Tag Archives: Creative writing

The Summoning – A Silly Short Story – Competition Winner!


 

 

Recently I entered a  writing competition  put on by a fellow writer over at her self-titled  blog  Ksenia Anske   She has a massive following with a growing collection of  self-published novels. She’s  a great writer. But don’t take my word for it. Check her out.

Anyways, I entered this contest on a whim and for a challenge. I didn’t expect to win really. But I said what the hell, it will be good for me. I need a kick in the ass every once in while to get me writing the way I should. So I entered. The criteria for the contest was to write a 800 -1000 Word story. And not just any story. It had to be funny and it hand to contain the following.   It had to have something do with magic and you had to reference five things:  a tutu, beer flavored lollipops, an elephant,  a Breathalyzer, a brick and a purse.   YES, no easy task in 1000 Words.

But I did it.  I entered and I won on top of that!  So please take a moment and read my short story below. Also check out the other competitors stories here as well.

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Pentacle

The Summoning 

 

 

This was a fuckery of the highest magnitude as her grandmother used to say.  The demon was too damn powerful to hold it in the circle for much longer.

He (and I say he loosely because you never really know for sure) was wearing a fedora with a raven’s feather stuck into it. She saw two small horns sticking out through either side of the hat. Silk black pants and a red silk shirt, with oddly enough a small yellow smiley face button pinned to it that simply read “Shit Happens” finished his ensemble. And boy was he handsome. He smiled at them as he had been doing for the last thirty minutes not saying a word. She could feel him pushing at the boundaries of the trap that had been setup in their backyard, testing for a weakness and still sucking on that damn lollipop.

There were no weaknesses.

Susie, one of her other sisters in the coven, had done a beautiful job with the lawnmower. The cut patch of grass was a perfect cut circle with another design of a pentagram cut within and then traced with human blood (their own of course).  Other rune symbols ran near the inside perimeter of the circle and within the pentagram itself.  A weed-wacker and hedge clippers had been used for the smaller symbols.

I wondered idly what flavor lollipop the demon was sucking on.

“Margaret! Stop your day dreaming and shore up your point.”

“Yes, Mother,” Margaret said, looking over out across the circle at the woman she called Mother, who was not her truly her Mother at all.  Mother was naked as the day she was born wearing only a silver necklace which held at the end of it a ruby as red as blood which dangled between her breasts.  Margaret was naked as well, along with her three Sisters who all wore the very same necklace.  Each of them stood just outside at one of the five points where the Pentagram touched the circle.  Margaret bent her will through the red jewel.

“Much better daughter. Be diligent. No meandering of the mind if we are to…”

“Its beer flavored my dear.” the demon said, interrupting the Mother.  “Pabst Blue Ribbon I believe. I do so love a good beer lollipop at a summoning.” The demon turned a wicked smile at Margaret and she shivered. He can read my mind?

“Well of course my dear witch. I wouldn’t be much of an all powerful demon if I couldn’t, now would I? In fact I am getting stronger by the second. Isn’t that right Mother, you feel it don’t you?” the demon said, sneering and turning to her in the circle.

“Shut up, you vile thing…” she started to stay before she couldn’t say any more since she had suddenly turned into an elephant, a small elephant mind you, but still an elephant.  And wearing a yellow tutu with pink polka dots.  It actually looked rather flattering.

Her other sisters were aghast.  Dark short haired little Susie’s eyes went wide and looked ready to run and leave the circle.  The two tall blonde twins, Monica and Harmonica, were besides themselves, both wringing their hands in unison. Margaret had to take charge of the situation. It was up to her now. She was the eldest next to Mother in the circle.

“It’s just an illusion sisters, be strong.  Repeat the binding incantation, now.”  Margaret knew the spell itself would do nothing more than it already had, but it would distract the sisters and give them a focus for the real power behind it. It was all about the will. Always.

“Thrice inter orbis, reus subsido totus, malum pessum…”  they all began to chant together.

Which essentially meant get the hell back in your cage you evil piece of shit…more or less.

Mother suddenly popped back into view, gone was the small elephant and tutu. Margaret found herself missing the little elephant already; it had actually been an improvement as far as she was concerned.

“Thank you daughter for your strength, you others had best take lessons.”

