Vocalized Thoughts

"Angelina"

Mon, 06 Jul 2009 01:47:14 GMT

I know I haven't posted in a while, but I have an excuse: I have been writing...finally. Below is an excerpt of the current piece I am working on. To see the full posts, please go to my newly revamped page at www.myspace.com/cruc1bl3

We arrived home right around sundown. After the dull gray of the city, the country around my parents’ house looked even more vibrant. The horizon was on fire with the setting of the sun.

Mom was standing at the kitchen window, watching for us. As soon as she saw us coming down the road, she came out of the house and once again took her place on the steps. She smiled as I jumped out of the truck and ran up to hug her.

“Did you have fun in the city, David?” she asked me.

I explained to her that I did. I told her of the massive buildings that blotted out the sun and the sky, about the faded look of everything, and about all the people. I didn’t tell her about the angel, though. Not because I wanted to keep it secret, but because I still wasn’t entirely sure that I had even seen her.

For the next two weeks, everything continued as it usually did. Dad would do work around the house, take care of the animals, and work on the current tractor as well as his truck. Behind the barn, dad has was could have been considered a collection of broken-down tractors that he had accrued over the years of working the land.

When I wasn’t helping my dad with some of the little things around our home, I would play on and around the old tractors. Many a time, my mom and dad would find me sitting in one of the tractors making engine noises while bouncing up and down in the seat.

I always enjoyed playing on the tractors, especially when a small breeze would come up from the North and blow through my hair. That feeling, combined with watching the grass make waves with wind made me feel like I was sailing the tractor through a sea of green.

It wasn’t too long before I began to wonder how everything worked. So, I did what comes naturally for any child: I began tearing the tractors apart. The gears fascinated me above everything else. The way they were built and the way they interlocked with each other just amazed me. I began collecting them, beginning with the small ones.

After cleaning the gears, I began to tinker. I wanted to see if I had the ability to create anything. It certainly helped pass the time until the next flea market. The angel was on my mind most of the time. She haunted my dreams and stalked the corridors of my mind. The angel was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and I could not wait to see her again.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The day for dad’s bi-monthly city visit came around again, and for me it didn’t come fast enough. I could barely sleep the night before, wondering whether or not the angel would be there. Once again, dad and I loaded up in The Beast and began our trek to the city.

Dad clicked on the radio and began surfing through the stations.

“…what the American Empire needs to worry about is the military threat from the United Kingdom of Nazism…”

Click

“…when will Prince John F. Kennedy realize that not everyone is willing to accept the idea of civil rights for elves, dwarves, etc? Sure, they may be humanoid, but are they human?”

Click

“…in his speech to Parliament today, Prime Minister Martin Luther King, Jr. informed the members that he was well accepted into the Mormon nation of Utah and that President Brigham Young (descendant of founder Brigham Young) will continue to support the American Empire…”

Click

“The Beatles, the musical group that have been granted political asylum by the American Empire, kicked off their latest tour this week in Lost Vegas and will continue down into the Mexican Territories…”

2009 Cowboy Shoot-out Script

Thu, 11 Jun 2009 01:44:21 GMT

2009 Cowboy Shoot-out Script: “Pirates of…the Platte River?”

(The Dread Pirate Cummerbund and his pack of perilous pirates have been spending months searching for the Fountain of Youth. Instead, they think they have landed in Tortuga. No one said they were smart pirates.)

(pirates enter street from East end of Bridge St.)

All Pirates: Yar! Make way for the Dread Pirate Cummerbund!

(Cummerbund enters the scene. All swagger and ego.)

Cummerbund: I do not think the Fountain of Youth be here, you scallywags! Me thinks we have landed in Tortuga.

(Crowd yells “New York City?!” and the pirates look around confused.)

1^st Mate Bob: Are you sure, cap’n?

Cummerbund: Course I’m sure, 1^st Mate Bob. By the way, I’ve always wanted to ask. Do you have a last name?

1^st Mate Bob: No. It’s just Bob.

(Saloon girls enter the pirates’ line of sight)

Cummerbund: Ah! See there? There be some lusty wenches right now!

Saloon Girl 1: What did you call us?

1^st Mate Bob: He called you ‘wenches’. Is this not Tortuga?

(Crowd, again, yells “New York City?!” and the pirates, once again, look around confused. Frantic Frannie and her gang enter from the Hotel Wolf.)

