my grandpa who is now dead. he fought in Europe as well. I know he was at the bulge. I know he liberated a camp. I know he would never talk about any of it. He had a chest of stuff he had from back then. We were never supposed to go through it. The only reason I knew anything about his experience was through my dad and it was sparse knowledge at that. Grandpa died a year or two before Saving Private Ryan came out. I always wondered what he would have thought of it or even if he could have stood to watch it.
My other grandfather, a taciturn and somewhat bitter man, was in china during the war. He has told me of some of his experiences. He built radio towers and air strips while there. Apparently they put up the engineers in a hotel in town when there was an incident in the barracks involving sappers. He has things he had gotten then still. A beautiful robe of silk. I silver ornate and complex pipe which he swears he only smoked tobacco, though it was meant for other things. He has pictures he took of the forbidden city and the army manual for speaking the language. His experience I guess was less traumatic. He was not in combat. He did not have to see the ultimate cruelty of man. Though he had his pains earlier in life. I know he was abused. I know he parents died when he was young and lived with foster parents. He is not a pleasant man. He was abusive in words and sometimes in actions. I love him though. It is like having Hemingway as your grandfather. If you catch him in the right mood you can hear such stories. Him living in New Orleans and going out on a pirot with a cajun weekend to go fishing. Working for the NRC. Working on the Apollo project. Building one of the early portable dialysis machines for a sick friend. He had a hell of a life.
I will often lamented the fact that I will never be as interesting as the people in my family. I have always been something of a disappointment. I had potential unfulfilled. It was never a matter of being incapable of doing better merely that I did not.
Well I suppose that is rambling enough.
Night folks.
TechNoir
ABC showed it tonight with out editing for content. I say bravo to that. Though they did put commercials in which was a bit jarring at times I must admit. I chose to watch it and I have to admit it did the same to me as last time. I cant help but think of my grandpa who is now dead. he fought in Europe as well. I know he was at the bulge. I know he liberated a camp. I know he would never talk about any of it. He had a chest of stuff he had from back then. We were never supposed to go through it. The only reason I knew anything about his experience was through my dad and it was sparse knowledge at that. Grandpa died a year or two before Saving Private Ryan came out. I always wondered what he would have thought of it or even if he could have stood to watch it.
My other grandfather, a taciturn and somewhat bitter man, was in china during the war. He has told me of some of his experiences. He built radio towers and air strips while there. Apparently they put up the engineers in a hotel in town when there was an incident in the barracks involving sappers. He has things he had gotten then still. A beautiful robe of silk. I silver ornate and complex pipe which he swears he only smoked tobacco, though it was meant for other things. He has pictures he took of the forbidden city and the army manual for speaking the language. His experience I guess was less traumatic. He was not in combat. He did not have to see the ultimate cruelty of man. Though he had his pains earlier in life. I know he was abused. I know he parents died when he was young and lived with foster parents. He is not a pleasant man. He was abusive in words and sometimes in actions. I love him though. It is like having Hemingway as your grandfather. If you catch him in the right mood you can hear such stories. Him living in New Orleans and going out on a pirot with a cajun weekend to go fishing. Working for the NRC. Working on the Apollo project. Building one of the early portable dialysis machines for a sick friend. He had a hell of a life.
I will often lamented the fact that I will never be as interesting as the people in my family. I have always been something of a disappointment. I had potential unfulfilled. It was never a matter of being incapable of doing better merely that I did not.
Well I suppose that is rambling enough.
Night folks.
TechNoir
I feel like slightly out of focus. Like a bad image of the real me. As if there were such a thing. I am tired and depressed. My heart is not in it.
A depressing song playing the back ground as I look out my window. The view, in the real, is of the police station in Cobb county. I can see of the back of the place with it's single door. I like to imagine a desperate escape. A prisoners mad dash ending there in a spectacle of violence as the flag flaps in the breeze.
Of course it is not dark out. the sky is black, but the lights are bright. Street lights. Neon lights of the restaurant across the street from the police station. The white spot of the police station turned inward, star of it's own boring show.
In the light, all detail is clear. I can see the mortar lines in the brick. I can see the worn metal trim and the cameras lining the roof. Every detail fascinating only because it is a detail. My adled head seeking imagery to play with.
I guess I am given to obscure distractions when depressed. Why I decided to share this stream of thought, I cannot say really. Least I didn't reveal any of the big secret. Only I am not myself this week. Maybe i can be someone else for a while.
TechNoir
Slaying my Own Unicorns
A depressing song playing the back ground as I look out my window. The view, in the real, is of the police station in Cobb county. I can see of the back of the place with it's single door. I like to imagine a desperate escape. A prisoners mad dash ending there in a spectacle of violence as the flag flaps in the breeze.
Of course it is not dark out. the sky is black, but the lights are bright. Street lights. Neon lights of the restaurant across the street from the police station. The white spot of the police station turned inward, star of it's own boring show.
In the light, all detail is clear. I can see the mortar lines in the brick. I can see the worn metal trim and the cameras lining the roof. Every detail fascinating only because it is a detail. My adled head seeking imagery to play with.
I guess I am given to obscure distractions when depressed. Why I decided to share this stream of thought, I cannot say really. Least I didn't reveal any of the big secret. Only I am not myself this week. Maybe i can be someone else for a while.
