The Walk to the Water

It's four am. I just got in from my walk. It's a walk I've been doing for the last three years. Mother doesn't like that I do it. She insists I shouldn't be "wandering the streets" late at night. She doesn't understand that I need to do it.

But unlike most nights when I take my walk to the water, I eschewed my headphones. I needed to think, even more than usual. I also kept my hood down and let the cold wind hit my face. I always do a lot of thinking on this walk but I guess something made me more pensive tonight than usual.

It could have been the fight I had with my father a few days ago. It didn't involve much; I simply angrily stormed off after reaching my limit for tolerance of his sarcasm. I understand that at the moment, his father is in the process of, well, dying, and maybe I should have cut him some slack. It's just that I've heard this from him many times before. Apparently, I don't do anything with my life. I never leave my apartment or do anything worthwhile. All I do is waste time and money. He got especially annoyed when I said I would walk home from the hotel rather than taking a cab. I don't like cabs, especially when it's a walk that I can do easily enough. But my discomfort with taxis is just one more of my faults in his eyes.

So anyway tonight I did my walk to the water. It always takes me onto the boardwalk at a certain point near Bishop's Landing. Years ago, I used to do that part with Anne, except that it was usually around sunset, the one time of day when Halifax Harbour can look halfway scenic (although I suppose it must also at sunrise). I think I've seen more sunrises than a lot of people. But back to Anne and I (something long dead) - we used to look at Bishop's Landing and talk about the future; our future. I was in my mid twenties and she was in her early, and we both wanted something beyond being students or kids with low-paying jobs. We wanted careers and status. We wanted to live somewhere nice and own nice things. We wanted security and comfort. We talked about me being successfully published and us moving into ritzy Bishop's Landing. But even that would be temporary. I knew Anne didn't want to always live in the city. She's an outdoorsy type who wants a big yard and a million pets. I hope someday she gets those things. Well, she already has a million pets but she wants horses, for Christ's sake. I hope she gets everything she's ever wanted.

Back when I was with Anne, I believed in my writing. Nowadays, it seems to get harder and harder to do that. So maybe that's why I get especially upset and defensive when someone like my father expresses their own doubts. On the walk tonight, I thought of all these things and decided the best thing I could do would be to be write about it when I got back. So here I am.

Walt Disney said "The way to get started is to quit talking and begin doing." While I've been writing, I realize it's rarely come close to the level that's required if I'm really going to make it work. So here goes.

Bark at The Moon

Coming to a theatre near you in 2014.
 
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Cut to: Spector is lying unconscious in the desert. The sun is high in the sky. There's no sign of civilization anywhere; the desert seems to go on forever. Spector stirs. He touches his head.

Spector: Where? (he slowly rises and looks around) Right. Dumped here. Left to die.

He looks in all directions - everything looks the same. He closes his eyes and points then turns slowly around. He stops and opens his eyes.
Spector: That works. Gotta try.

He begins to trudge along.

Cut to: A long shot from above. Spector is a tiny figure moving through the vast desert. Different angles show us the passage of time. At one point, Spector makes his way through a blowing sandstorm, almost collapsing.

Cut to: Night. The moon is full and huge in the sky. Spector is crawling along now, barely able to move. The storm continues. But now, making it to the top of a dune, he somehow manages to stand. Shouts in a foreign language are heard.

Cut to: Several robed figures standing outside what looks to be a tomb. There are a few tents set up nearby. The men see Spector's silhouette against the moon.
Robed Man #1 (in Arabic or Egyptian or some language of the region): There's a man out there! We've got to help him.

They rush up to him just as he starts to collapse again. Two of them catch him and hold him up.
Robed Man #2: Quickly, get him inside before the storm starts up again.

Robed Man #1: Someone go get Missy from her tent. Maybe she knows him.

Robed Man #3 rushes off towards the tents while the other two take Spector, who has gone completely limp, inside the tomb. The chamber is lit by torchlight. As they lay him on the floor in front of an ancient statue, Marlene comes running in.

Marlene: Who is he, Jallad? Has he said anything?

Jallad: I don't know, Missy. He's not conscious. I do not recognize him. He is white.

As Marlene comes closer, Jallad checks Spector for a pulse then looks at his face.
Jallad: He did not make it. Allah, he is dead.

Marlene leans in to look closer.

Marlene: He's one of the mercenaries who attacked our dig. I'm glad he's dead. They killed my father, probably the others too. Just leave him here.

Jallad (rising); Very well. We'll get back to packing. We'll be set to leave once the storm passes.

Marlene (still looking down at Spector): Alright Jallad. That's fine. I'll be along in a moment.

Jallad leaves. Marlene is alone in the tomb with Spector. The statue gazes over them. She bends closer to the dead man.

Marlene: What was he doing all the way out here alone? He's the one who tried to help me. I can't really be glad he's dead. I...don't want to be like that.

She begins to weep softly. She takes Spector's head in her hands and looks at his face.
Marlene: He must have suffered horribly in the desert. He was...handsome. And now he's gone.

