Thoughts on Love

            Sorry, nothing creative today- a theme I seem to have been following for a while now. I’ll have to fix that. Anyway, right now I just have a few thoughts on creative writing. Specifically, as you should have deduced from the title, love.

            Most readers, myself included, expect to read about at least some romance in a story, no matter the genre. Take a look at just about all the movies you’ve seen lately? How many had some form of romantic tension? Was your answer all of them? Mine was. Now think of your favorite book or story. Does romance feature pretty heavily even if it really isn’t the main focus of the plot? Chances are yes, it does.

Chapter 2

     Ryas stood staring at Jan’s unconscious form for some time. His thoughts moved to images of what the scene might look like in a month. A burning village littered with the bodies of men and wolves, and himself standing in the middle of it all, looking down at the same limp body as he did now, only this time it did not move slightly with breath. He thought about it for a moment, and he realized the situation could very well turn out the other way. The image in his head changed so that the human was standing in the middle of a burning village gazing down at his body, and the bodies strewn throughout the scene were predominantly lupine forms.

Control

He’s got his life under control.

He knows what he’s doing,

Where he’s going,

And when he’s gonna get there.

He feels the stress

And laughs it off.

He sees his problems

And blows them off.

Day by day it piles up,

And day by day he

Confronts it with

Supreme nonchalance.

He goes around with

His wit and his charm,

He has a quip for everything,

And something to say to anything.

He doesn’t worry about a thing.

Then he goes home,

To that place where facades die,

And he kicks off his shoes.

He puts on something sappy

And he curls up on the couch,

And he cries.

He tries to summon up his wit,

His arguments,

His never-failing reason,

But nothing comes.

So he cries.

Overwhelmed by how much

He’s gotten in over his head.

He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing.

He doesn’t know where the hell he’s going.

He doesn’t know how the hell he’s going to get there.

In this place the only thing he knows

Is how to cry,

So he does,

So that when the world can see him

He can smile and pretend

That he’s got his life under control.

Drifiting

This is an older one, I wrote it close to a year ago I think, I just haven't shared it with anyone yet. I didn't like it all that much when I wrote it, but now that I read it again in a different state of mind, I rather enjoy it:

Drifting,
Pining,
Wandering endlessly through this monotonous life.
Every day expecting something to change,
Yet every day I’m no closer to what I desire.

Trudging,
Seeking,
Trying to find something in this place that can lift my heavy spirits.
Not knowing what I need,
Or even exactly what I want.
Only knowing that something is missing,
Something vital that disappeared.

I see so much happiness all around me,
Everything I need, I have,
But I can’t settle for what I need,
I have to chase what I want,
I have to find that last thing that my heart desires.

I’ve already been given so much more than I could ever ask for,
Yet I find the words to say I want more.
This ache inside me demands more,
But I can’t name what it is!

And the light turns on,
And I know what my heart desires.

Stopping,
Staring,
Numbly watching as she drifts further away.
Wanting more than anything to cry out for her to stop,
Knowing that it would do no good.
Powerless to stop it as my everything
Leaves me behind.

Forward

I can’t keep up.
I’m racing along as fast as I can,
But it’s all just getting further away.
The ground beneath me is moving me backward,
Or forward?
I lost track somewhere along the way
Which direction I’m supposed to be going.

It all began easily enough.
For four long-
Or were they all too short?-
Years I kept up with all of it just fine.
But all good things must come to an end,
It was time to keep moving forward-
Backward?-
With our lives.

Something new...

So I have clearly failed at the novel challenge, and I have no illusions of getting into The Foretold heavily enough to continue it (not to say that I'm abandoning it of course!). So while I will update as I progress, I am going to use this blog for other miscellaneous writings. Short stories that I'm working on, story concepts that I'm playing with, and some poetry.

I haven't had a medium lately for sharing my work, and I miss it. So, vain as it is, I'm going to start showing off my work for anybody that happens to stop by. To start it all off, a poem I wrote a couple weeks ago. I may eventually decide to convert it to a rhyme scheme, but for now, this is "Rags."


Wandering through a broken city,
Wearing these rags for clothes.
I’m tired of this,
I want something more.

Chapter 1

     Heat blanketed the brown-grassed plains to the north of Symon. Summer’s heat was peaking early this year, and the man resting in the relative cool of a tree’s shade was feeling the effects of it. Jan Raedel reclined against a thick oak trunk, staring lazily over the long flat plains. He couldn’t recall exactly how long he’d been lying there, the sun had put him in a lethargic state long ago, but he was content to remain there until he needed to move.

     His bow was leaning against his right shoulder where it had come to rest after falling from its place propped against the tree. He tried to remember it bumping against his shoulder, but couldn’t seem to manage. Jan relished these days when he could sit alone and relax for hours on end. There was nothing pressing for him to attend to for days yet. As long as he managed to bring something back home with him, it did not matter what he did while he was gone.