Margaret couldn’t help but swell with a little bit of pride from the compliment. She was thinking being an elephant for a minute or two had taken the edge off her a bit.

“Oh, how I tire of this farce. Let’s be done already. And shut up already with that chanting.” The demon bemoaned, rolling his eyes with arms crossed.

Margaret suddenly found she couldn’t’ talk, as did her other sisters.  For they all had lollipops stuck in the mouths.  Beer flavored lollipops. They weren’t half bad actually.

“Mmm…mmm.”  Margaret tried to say to the demon.

“What’s that my dear I can’t quite hear you?” He smiled wickedly again.

Margaret spit out the lollipop. “Fuck you! By the way, I have something for you.” Margaret cleared her mind totally so the demon could not read it. She bent down and picked up her purse next to her feet.

“We have been saving this for just this moment.”

“What in the nine hells are you talking about witch!”

“Why this, my good handsome demon,” Margaret pulled from her purse a small white brick and held in front of her. “It’s a binding brick”, she said.

“Frances Sebastian Cavanaugh Cornelius Plumpkin, I command you to do our bidding.” with that she hurled the brick directly into the face of the demon hitting him squarely in his handsomely square jaw.

“You found my true name?” the demon whispered looking frightened for the first time.

“Yes Francis.” Margaret said as she smiled wickedly back.

Later that night the police left, being satisfied with the results from issuing all of them a breathalyzer test. It seemed a neighbor had called the cops, accusing them of being drunk and disorderly. They then pulled the oh-so-powerful demon out of the closet and got down to business to ask for some serious witch wishes.

 

BeerLollipops

 

By Philip Wardlow

 

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I was entered

 

 

Another World – A Poem


WaterGirl

 

Another World –

 

Always a flash she is,

the light  of the moon catching her at times

when I am out upon the dark deep waters

of the great sea.

I remember locking eyes with her once.

Just once.

A look which pulled at my soul.

A look of wanting, a look

of yearning to approach,

to be seen, to be known,

to be not so alone in

the darkness

below.

Fortune to find me,

but fate made us all fools to believe.

She another life force

beating in an alien world.

Where she dwells, I cannot go, nor can she

venture out.

Locked away in the skittering

of the waves

below.

Just as I am locked in the salt stung air above

never to mingle

never to dance

never to share

a kiss as

the need arises.

 

by Philip Wardlow  2014

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Power In Me – Excerpt of Short Story by Philip Wardlow


Power

The Power in Me

Three Ping Pong balls revolved in midair, each one following the other in a tight circle as they flew.

*

“I shouldn’t be able to be doing this, Carl!” she yelled at the bald little man sitting across the table from her in the dining room of her house. Carl was wearing a smug little grin on his face that annoyed the hell out of her. He was always full of himself, today more than usual. He obviously knew more than her. Shit! She was losing her concentration. One of the balls slipped out of it’s rotation and fell.

*

“True and not true,” Carl replied back glibly to her as he deftly caught the falling ball with his left hand, inches before it hit the table.

*

“What the hell is that supposed to mean!” she said, her eyes staring ahead at the two remaining balls still rotating in front of her. She thought of a figure eight, and immediately the balls begin to swirl in that configuration. It was equally cool and frightening at the same time, she thought, but Carl didn’t have to know that.

*

“Angela, you have taken to this extremely well. It seems you are a natural. I have to give our co-workers credit. They were betting you would do well the first time right out the gate. Not many can pull off even one ball this quickly, let alone three. Guess I will have to pay up when I get back to the office.” Carl chuckled to himself, rolling the little white ball he had caught back and forth between his hands on the dining room table still smiling at her smugly.

*

Angela took her eyes from the two remaining balls, which spun and looked directly at Carl.

*

“You mean there are others who can do this? Out with it, Carl, I’m sick of the games. You’ve been playing them too long, first with my husband, now with me. Be straight for once, or for god sakes I’ll shove these balls down your goddamn throat.”

*

Carl’s smile slipped a little her under dark stare. He involuntarily swallowed when he suddenly realized the balls were still continuing to spin in their figure eight pattern without her looking at them. Damn, she’s good, he thought, and arrogant. A lot like him more or less, he thought, but still soft.