Cut to: The stony countenance of the statue that stands silently over them. Shadows from the flickering torchlight dance across its visage. Someone has draped a white robe over its shoulders.

Suddenly, Spector sits up, very much alive. Marlene leaps back.
Spector: Where am I? Who am I?

Marlene: You! You were dead! I saw it. No heartbeat. Nothing. You were gone.

Spector: Well, I'm alive now. Starting to remember who I am...

He turns and looks at the statue.
Spector: Him!  He...spoke to me. Said he'd bring me back, give me another chance. To....redeem myself after the life I've led.

Marlene: What? You mean Khonshu? But that's just a statue.

Spector: Yes, Khonshu. One of the gods of the moon. A taker of vengeance. A figure of terror.

Marlene: Well, yes. How did you know that? Do you study Egyptology?

Spector: No. No, he told me. Told me who he is. Who I am. What I have to do.

He stands and gazes up at the statue. Then he reaches up and pulls the robe from it.
Marlene: You're delirious. You've had a...shock to your system. What are you doing?

Spector fastens the cloak over his shoulders and pulls the hood over his head.

Spector: This is mine now. I'll wear it in Khonshu's name. I'm a ghost now. A spectre of the moon. Khonshu...he said I'm to be the moon's knight of vengeance and I've got work to do.

Marlene: Listen to you! You sound insane.

Spector runs out of the tomb into the night with Marlene following. He gets in one of the jeeps.
Spector: I'm borrowing this.

Marlene: Wait!  Where are you going?

Spector drives off into the night. Jallad runs up to Marlene.
Jallad: Missy, the jeep - what is happening?

Marlene: Never mind. I'm taking the other jeep.

Jallad: But the storm-

Marlene: Is abating. I'll be fine. I've got a ghost to follow.

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The Dark Staircase - Complete

Yes, I finished something. Technically, the story has been done for a long time. But it wasn't done. Now it is. I have no idea what to do with it. I started writing it years ago for very personal reasons. Those reasons don't mean much anymore and I guess that's why it took me so damn long to finish a story that's only thirteen thousand words. If you search this blog you can find an early excerpt.

I think it's good though. I think it's publishable. I really think it's that good. I suppose it requires still more editing and revising but not much. The main problem I'm facing now is I don't know who to show it to. I'd like a few outside opinions before I do anything official with it but uncopyrighted works are a tricky business (not that I believe anyone I'd show the story to would steal it from me or anything) and also I guess I just feel bad that the person I actually wrote it for in the first place isn't going to be reading it.

But it's done. I'll figure something out and hopefully then I will give the story to the world. You know, like a writer.

Update the update - is this an update?

What the fuck? It's May? It's LATE May? What have I been doing? Ignoring this blog, that's for sure. Well, that ends now. Even if it means posting lame crap like this, I vow there will be regular updates throughout the summer.

The novel is back on track (only took two and a half years), the play is...going, and the short story is finished and a new one is halfway through. Back in November I tried NaNoRiMo (well, I'll always have 2003 and 2006) and failed again for the third straight year. I thought maybe I could resurrect the story I came up with but several attempts have fallen short. I think I'll just have to let that one go. I don't know why I tried hard sci-fi anyway.

I recently read the first two Twilight "novels"; took me about three hours. What's amazing is that this series seems to actually get worse as it goes along. Maybe I'll post some insights on it although I know that I am quite far behind the rest of the world in this respect. What jokes can I make that haven't already been said? But hell, I was spending my time reading books and comics that were actually GOOD. Hey, at least the youtube channel is working out well. The one year anniversary is tomorrow. I have nothing planned. Maybe I should think of something.

So this is a pretty good post even though it's not creative or interesting, right? I'll get to that next time. Great, now the phone's ringing. I swear, god does not want this blog to thrive. How many more times do I have to renounce him? I'll get published on my own! I don't need your fucking charity! You'll get no prayers from me! Alright, that was fun. Stay tuned.

Dark Sexyness

I've recently discovered that not only do I have a sort of knack for writing erotica, I actually enjoy it too. I have no idea where I'm going with this. Really don't think I'll post any here but it's a development in my writing so I thought I could at least mention it. Be afraid World, be very afraid...

Talking Part Two: Ryan's Second Monologue

Last Talking I gave you Alex and Robyn so I could do some dialogue. Today I'll show you a monologue with Ryan's second (he's the only character who gets monologues). This is from my play, Away, by the way. (that's fun to say aloud)

ACT TWO

SCENE ONE

The clearing. A crude, unfinished treehouse. RYAN approaches from the other side.

RYAN - There used to be woods behind our neighbourhood so that all the backyards on one side touched it. But about fifteen years ago they cut down a big section of it and built an elementary school and added a road. So it was still pretty new when we started going there. I didn't get to know Robyn, Jono and Alex until the summer before grade six. That was the summer the school burned down. The police said it was arson but they never caught whoever did it. Most people in town refused to believe someone had purposely burned it down. They said it was probably an accident. No one talks about it anymore. I guess it wasn't interesting like a pilot and his plane disappearing. It's funny what people remember and what they don't.