Frantic Frannie: This ain’t Tortuga. This is Saratoga!

(Cummerbund and the other pirates look at each other in shock.)

Cummerbund: Saratoga? New York?

Frantic Frannie: No. Saratoga, Wyoming.

Cummerbund: Wyoming?! Bob, get the navigator.

1^st Mate Bob: Mr. Upchuck. Front and center!

(Upchuck, a not-at-all-sober looking pirate stumbles up in front of Cummerbund)

Upchuck: Yes, sir?

Cummerbund: How do you explain us landing in Wyoming?

Upchuck: Um…by the river, sir?

Cummerbund: Let me see that map, you poor excuse for a pirate.

(Upchuck pulls a well-worn piece of paper from one of his pockets and hands it to Cummerbund. Cummerbund looks at it and then gives an exasperated sigh. He hands it to 1^st Mate Bob.)

1^st Mate Bob: You call this a map. There’s nothing but a bunch of squiggly lines drawn on it.”

Upchuck: I was drawing it as we went along, sir, but sometimes the current was too fast.

1^st Mate Bob: Where is the real map?

Upchuck: Oh, I threw that overboard in the Gulf of Mexico.

Cummerbund: Mr. Upchuck. Do me a favor and show me which way North is.

(Upchuck points up at the sky at which point Cummerbund shoots him. Cummerbund then turns around and addresses Frannie.)

Cummerbund: This may not be Tortuga…

(Crowd yells “New York City?!” again. This time the pirates all say “Where the heck is that coming from?” The rest of the cast looks at them like they’re crazy.)

Cummerbund: Anyway. We’re going to take this nice little town for our own.

Frantic Frannie: No you’re not. This town belongs to us.

(Sheriff Hugus and his deputy/deputies enter the scene from Lollypops)

Sheriff Hugus: Actually, this is my town.

Saloon Girls: Sheriff Hugus! He’s so cute!

Sheriff Hugus: That’s right. And this is Deputy Glode.

Cummerbund: I thought you said we were in Saratoga. This looks like the sheriff for Munchkinland!

(All the pirates point and laugh.)

Sheriff Hugus: When you’re done laughing, Jack Sparrow, I will tell you how we will handle this.

Frantic Frannie: I’m ready to hear it.

Cummerbund: Me too.

Sheriff Hugus: A contest.

Cummerbund: You mean a dance contest?

(At this, music starts and some of the pirates start break-dancing)

Frantic Frannie: That’s enough.

(She shoots one of the pirates and the music stops.)

Sheriff Hugus: We will have a shooting contest. The loser will leave the town and the winner will stay.

Frantic Frannie and Cummerbund: I’m game!

Deputy Glode: Then bring out your best shooters.

Frantic Frannie: Blind Betty! Get over here.

(Deaf Dan enters the scene.)

Frantic Frannie: This here is Blind Betty, the best shooter this side of the Mississippi.

Deaf Dan: What was that?

Frantic Frannie: I said Blind Betty. Not Deaf Dan.

(Blind Betty enters the scene and shows off his gun techniques.)

Cummerbund: Well we will use Cross-eyed Charlie!

Sheriff Hugus: Now we need a volunteer.

(A “volunteer” is picked from the crowd and taken out in front of the two markmen.)

Sheriff Hugus: One the count of three, fire. One. Two. Three.

(Blind Betty and Cross-eyed Charlie shoot wildly, hitting everyone except their target. They then shoot each other.)

Saloon Girls: They shoot at everyone except the volunteer!

Sheriff Hugus: Yep. This happens every year around this time.

Idris

Wed, 13 May 2009 00:24:35 GMT

So I went down to Denver this weekend with my mom to pick my brother up from the airport. We stopped in Loveland to do some shopping and I asked her to stop by Barnes and Noble because I wanted to look for Joe Hill's books "20th Century Ghosts". I found it, paid for it, and went on my way.

Later on, though, I got to looking at my reciept. The words that caught my eye were the ones telling me that my cashiers name was Idris. I got to thinking what an odd name Idris is. I mean, it's not one that you commonly hear anywhere. In fact, I don't think I had heard that name before looking at my reciept.

My mind began to wander and wonder. Who was this Idris? What kind of life does she lead?