*

“Well.” Angela said to him, more of a command than a question.

*

Carl ignored her tone. “You remember that project three years ago that kept Scott away so many hours at night?”

*

She remembered all too well, the late nights, and all the arguments that followed, telling her he couldn’t discuss his work with her because she didn’t have the clearance. It still rankled her a little to this day. Angela only nodded as she looked at him as the balls continued to spin, so Clark continued.

*

“We had found something amazing. To be more exact it found us. One of the lab geeks directed to synthesize some of the proteins from a plant brought back from Brazil accidentally combined two cultures in the synthesis we were working on with the lot. The other plant was from an older expedition we had done years ago in the Congo in Africa. Scott had pulled it himself from the incubator a few days later. Lot Forty-Two.”

*

Angela noticed Carl’s eyes dilating and his hand gestures became more animated as he spoke. This disturbed her for some reason and she didn’t know why.

*

“Oh, the things Lot Forty-two revealed to us, Angela!” Carl found it hard to contain himself as he talked.

*

“We didn’t know how much until we began the human trials. You did not know this, but Scott, was one of the first volunteers. The committee had been paranoid of it getting out to the general public so everything was done in house; very hush hush.

*

“I am sorry to say this ,Angela, but he was a fool.” Carl said flatly to her from across the table.

*

An invisible force compressed against Carl’s chest, to send him flying and to go slamming into the wall behind him. Plaster crumbled around his head and tumbled off the nice black suit coat he wore. Now I am going to have to go to the dry cleaners tomorrow, he thought idly.

*

“Release me, Angela.” Carl said quietly. She indeed is a natural. In front of her the two balls still wove their figure pattern in the air. If only it could be different.

*

Angela saw no fear in Carl at what she had just done to him. More so, a calm demeanor seemed to settle into him, like a mask had lifted. She herself was scared at what she had just done. Where had it come from? This was so much different than revolving balls in the air. This new power seemed to have welled up inside her and she had just let it go all at once at him in a stream. It was still flowing; like a fire hose turned wide open at the hydrant.

*

“Why say such a thing about Scott?” Angela’s dark eyes seemed to glow as she stood up and walked slowly around the table to him. Carl just stared at her, not blinking. The force increased upon his chest as he sank even deeper into the wall.

*

Because he knew the initial trials were unstable, he knew it could possibly kill him. But he went ahead with it anyway. He wanted to be one of the firsts. His vanity won out and it was his undoing in the end. ”  Carl gasped for breath from the pressure she was exerting on his chest.

*

“The drug he and the others had taken was unrefined, the levels too high for their system. The power consumed him; it drove him to lash out violently with the power for no reason. You must have suspected.”  Carl looked at Angela challenging her to disagree as he fought to breathe.

*

“You should remember his dark moods when he came home.   He had to be put down! Now let me go!” Carl controlled his breathing. This game is at an end. The committee be damned, he thought.

*

Angela ignored him. She pushed harder and the power flowed from her like the heat from the sun. Along with the power, anger filled her. Anger at this little man who had taken her husband away, anger at the lies he now spouted about him.  Her power escalated as her anger took a foothold in her, each resonated and drew upon the other. They were feeding each other.

*

Continue reading The Power In Me – Excerpt of Short Story by Philip Wardlow

The Fool’s fool – A poem


 

The Fool’s fool –

 

A knight has his squire…

The Sun it’s faithful Moon which follows.

He is not so simple,  so fluid of purpose

or scene.

He is a machination of fate

desperate and wanting.

A vain creature picking at scraps

thrown at him.

A soul dwelling

in a misery of his own undoing

while a golden bauble sits in his

very own pocket.

He is a fool’s fool

and his master would be

very proud.

By Philip Wardlow 2014

 

The_Fool_by_MarkWilkinson
The_Fool_by_MarkWilkinson

 

 

 

 

Sexism in Writing and how we can all learn from an 8yr girl


I recently have been reading various articles on sexism in the literary world. I have been learning alot and may, at a later date in another post, write my own opinion on the subject matter when I have fully researched it. I mainly began my research in to this subject matter so I would NOT become a sexist writer.