The property was never sold or if it was, the owner didn't do anything with it. Most of the wreckage was cleared out, anything that could be dangerous, and that was that. The road is still in use but there's a lot of trees that separate it from the main area and without the school, there's never much traffic on it. It's usually a pretty quiet place. The next summer all four of us were friends and we built the treehouse here. Alex had some wild ideas for it that never were realized. In the end, it was barely a treehouse, really. But we still used it a lot. It was like our clubhouse, a good place to hang out without being disturbed. When Alex got his telescope he started bringing it on clear nights and we would take turns gazing at the sky. Alex tried to teach us stuff about space and we tried to learn but we were never going to care about it the way he did. As we got older, we started coming less and less but still came to use the telescope on nights Alex said were ideal. We watched an eclipse of the moon once and would look at planets when they were visible. Alex knew all the constellations and would point them out.

I said I didn't know the others until the summer of the fire. Well, I did sort of know them but we didn't hang out together. That changed the night the school burned. I was walking home from another neighbourhood where I'd been playing street hockey. It was sunset and I was cutting through the woods on the far side of the school when I saw the flames. So of course I went to get a closer look. But before I even reached the edge of the trees Robyn came crashing through, running and tripping, her knees skinned and with twigs in her hair. She smelled like smoke. I tried to calm her down but she was really scared. Even though I told her the fire wouldn't spread to where we were. I wanted to go on and watch until the firetrucks came but she wouldn't come. So I walked her home. That's how we met. I started hanging out with her, Jono and Alex shortly after that. We never spoke about that night. Sometimes I wanted to bring it up to her but always stopped myself. I decided not to tell Jono or Alex and it's pretty clear she never did either. Even though Alex liked to sometimes point out that I was the latecomer to the group, neither he nor Jono ever really questioned how it was that I became friends with the rest of them. No one ever mentioned that it was just after the fire. It's funny what we choose to forget.

Exit RYAN

Madman in the Desert

Wow, I've neglected this blog. I formally apologize to my legions of fans. 2010 shall be a year of creative...uh, magic.

In the meantime, here's an excerpt from The Greatest Story Ever Told, adapted by yours truly.

Flanked by his personal guard, Kefka stomped through the desert approaching Figaro Castle. As usual, he was not in good humour.

“Phooey!” he grumbled. “Emperor Gestahl's stupid orders!”

He gave a mad little hop and shouted at the sky. “Edgar, you pinhead!” he roared. “Why do you have to live in the middle of nowhere? These recon jobs are the pits!”

The two soldiers escorting him tried not to look at each other. They just had to wait until Kefka played this out. Kefka noticed them gawking at him and was immediately annoyed by it.

“Ahem,” he said. “There's SAND on my boots!” The soldiers snapped into action, each furiously wiping the sand from Kefka's flashy red boots.

“Yes, Sir!” they cried in unison. “All set, Sir!” They both smartly saluted, hoping they hadn't somehow incurred Kefka's wrath. He was well-known for his mood swings and seemingly random punishments.

Instead Kefka laughed his disturbing and horrible laugh. He didn't even sound human when he did it.

“Idiots!” he barked. Then he turned and strode up to Figaro's front doors.

“Sir Kefka!?” Blurted the guard there, trying to buy some time for Edgar. “What on earth do-”

“Outta my way!” growled Kefka and he simply shoved the man aside and went through the door, his own soldiers following.

Edgar met him in the courtyard. “I thought we were allies,” he said to one of Kefka's guards, trying his best to avoid Kefka for the moment. “What are you doing in my domain?”

The soldier just grinned at him. He enjoyed this part of the job at least.

“You've been busy down south,” quipped Edgar. “Looking for more cities to destroy?”

“That's for us to know!” smirked the trooper. Edgar glowered and finally addressed Kefka, hoping that making him wait had annoyed him. He put on his best sarcastic voice.

“What brings Kefka, humble servant of Emperor Gestahl, into our lowly presence?” he asked. He tried to read Kefka's expression but the man was so crazy it was nearly impossible.

“A girl of no importance recently escaped from us,” answered Kefka, trying to sound gruff and nonchalant. “We heard she found refuge here.”

Edgar turned and took a few deliberate steps away from Kefka, putting on a show that he was really thinking hard.

“Hmm,” he said. “This wouldn't have anything to do with this 'witch' everyone's been whispering about, would it?”

“Lies!” barked Kefka. “She...merely stole something of minor value. Is she here?”

Edgar smiled to himself. Kefka really was a lousy liar. “That's a tough one!” he said brightly. “You see, there are more girls here than grains of sand out there. I can't keep track of 'em all!”

Kefka gave his own smile. It was quite different from Edgar's. “I'd hate to be you if we find out you're lying,” he said. “Mwa, ha!”

He turned away and went back to the door. Then he stopped.

“I truly hope nothing happens to your precious Figaro!” he said darkly. Then he turned again and he and his soldiers left.

Locke had watched the entire exchange from the main hall's door.

“I'd say that guy's missing a few buttons,” he said when Edgar approached him. Inwardly Edgar agreed but said: “Where's Terra?”

See you next time. (Next time being soon).