Does she get off of work and go to a bar to hang out with girlfriends? Maybe they sip margaritas, tell stories from their retail jobs, and check out any cute guys who might be at the bar. On some occasions, she may even take a guy home. Show him a good night, probably keep in contact for a couple weeks.

Or maybe she goes home to the one bedroom apartment she shares with her two cats: Twinkle and Mr. Sniffles. She grabs a book of poems (maybe something like Robert Frost or E.E. Cummings) from her bookshelf and settles into her favorite chair. A well-worn recliner that once belonged to her father (who died of a stroke two years ago, God bless his soul) and has a perfect area in the seat of the chair to curl up and read a book. Maybe there's even a mug of chai tea on the table next to her.

What if she's not single? She could be going out with somebody, engaged, or married. Is the guy she's with a good guy? Does he treat her nice? Or is he a complete asshole? Abusive and loud. It could be she comes home to the cries of "Goddammit, Idris!". She knows that she's in a toxic relationship. All her friends point it out to her, but he does have good days. Idris hopes that as time passes those good days can increase, that maybe she can be the one to change him. The bruises on her stomach, back, and legs prove otherwise. At times it hurts to sit at all, but she continues her quest of helping him with his anger.

Does she have kids? One boy or one girl. Or maybe she has one cute little boy and a darling little girl. The boy walks around in a cowboy hat and spurs, wanting to grow up to be a cowboy (even if the country song says "momma, don't let your babies grow up to be cowboys"). The girl rolls her eyes at how immature her brother can be. She has plans to be an artist. In fact, the entire fridge is completely plastered with her most recent masterpieces. Smiling stick figures standing under a sun, protected by trees that have branches and leaves that inexplicably form a perfect circle.

It's amazing what one's mind can do if it begins to wonder.

Book Review: Heart-Shaped Box by Joe Hill

Wed, 29 Apr 2009 20:17:05 GMT

Just finished reading Heart Shaped Box, the debut novel by Joe Hill. If you're a music fan and realize that it's very similar to the title of a Nirvana album, then let me tell you that it's no coincidence. Heart Shaped Box is a very musically influence book and rightfully so considering the main character is an aging goth rocker.

Judas Coyne, former lead singer of Judas' Hammer, is fifty-four years old and a collector of strange things. He has a cannibal's cookbook, the skull of a man trepanned in the sixteenth century to let the demon's out, a three-hundred year old confession signed by a witch, a used noose, and a snuff film.

Judas comes off a cross between Michael Jackson (the collection of strange things), Billy Gibbons (his very big beard), and Trent Reznor or any other goth rocker you can think of. When you're first introduced to Judas, he's in a relationship (if it can be called that) with 23-year-old Georgia (her real name is Mary Beth, but Judas names his girlfriends after the state they're from).

Because of his collection, when his assistant, Danny Wooten, tells him he's found the haunted suit of a dead man, he doesn't even have to think about it. Judas buys it right out. Not long after it comes in the mail in a black heart shaped box.

Judas doesn't have to wait long for the ghost to make an appearance. Dressed in the suit, Craddoc McDermott begins appearing to him. Judas calls the woman who sold him the suit to discover that the ghost (and the woman) are family members of his last conquest. A woman he called Florida (her real name being Anna). Florida's sister tells him that she had commited suicide and shortly thereafter Craddoc had passed away and made it his mission to haunt and kill Judas.

What conspires after that is a very inticing story that will make you look at ghosts in a different way after reading it. With references to many different musical artists and songs, it's a treat for music fans as well.

Twists that you wouldn't expect great you in almost every chapter. I would highly suggest this book for anybody to read. It brings a breath of fresh air to the idea of the ghost story.

Website for the book

I, Vampire by Michael Romkey

Sat, 25 Apr 2009 02:42:52 GMT

Ok. Take everything you think you know about vampires and forget it. Got that? Good.

I, Vampire, written by Michael Romkey, a newspaper editor from Iowa, is told in the first person by a newly made vampire named David Parker. It is told in journal entries and deals with the bit of his mortal life before becoming a vampire and his first year of being a vampire.

In this universe, vampires have heartbeats, breath, taste, everything a living person has. Why? Because in Michael Romkey's vampire universe, the blood-suckers are not undead, but simply more advanced human beings. They live longer, can use more of their mind (which explains mind-control as well as telepathy, telekinesis, and leviation), and have far more acute senses.