I wanted to avoid the many pitfalls I see in the writing world in the way they treat the women characters in a story. In my research, I also found we do the male character in the story a disservice as well at times.  In our sexism, we consciously or unconsciously pigeonhole women and men in stereotypical roles because we have found it to be acceptable and a “given” in our minds in how that sex should act according to the “normal laws” of societal convention. I won’t even tell you what we do to women writers in how unfairly they are treated until I have all my ducks and facts in  a row. But I will tell you this, I am a male writer and I already have an advantage over them just for that reason alone sad to say.

Here  is an article originally  featured on the website www.today.com  . The original story was written on Oct 3rd, 2013 on there website and can be found HERE

I think you will find this story interesting. I am also sure it is just the tip of the ice-burg for what goes on in the literary world at large. I would love to hear your opinions on the article after you have finished reading it.

Boys

Constance Cooper’s daughter, KC, is no shrinking violet. In fact, Cooper describes her 8-year-old as articulate, passionate and a great reader, qualities parents hope their children exhibit as they grow.

So it was not a huge surprise to Cooper when, this past summer, KC became upset after an ordinary trip to their local bookstore, Half Price Books, in Berkeley, Calif.

“We were browsing around in the bookstore, and suddenly I heard my daughter calling out, ‘Mama! You have to look at this!’” recalls Cooper. “So, of course, I thought she’d found something she wanted to buy, but it was completely the opposite. She was looking at two books that had made her so enraged she was actually in tears.”

The books, titled “How To Survive (Almost) Anything,” included a boy version and a girl version. In the boy version, the chapters covered topics such as “How to Survive a Shark Attack,” “How to Survive in a Desert,” and “How to Survive Whitewater Rapids.”

The girl version addressed such issues as “How to Survive a BFF Fight,” “How to Survive a Fashion Disaster,” and “How to Survive a Breakout.”

“The one that got to my daughter the most was ‘How to Survive a Camping Trip’ because she loves camping,” Cooper said. “It was sad to read ‘camping may not always be a girl’s top choice of activity, but here’s how to make the best of a bad situation and survive in style.’ The picture had a girl dreaming about lounging on a beach. Later it said, ‘Besides, fresh air is excellent for the skin, and a brisk walk is a marvelous workout.’”

KC was so upset at the sexist nature of the books that a bookstore employee took notice and asked her what was wrong.

“After looking through the books, the employee agreed they were offensive and pulled them from the shelves! She said if she had seen them first they wouldn’t have been there to begin with. She was great because she took action and validated my daughter’s feelings.”

Joshua Lynn, a manager at Half Price Books, has clarified to TODAY Moms that the books were not removed from the store, but rather were moved to a “less prominent area of the children’s section.”

“While we certainly understand why the books upset her and commend the girl for speaking out against stereotypical portrayals of gender roles in books, I would like to stress that we are strong advocates of First Amendment rights and do not advocate censorship or removal of “objectionable” books from circulation,” Lynn said.

Cooper, a science fiction writer, is proud of her daughter for drawing attention to the books, and took this experience as a lesson learned for both KC and herself.

“I saw this as an opportunity to explain to my daughter that it’s not always girls who are hurt by sexism, but boys too. For instance, the boys’ version of the book implies that all boys do is fight and deal with disasters. In reality they might actually benefit from a lot of the advice in the girls’ book, like ‘How to Survive Shyness’ or ‘How to be a Brilliant Babysitter’.”

And what would have normally been a simple ir­­ritation to Cooper became a much more meaningful reminder thanks to her daughter’s persistence.

“If I’d seen those books on my own, I probably would have just sh­aken my head and gone away without saying anything and felt angry when I thought about it later. As adults we see so much of that sort of thing, and we get worn down. I hope my daughter will continue to think critically about the messages she’s given in our culture and speak out when she thinks something is not right.”

Of course not everyone agreed.

Cooper said she posted the experience on her writing website, http://www.constancecooper.com, and submitted the link to boingboing, one of her favorite blogs, “because I knew from reading it that the editors are concerned about issues of gender and culture and also how to raise kids to think critically.”

“Unfortunately it triggered a somewhat nasty flurry of comments about censorship, which I feel really distracted from the point of the post,” Cooper said.