TechNoir
Slaying my Own Unicorns
Tags:
it is a preasure I brought on my self.
the problem is I cant not try at this. I have been a gamer geek to long. I got in my head to enter. Now I am going slowly mad trying to get it "just right".
the contest:http://www.wizards.com/dnd/
My words come and go like the tide. Sometimes I cant help but say or write the right thing. At other times it is like everything I write sounds like crap and I want to pull my hair out. The world I want to show is clear in my head....but doing it in this format....with only one page to say what is cool here, I am banging mead against the wall.
Sigh back to the grindstone for me.
TechNoir
the problem is I cant not try at this. I have been a gamer geek to long. I got in my head to enter. Now I am going slowly mad trying to get it "just right".
the contest:http://www.wizards.com/dnd/
My words come and go like the tide. Sometimes I cant help but say or write the right thing. At other times it is like everything I write sounds like crap and I want to pull my hair out. The world I want to show is clear in my head....but doing it in this format....with only one page to say what is cool here, I am banging mead against the wall.
Sigh back to the grindstone for me.
TechNoir
Tags:
Bus Stations
On my recent journey got to visit several bus Stations. I started in atlanta. My lack of forsight cost me making the bus I wanted. I show up 20 minutes early but there is a line and their computers are down. The net result of course is I miss my bus. My brother is expecting me at a time I will not be there. I have to catch the next bus a few hours later. Time to kill in the bus station. I pull out an R.A. Salvator novel I have been working through for a while. I actually like the writing. His story lacks focus or direction but he is a good wordsmith with an entertaining charicter or two to play with. Of course I am distracted by the Schrek playing on the cracked moniter suspended from the cealing. There is a surreal quality to that movie playing with the collection of riff raff at the bus station. The man with one ugly tooth smiles at me and waves. I pretend to be iritable to notice. The movie is of course funny and people laugh. A guarded laugh. It is like no one wants to be noticed. Dont mind me. I am sitting here pretending to be part of the fiberglass seat. Atlanta is a sad place of a bus station
Birmingham.
The birming ham station we hit in the early morning. It is a cleaner place. It seems more inviting though it has a touch of the please dont notice me dispair that pervaded the Atlanta station. All and all a nice hour spent as I finished my book.
Nashville.
4 Waylay is the first indication I had that an old larp buddy was there. He was coming from Ohio to Atlanta and I was on my way to my brothers. Simple timing managed to improve my mood. He and I spoke breifly then went to our respective transports. I sat on my bus watching minonites(sp?) we had picked up at an earlier stop shooting the breeze with a you black man as he smoked. His T-shirt was an image of Tu Pac Shakur. I wonder what he and these deliberate rustics had in common. What point of reference did they share?
waverly junction
My brother is waiting. His voice comes in staccato bursts as he talks about work and ask's me how life is going. It is nice to be near family again. Dads death is almost a year gone now but is awkward to be in Waverly again. I almost expect to go to the funeral home and see him still lying peaceful in state. I am still angry I guess. The kids leave with my brothers first wife soon after I arrive. I wish I could have spent more time with them. I dont want to be a stranger to them.
Well I got to drive back and it is nice. I like dads old car. It runs well and there is something of him in it.
I arrive in Chattavegas and spend the next few days working on getting my car registered in my name and hanging with old friends. I needed it. I even talked Cam with folks. I hate the politics in the club, but I did miss the people
and back to work......
TechNoir
On my recent journey got to visit several bus Stations. I started in atlanta. My lack of forsight cost me making the bus I wanted. I show up 20 minutes early but there is a line and their computers are down. The net result of course is I miss my bus. My brother is expecting me at a time I will not be there. I have to catch the next bus a few hours later. Time to kill in the bus station. I pull out an R.A. Salvator novel I have been working through for a while. I actually like the writing. His story lacks focus or direction but he is a good wordsmith with an entertaining charicter or two to play with. Of course I am distracted by the Schrek playing on the cracked moniter suspended from the cealing. There is a surreal quality to that movie playing with the collection of riff raff at the bus station. The man with one ugly tooth smiles at me and waves. I pretend to be iritable to notice. The movie is of course funny and people laugh. A guarded laugh. It is like no one wants to be noticed. Dont mind me. I am sitting here pretending to be part of the fiberglass seat. Atlanta is a sad place of a bus station
Birmingham.
The birming ham station we hit in the early morning. It is a cleaner place. It seems more inviting though it has a touch of the please dont notice me dispair that pervaded the Atlanta station. All and all a nice hour spent as I finished my book.
Nashville.
4 Waylay is the first indication I had that an old larp buddy was there. He was coming from Ohio to Atlanta and I was on my way to my brothers. Simple timing managed to improve my mood. He and I spoke breifly then went to our respective transports. I sat on my bus watching minonites(sp?) we had picked up at an earlier stop shooting the breeze with a you black man as he smoked. His T-shirt was an image of Tu Pac Shakur. I wonder what he and these deliberate rustics had in common. What point of reference did they share?
waverly junction
My brother is waiting. His voice comes in staccato bursts as he talks about work and ask's me how life is going. It is nice to be near family again. Dads death is almost a year gone now but is awkward to be in Waverly again. I almost expect to go to the funeral home and see him still lying peaceful in state. I am still angry I guess. The kids leave with my brothers first wife soon after I arrive. I wish I could have spent more time with them. I dont want to be a stranger to them.
Well I got to drive back and it is nice. I like dads old car. It runs well and there is something of him in it.
I arrive in Chattavegas and spend the next few days working on getting my car registered in my name and hanging with old friends. I needed it. I even talked Cam with folks. I hate the politics in the club, but I did miss the people
and back to work......
TechNoir
Tags:
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