Vampires can still eat food, but must start out eating more mundane and bland food because of their acute senses. They do drink blood, but only need a small amount to sustain themselves. The good ones take the small amount. The bad ones bathe in it.

The vampires are split into good and bad groups. The good group is called The Illuminati and it's ranks consist of Amadeus Mozart, Thomas Jefferson, Leonardo Da Vinci, Titania Romanov and Grigori Rasputin. Yes, you read that right. Rasputin is a good guy in this book and near the end, the reader gets to hear his side of the story. The bad group has no name but are led by Ceasar DaBorgia, and their ranks consist of Jack the Ripper (who's alternate identity is Prince Albert Victor), General Von Baden, Adolf Hitler (go figure, right?), and Ceasar's own sister, Lucrecia.

Going from Chicago to Las Vegas, Paris to Germany, and flashbacks to pre-U.S.S.R. Russia, I, Vampire worth the read. It takes a little getting used to the idea of vampires being super-human instead of undead. Also, Romkey does at times over use the idea of the metaphore. However, with those aside, I would suggest reading this. Especially if your a vampire fan.

Just a general update

Wed, 22 Apr 2009 23:10:38 GMT

So, I'm getting a divorce. Yep. Figure it's for the best, really. I'm tired of sitting around Saratoga, Wyoming waiting for nothing. I need to get out there and start my life, dammit.

So, needless to say I haven't got a whole lot of writing done, really. Been to busy packing stuff up and getting ready to move in with my parents. Luckily, it's only for the summer and after that I'll be taking off to parts unknown. Or to college.

Apologies for length between posts and a vampire question

Mon, 09 Mar 2009 19:21:16 GMT

First I want to apologize to all those who read my blogs on here for the amount of time between updates. As I've said before, my computer crashes and there are just sometimes I don't have the time to check everything I need to check online. Especially considering most of the computers I can get on to are public access and stuff.

I've been trying to work on some more writing. I have what I think is a good idea for a story, but I've come across a sort of an interesting idea. If a child is made into a vampire does that child vampire mature mentally and emotionally (like Claudia in Interview with the Vampire) or would that child vampire still have all the naivete of a child when it comes to the concepts of right or wrong, especially when it comes to justice and/or curiosity?

Something to think about.

Writing while alone...not working

Mon, 02 Feb 2009 00:43:49 GMT

So my wife is going to college now. It's a 6 hour drive from where we live, so I'm alone for the time being. I thought for sure that'd give me a chance to get some writing down. boy was I wrong.

Since she's been gone I just haven't had the urge to do any writing. It rather sucks.

crash dump a.k.a blue screen of death

Sun, 18 Jan 2009 18:53:12 GMT

So, Im going to be on sporadically. My laptop decided to crash dump on me and so I will have to send it back to Dell and try to get it fixed or something. Thus, I will be using other computers when I have the time.

Australia and America: Former British Colonies and how they developed differently

Tue, 13 Jan 2009 08:26:56 GMT

I'm just finishing up watching "Quigley Down Under" with Tom Selleck and Alan Rickman. For those who don't know, the basic premise is a cowboy from Wyoming goes to Australia for a job at a ranch. When the cowboy (played by Tom Selleck) gets to the ranch and meets the owner (played by Alan Rickman) and finds out what he was really hired for, he refuses the job and is eventually jumped by Rickman's men and left for dead in the middle of Australia. From there it's just like a Western in which he seeks justice against the antagonist.

At one point in the film, right near the start, Quigley comes across members of the British army. The major notices Quigley and how he's an American and makes a comment about how all Americans are unwanteds who will end up driving themselves out of their own "savage" country. Quigley replies that the unwanteds were already driven out of America...and back to Britain. (I will admit, that made me laugh.)

As I watched the film I got to thinking about America and Australia. Two former British colonies, but they developed completely different. Everyone knows the history of America, but just for the heck of it we'll go back into it. America was founded by the British as a colony in the New World. After many decades, the American Colonists removed the "yoke of British rule" which led to the Revolutionary War. The British tried attacking the new found country in 1812, but didn't fair to well. Since then, the history of American has been very interesting.

There was the Civil War between the Union and the Confederates, after which led to many families moving out west leading to the era known as the Old West. This era is very highly written about, high romanticized, etc. There were uncountable penny dreadfuls written about the outlaws and justice keepers of the this time. Not to mention Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show.