Advice to Poets – Three Quick Rules by Philip Wardlow


Poetry

I don’t mean to offend. But a lot of the poetry  out there sucks. I can freely admit that some of mine sucks lemon peels.

I can’t say I’m qualified to give advice to poets or would be poets. I have been writing poetry since I was in high school and have taken many creative writing and English courses regarding the subject. Still,  I think there are a lot better poets out in there in the word than me past and present. I am not going to get technical on you. But just give you three quick down and dirty lessons on the subject matter. From there  you can grow I believe to be a better poet.

I just know what I like to read as a poet and what I like to write as a poet. To me, when reading a poem, the subject matter is less important than how it is actually handled by the person writing it. You can take a great concept you wish to write a poem about;   be it love,  life, an adventure, or erotica and fuck it up quite easily.

I have read many blogs and I have read some very good poetry. On the flipside I have read some VERY bad poetry.  In those instances  I do not push the LIKE button or comment on the poem unless they wish a serious critique.

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Rule #1 –

Example:  I see the world flying from me , never to return,  why must I be denied., why oh why, it’s so unfair, this world that I live in.   I feel down and out. Woe is me oh woe is me.   I’m in such pain why oh why…blah blah blah

The biggest problem with BAD poetry  is that the Poem just rambles on and on with no clear resolution at the end.  Give me something I can grab on to. Some epiphany you learned, a realization of life, a CLEVER way of stating the obvious… and wrap it up…Don’t take 20 Lines to say the  same thing you could have said in 10 lines.

So Rule #1  Don’t  Ramble on and on with no Point and repeat the same thing twice.

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Rule#2 –

Example:  The night is cold,  and I feel very bold.   I love you so much and I miss your touch 

Secondly unless your a fifth grader and newly starting out in writing poetry…don’t rhyme just to rhyme. It makes me insane to read poetry where I can predict the words in every other next line. It’s like slow water torture for me. Basically do it when its appropriate.  When in doubt if you think it’s too much then be rest assured it probably is. And have you ever heard of alliteration and all the other forms of poetry writing,  as an alternate to the normal rhyme scheme? If not look them up. Get Educated,

 So Rule#2 Don’t Rhyme so damn much

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 Rule #3 –

 Example:  She/he  hurt me in that way.  Because I did that thing. And  I hurt.   The  pedantic ethereal winds kissed my cheek and I let out long sigh  as the rockslide engulfed my being that encapsulated you. (wtf!)

And lastly  I hate when you give me your direct feelings in vague ways or you explain an experience in a much too abstract or technical way.  both ways hide what you are really trying to get across and feel inside that head of yours. Sure YOU may be getting it out of YOUR system..but it  does nothing for ME the reader of your poem. So don’t be lazy and don’t hit us with super symbolism or the dictionary  of words hardly ever used by 90% of the English speaking community.

Rule #3 –  Don’t keep what you really wish to say a secret with vague or abstract writing. Still be creative but don’t hide behind the words.

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OKAY DONE with my lesson…now go out and play.

Excerpt from – The Fourth World – Meet my next Character Calvin


I promised  I would showcase another main character in my upcoming first Fantasy Novel I am currently working on, called the – “The Fourth World“.

This character’s name is Calvin.  He will actually be the first character to be introduced in my Novel in the first two chapters.  I must stress  that he is not THEE character…there is no THEE character.  He is no Harry Potter, he is no Bilbo Baggins or Frodo,  the world will not soley rest on his shoulders but it will rest.

You met Ivy last week.  Now meet Calvin…and remember all these characters and the story itself  are a work in a progress, to be changed as the winds change in their mysterious paths around the Earth. Next week, I will introduce you to another character, Omar, to wrap up my main characters intros.

Enjoy.