Australia was founded as a place for Britain to drop their criminals. From their, the country formed. While America has Native Americans, Australia has Aboriginies. America has coyotes, Australia has dingos. There are smiliarities, but also differences. Obviously, Australia's the only place one can find kangaroos.

I am ashamed, however, to say that I do not know much of Australian history. I do intend to read about Australian history. It could prove to be as interesting as American history.

Dog-earing books

Tue, 06 Jan 2009 03:31:08 GMT

I was watching the movie Finding Forrester the other day. I very much enjoy the movie, being a writer and all, but there is one thing that gets me. When Forrester sees that Jamal has dog-eared his book he says "Oh, you dog-eared it. Show the author a little respect."

In my mind, I believe that dog-earring a book is indeed showing the author respect. I've always felt that dog-earring the books shows that you enjoy the book immensley. I've felt that dog-earring a book gives the book character.

How do many of the other readers feel?

Twilight: What utter crap

Sun, 04 Jan 2009 20:39:51 GMT

So, I had decided to try and read Twilight. I thought that maybe by giving it a chance it would appeal to me a bit better. Was I ever so wrong.

The one character that really ruins it for me is Bella. A prissy, stuck-up, 17-year-old who reads Wuthering Heights for fun and listens to Chopin. That just doesn't make sense. There's not a whole lot of teenaged girls who would read Wuthering Heights for fun. In fact, I can't think of any. No one reads Wuthering Heights for fun.

There's that and her fanatical devotion to Edward. My wife has read the other three books and she tells me that Bella doesn't change. Well, then, what's the point of reading these books if there is no change in the character? That's one of the biggest reasons to read a book is to watch the character change or come to some kind of realization. But no. Every book is Bella going "I love Edward!".

I could wipe my ass and write a better book.

Writing A Script Pt. 2

Tue, 30 Dec 2008 21:29:33 GMT

I now have 12 cast members (including myself) for the 2009 Cowboy Shoot-out. Many people from last year are wanting to do it again, which is great. Today I asked one of last year's cast members if he was interested and his reply was "Does a wild bear shit in the wood?" You gotta love Wyoming.

Anyway, I'm still not sure what I want to do, so I'm going to write a few different scripts and see how they look to me. My first one is the pirate one. The dread pirate captain Green Gills and his 1st mate Scurvy Steve are already kinda growing on me. The hero of this script will be Black Bertha, Sheriff.

I'm excited about the amount of people wanting in on this, though. It's a good up feeling.

Cowboy shootout update

Tue, 23 Dec 2008 21:26:54 GMT

Okay, getting more people interested in the shootout which is a plus. Lots of people are excited about it and seem to want to take part in it. So that's got me excited as hell. However, I can't seem to find a good solid idea to go with. It's driving me nuts, really. I want to get started on some sort of script so that I can get an idea at how much work I have ahead of me.

Maybe I can't focus because everyone is right in that I have ADD. Maybe it's because of all this shit I have on my mind. I don't know.

Cowboy Shootout update

Sat, 20 Dec 2008 02:48:09 GMT

The 2005 Cowboy Shootout

As I said in a previous post, I am trying to work on a script for the 2009 Cowboy Shootout. I have been handed full reign of the project by my mother, who used to run it. I've been doing a lot of work already trying to find people interested in doing it this year. I already have 7 people who will do it for sure and a whole slew of people who will possibly do it.

One of the concepts for a script that I'm working on is that of a reverend by the name of Brim Stone comes to the town of Saratoga to found a new church. He is accompanied by Brother Ray Pent and Sister Patience. Reverend Brim Stone is known for his sharp tongue and it quickly gets him enemies on both sides of the law. The shoot-out ensues and Rev. Brim Stone survives only to get shot by the saloon girls because of some nasty things he called them.

Another concept is Dr. Maggulacuddy (or something like that) comes to Saratoga with his Professionally Patented, Specifically Scientific, Clinical Curing Tonic. A member of the local outlaw gang tries it out, only for it to make him blind. The shoot-out ensues, with the blind outlaw shooting most (if not all) of the shooters before succumbing to his wounds. The saloon girls roll Dr. Maggulacuddy and head off into the bar.