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Wind

Calvin had always believed in magic. He didn’t care what anyone else thought. They could doubt all they wanted. There was a hidden world which we could not see sitting right in front of our faces, most everyone was too busy, too blind, or too stupid to see it. Calvin saw it in the trees as the distant winds kissed the leaves which flew through it’s branches. He spied it dancing in the fire amidst the embers at night; little tiny sprites hopping from log to log amidst the flames playing a game of tag. He smelled it in a wild rose growing in a crowded field of jostling weeds flinging its pheromones to attract the butterflies to alight upon its silken petals. He heard it in the babbling brook as the water played upon the rocks behind his home whispering to the frogs as it traveled on downriver. He felt it in the rough stone he caressed in the palm of his hand; an ancient power from ages past unearthed from the deep bowels of the earth from the crumblings of a mighty stone titan long dead. It was everywhere if you would only choose to see. The magic spoke to him because he chose to listen and he almost understood what it is saying

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Chapter 1 – Reality Sets In

         Calvin tasted the blood that trickled down to his upper lip  which flowed from his nose. It had a sweet metallic taste. He liked the taste of his own blood. Calvin wasn’t a weird person don’t get him wrong, he wasn’t not into to that kind of stuff.  He just liked to sometimes pretend that he was Conan the Barbarian backed up against a wall, and that he was fighting an angry horde of ghoulish creatures hell bent on gutting him like a fish and eating his entrails as he watched. With sword in hand he would hack and slash, limbs would  fly. He would be scratched all to hell and bleeding from a dozen different wounds and smiling insanely because this could be his last day alive so why not go out smiling like a true warrior would upon meeting his death well met in battle. Yeah, he liked to have his mind go to places like that rather than be anywhere than where he was right now.

“Hold him down dammit he’s a squirmer! Fucking idiot, you see what he did to Omar? He’s crazy man!” Omar had it coming, Calvin told myself as he lay on the ground struggling under two other boys who each probably outweighed him by a hundred pounds.  They wouldn’t have caught him if one of the bystanders hadn’t tripped him while he was trying to get away. Trying to get away, besides talk bullshit, that’s all he ever did, until now.

Calvin was not a violent person, but he would admit, it had felt pretty good to see the plastic lunch tray connect solidly against the side of Omar’s head and watch him go down in a daze, not to mention the stunned looks of his buddies who were now holding him down who had put Omar up to flipping his lunch tray to the ground as he had walked on by. It was classic man, just classic.

“What the hell are you smiling about you sick bastard. I am so gonna end you, just wait. I always knew you were a weird little fucker. That’s why you don’t have any friends.”

Aah, Jake the jerk off, as Calvin liked to call him, a man, or boy better yet, of not many words. He guessed Jake’s dad couldn’t buy him a vocabulary to stuff inside that brain of his. His dad was more the type that likely bought him a good weight set and a big box of protein bars cuz he was crushing the hell out of Calvin’s left shoulder with his knees as he lay there on the ground.

“Get the fuck off me!” he yelled at them while his face was being pressed firmly into the dirt. He might as well have been yelling at the moon for all the good it did.  He was a punching bag to them. A distraction out of there boring day of the life they called school. He provided a service to them he guessed. They needed a reason to feel special while they were here.  Everyone wanted to feel special.

“Hey watch this Neil.” Jake said to the other kid that was holding Calvin. It was amazing, but Neil was actually more stupid than Jake was. The Smithsonian would have been really pleased to know a Neanderthal was still walking the earth. Neil had a prominent forehead, a squashed face which held a perpetually dull look, and knuckles that dragged the ground as he walked almost upright. He would have look great stuffed and mounted. It was a wonder he could tie his own shoes.  Oh wait, was that Velcro for laces instead? Calvin had a pretty good view at Neil’s feet at this particular time so he had a plenty of time to check them out.

“Whut?” Said Neil responding dumbly to him as Jake bent down close to Calvin’s ear. Then he heard it, the long drawing in sound of phlegm back into the throat.

It landed with a splat on the top of his forehead and traveled like a river down into his right eye blinding him and causing him to lose it entirely. Calvin thrashed and heaved and went into what he liked to call his insane berserker barbarian rage. This had little effect, but it did cause Jake to fall off from kneeling on Calvin’s back which eased some of the pain he had been feeling. He would take what he could get.