Yet another concept is that a group of pirates led by the infamous Captain Green Gills get lost while ransacking the Gulf of Mexico and somehow end up stranded in the North Platte River. They weigh anchor in Saratoga where they run into the local sheriff and deputies. They shoot each other, afterwards the saloon girls and pirate wenches decided to take off in Green Gills's ship and become the first all-female pirate crew.

My Dog...

Fri, 19 Dec 2008 20:46:23 GMT

I have a dog. I don't know if I've mentioned this in any previous post, but I'll tell people now. I have a dog. It's a cute dog. It's half blackmouth curr, half australian shepard. We got this dog on a fluke. One of my wife's friends had picked up the dog from a ranch that was giving them away. Well she couldn't keep it so she asked if we wanted it and we said yes.

The dog had already been given the name of Crouton by another one of my wife's friends. Don't ask me why, that's just what they named it. Shortly after we got Crouton we realized that she had been abused. Anytime I made a quick movement, she dropped to the floor expecting to get the crap beaten out of her. She didn't trust males and she would whine whenever somebody would leave the room.

Eventually we got her over the fear of being abused by us. The problem we're still dealing with is the whole going to the bathroom outside. Crouton will be let outside to go to the bathroom. She'll go outside several times within an hour and yet, she will come into the house and crap and piss all over the floor. It's a pain in the ass.

When I come home from work she'll have ate stuff from the trash, chewed on shoes, etc. I love this dog, but it's a pain in the ass.

Faith Fortified (A Christmas Story)

Fri, 19 Dec 2008 01:45:06 GMT

Here is a little story I wrote for Christmas. It is inspired partly on events that happned to me and to my wife when we were children. I hope you enjoy it. Comments are welcome as are criticisms.

Faith Fortified

By Joshua Noel Wood

December had roared into Wyoming like a lion. The town of Taylorville was covered in blankets of snow, as if Mother Nature had decided on a whim to white wash everything. School was, of course, in session. All the twin trails made by little feet led into the Taylorville Elementary School, where snow boots stood in growing puddles and winter coats warmed up from the short excursion into winter.

Benny Freydman was one of the kids in Taylorville Elementary, where he was now in third grade. Most of his class, however, was out sick except for him and three other kids. Mrs. Hunter was out that day, so third grade had a substitute. Benny didn’t like her. She looked mean, she didn’t smile like Mrs. Hunter did.

At one point in the day, Benny and the three other children were sitting in a circle as they were working on their English. The big topic was the coming of Christmas, for which all four of the kids were excited.

“I can’t wait for Santa to come!” exclaimed Benny.

“You’re stupid,” said the substitute, “You’re stupid to believe in Santa. He doesn’t exist at all. Your parents are lying to you.”

Well, Benny had no idea what to say, let alone what to do. This was a teacher telling him this, and teachers were always right. Parents were right to, and this teacher was saying his parents were liars, but that couldn’t be true.

Benny held everything in until he got home. The pain of being told that Santa Claus didn’t exist was hurting him in a place he couldn’t even describe. He walked through the door and removed all his winter clothes, the warmth of the house and the smell of his mom’s cooking helping him to feel a little bit better.

“Hi, Benny,” he heard his mom say, “how was school.”

Immediately, Benny broke down into tears. What the teacher had said to him still fresh in his mind.

“What’s wrong, Benny?” asked his mother.

“Mom,” he replied, “is Santa Claus real?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because the substitute teacher for Mrs. Hunter told me Santa wasn’t real.”

Mrs. Freydman sighed and told Benny’s little sister to go to her room for a little bit. After they heard the door shut, Benny and his mom sat down at the kitchen table.

“Benny,” she said, “the teacher was right. Santa Claus doesn’t exist. Parents pretend to be Santa to that they can get more gifts for their children. By believing in Santa Claus, children have more fun during Christmas and have more to look forward to. Do you understand?”

Benny nodded his head.

“Okay. Don’t tell your sister though. She’s still too young to know that Santa isn’t real.”

Benny nodded his head again. He then got up and went into his sister’s room.

“Hey, Serra. What my teacher said about Santa?” he said.

“Yeah,” his sister replied.

“She was lying. There is a Santa Claus. Mom just told me.”

Serra gave her big brother a look that said ‘Of course Santa’s real’. She then went back to playing with her toys. When Benny got into the kitchen, his mother gave him a big hug.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The month of December passed, like it had first entered. It seemed to snow every other day. Before anybody knew it, Christmas was just a few days away. On the night of December 24^th, the Freydman’s got an unexpected guest.

It was midnight, and Benny hadn’t been able to sleep. Then, he had heard sounds coming from the living room. He quietly got up and went into his parent’s bedroom to make sure they were both there. Benny remembered what his mother had told him about Santa Claus.

Their room was dark, so Benny got up real close to the bed. Sure enough, both his parents were asleep. He knew Serra wasn’t awake because she always slept through the night. So, Benny decided to see who it was.

The lights from the Christmas tree cast color onto the walls that made Benny feel like he was in a kaleidoscope. As he got closer to the living room he could hear moving. Benny moved as quietly as he could, careful not to make a sound.

As he peaked around the corner he just about fainted. Right by the Christmas tree was a very large man wearing a red coat with red pants and a red hat, all of it lined with white. Benny could see right through him. He could see the tree, and the presents, including one that weren’t there when everyone went to bed.

Just then, the man in red turned around and put a finger to his lips to make the universal gesture for “quiet”. Benny could only nod.

“I know you were told I didn’t exist, Benny,” Santa said.

Benny could only nod.

“I appear to people who know the true meaning of Christmas. You could’ve been mean and told your sister I didn’t exist, just like the adults told you, Benny. You didn’t. Benny, you did a great thing by telling your sister that I still existed. It helps her believe all the more, and the more kids believe in me the better I can be at being Santa. So you see, Benny, you didn’t just help your sister, you helped me.”

“You’re welcome,” was all Benny could say.

Santa Claus laughed quietly.

“Tell your sister about this, Benny. Don’t tell your parents though. Unfortunately, adults get to a certain age where they don’t want to believe anymore. They get it in their heads that things like Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny don’t exist, that it’s all for kids when it’s really for everyone. Once someone stops believing, it’s hard to get to believe again.”

Benny smiled at Santa. He would tell Serra the next morning about his meeting with Santa. He turned around and Santa scooted him toward his bedroom. With a smile on his friendly face, Santa Claus looked at the tree, saw his work was done, and disappeared from the room.

The next day, Benny’s parents were shocked to find presents that hadn’t been there the night before. They talked all day about where they could have come from. When they went into the kitchen to talk about it, Benny leaned over and told Serra where the presents came from, and they both smiled.

Writing a script.

Thu, 18 Dec 2008 05:06:05 GMT

So, in my town of Saratoga, there is a little melodrama that is done every 4th of July called the Cowboy Shootout. It's been done for years, kicked back and forth between the Platte Valley Arts Council and the Platte Valley Chamber of Commerce. Finally, when it looked like the shootout was going to go under, my mom took it upon herself to take over the shootout. She's been doing it for six or seven years now.

I took part in the cowboy shooutout once in high school and then again last summer. Last summer I wrote the script for it. Overall, everything turned out very well in my opinion. This year, my mom has handed the reigns over to me. I am now in charge of the cowboy shootout. She felt that someone younger ought to take over to bring new ideas and new blood into it so that it keeps going.

I have several ideas, but not sure which way I want to go with them. One idea I have is of pirates getting lost and ending up in Saratoga via the Platte River. From there they meet some outlaws and the hijinx ensue. Another idea is of a famous inventor coming to Saratoga to try out his new automotan sheriff.

I don't know though. I guess I'll just have to write at some point and see what happens from there.

Lacking Ideas

Wed, 10 Dec 2008 02:42:20 GMT

I'm stuck in what's commonly called Writer's Block. *gasp* In fact, I'm almost consistently stuck in writer's block. One would think that this would be impossible considering the amount of books I have and have read and the area I live in. The American West is full of great stories that have never been told, have only been told once, or retold a few times at least.

This region is full of towns that are long exctinct, dead, dying, on life-support, booming and any where in between. I lived in a town that had 100 people. My school had 20 kids. This town still had an old courthouse from it's heyday. I often thought about what happened at that courthouse when no one was in it. It had long been disused, the Recreation Center was the place for trials to happen in Bairoil.

Sinclair, Wyoming is home to the Parco Hotel. Back in the day, this hotel used to be the happening spot for everybody who was anybody. Have I toured it? No. Do I want to? Yes.

Medicine Bow, Wyoming is home to The Virginian. Everyone's heard that name. It was the basis for a book and the movie.