Calvin realized in that instance, that the audiences that come to fighting events come to watch entirely for selfish reasons.  It is not to support the fighter; they want something out of it for all the money they plunked down. Apparently being stuck at school was the payment and he was the entertainment and distraction for most of them this day.  They just stood around watching his shame to unfold. His pain in some sick way, was a voluntary or involuntary morbid thrill you got when watching a horror movie unfold knowing you feel bad for the victim, but not really because but what can you do?  They convinced themselves they were just a spectator to it all, that they were allowed to be insulated from it, please don’t ask for me to lend a hand they say, you must be crazy. Calvin was just another pathetic soap opera to be talked about between their friends at lunch hour, or in a text message or online, to be kept at a distance, and to not bog their day down. It was the status quo around here for most of them.

Their hand was on the dimmer switch that controlled the light of Calvin’s life into theirs and they could choose to let it in however much they thought they could take. Right now all those hands on all those switches were set to full off. They didn’t want to see him…just what was done to him. Calvin in that moment, hated them more than the ones who picked on him on a daily basis.

“Break it up! Break it up!”  The loud high screeching of a woman’s voice cut through the chaos that was his crazed mind and through the crowd of onlookers as well. Mrs. Kitchen, a teacher and woman of enormous proportions waddled over her way through the ring of kids to see what had caught all their attention. He heard her gasp out aloud so theatrically when she came upon the scene that Calvin almost laughed out loud.

Jake and Neil quickly let him go to show her they weren’t just trying to shove his head into the dirt and make him eat it.  He saw the crowd starting to disperse around him, the bloodshed was over; be about your way miscreants.

Calvin slowly got up from the ground and wiped the spit and grass clippings from his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

“Would someone like to tell me what’s going on? I found Omar back there picking himself off the ground and now I find Calvin doing pretty the same thing over here. What’s going on?” Her voice went to a higher octave on the shrill level factor if that was possible and she put her hands on her very wide hips, tapping her foot impatiently expecting an answer. Yep, she was your typical stereotype, they do exist.

“He hit Omar for no reason.” Neil said pointing at Calvin like he was fingering some criminal in a police line up.  Jake just kept quiet. 

“Is this true Calvin?”  She asked.

“Yes and no,” Calvin said, “Yes, I hit him, but I wouldn’t say it was for no reason. He had it coming, they like to provoke me.” and be damned with the consequences, Calvin was done caring anymore.

“Let’s see what Mr. Granderson has to say about all this. Let’s go.” She marched them all into the schools office area where they sat and waited while all the parents were called…..

Questions for Aspiring Authors Inspired by fellow writer Jodi Llewellyn


A fellow blogger, follower and most importantly writer like myself, Jodie Llewellyn posed the following questions below on her blog….she’s got a great blog by the way…go check it right  out HERE if you so choose. I follow her and I think you should as well.

Go check out her responses and her other followers…and perhaps share your own thoughts there or here also. I hope Jodi forgives me for stealing her stuff…but she’s got nice…stuff..:)..btw did anyone ever tell you have too many L’s in your name…

Below are my responses to her questions:

1. What are your grand ambitions as a writer?  Grand ambitions..HA..To  have one of my Novels be one of the FIRST books sitting on an astronaut’s bookshelf on the first settlement on Mars

2. Is there a type of character you always tend to write about?   A misunderstood person who overcomes adversity and ends up the hero  (the underdog of course)

3. How do you really know if you have talent or if you’re just wasting your time? By comparing myself to others tells me I have talent…I just need more discipline dammit…:)

4. What is your least favourite part about writing? Having the courage to sit down and write that first sentence.

5. If you could escape into just one book —like literally go INSIDE that book— which one would you choose? Robert Jordan’s Wheel of Time Series

My Heart and the Alien – A Poem


fourchambers

My Heart and the Alien –

I have a four chambered heart much like most everyone else,

I am a nerd in one heart,

a romantic in the next,

a perv in the third,

a  dreamer in the last.

I am fading into your moody blue alien eyes.

as the cold night embraces an already

cold day.

All the chambers of my heart smile

back at you.

And beat with an unnatural warmth not

found on this earth.

You don’t belong here on this world,

and you are soon to leave.

Forever.

For that reason alone, I wish the

the sections of my heart would quiet itself

Each beat in quarter time to a tune

I do not recognize anymore since your

presence came to town.

Please leave soon on the next

spaceship out.

My heart is at war

and may soon burn it

self up.

Take to the stars, and then

and only then, can

my heart look to

them without doubt.

by Philip Wardlow 2014