There are so very many stories floating around this great region and yet I can't seem to grasp a single one of them. I hate it. I hate writer's block. It sucks. I want to get rid of it.

Any ideas?

Writer's Block: Infamous

Mon, 08 Dec 2008 02:31:06 GMT

Today is known to some as the Day of Infamy, in commemoration of what happened at Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941. In your lifetime, what date sticks out as the most memorable in terms of world events?

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Obviously the big one on almost everyone's blog is September 11th, 2001. Of course it's going to be remembered by generations to come because it's only the fourth time in our entire history that we were attacked on our own country (the other three being the Revolutionary War, the War of 1812, and Pearl Harbor).

I was born in 1986, so I remember the Oklahoma City Bombing. I remember watching news casts weeks after. The biggest thing that sticks in my mind was watching 20/20 with my parents and hearing about how weeks after the bombing they found the corpse of one of the children entangled in a fence. There are times where I can still picture it in my mind.

I also remember the Columbine High School Massacre. My entire school (about 20 kids) watched it on the news. I remember reading a year later about how many of the survivors were committing suicide. I also remember how the PMPC tried using Columbine as more reason to censor music.

And obviously, 9/11. Everyone remembers that one. Ask anybody and they'll tell you that they first thought it was a joke, until they saw the news. I spent most of my class time over the next two weeks watching the news about 9/11.

Sun, 07 Dec 2008 08:25:14 GMT

Ok. So obviously I haven't had much to post about lately, either that or I haven't had the time. I've been trying to work on writing and such, but I just can't seem to keep my mind focused. Some co-workers suggested I might have Attention Deficit Disorder, which is sometimes linked with Bipolar Disorder. That would explain a lot about me. I'm not too sure, though. I'll find out when I talk with my psychiatrist.

My wife got accepted into Northwest Community College up in Powell, Wyoming. She's going to be starting classes in January and I'm not going to be able to see her for a while, which sucks. I love her so much and I don't know if I can handle her being gone. I guess we'll see though.

My brother gets back to Wyoming for Christmas vacation on the 21st. I'm excited to see him. When I watched him go through the security lines in DIA, I cried my eyes out because he was going on to bigger and better things.

Not a whole lot more going on, really. Oh well.

New Ideas for Busting Out Some Words

Sat, 15 Nov 2008 02:33:34 GMT

Ok. I've been having some trouble getting anything written. My inner critic just never shuts up and it gets louders whenever I go to write something that's not a rant. It's been driving me crazy. My inner critic seems to have gotten louder since my time in Missoula. I'm sure the reason behind that is because of all the people I was around who always told me my stories sucked or were crap. Every writer has to put down some crap before he gets anything good done. I've read and heard this all the time and yet I can't seem to be able to listen to that piece of advice.

I wrote quite a bit during my two months in California. A good almost 20 pages (written) that is slowly becoming a mystery novel. However, I have not been able to write anymore. I don't know if it's because I "don't have the time" or if I'm stressed out about work and stuff. I spend most of my time reading about writing and writers, looking at contests and wondering if I should enter them or not.

I just came across Genre Challenge. The whole idea being to write a new genre each month. So, I've decided I will do this, but more for myself than anybody else. I'll start December '08 and go to December '09. I'm not sure what genres I'll do. I'll figure that out soon enough I guess.

Veteran's Day

Tue, 11 Nov 2008 21:43:28 GMT

Today is November 11th. Veteran's Day. All over Livejournal I am seeing the poem "In Flander's Field". In fact every other journal entry is this poem. Is it enough on V-Day to just post this poem though? I mean, think about it. This is a day to honor the men and women who fought (and some died) to protect the rights that we hold dear and sometimes take for granted. Rights such as our freedom of speech, of religion, of assembly, of the press, etc. So, on this day that we honor the those who fought, those who died, and those who were forever changed or scarred is it right to simply copy and paste a poem into your blog and post it.

i understand that it's the thought that counts. I have several veterans in my family. My great-grandpa (who passed away when I was a very young child) had won two Purple Hearts in WW2, my mother and father were stationed in Germany during the Cold War, and my cousin James just got out of the Marine's after several tours in Iraq and Afghanistan. These men and women who have fought and are still fighting hae gone through so much. Many of them have seen things that no person should ever see.

When I think of the men and women who fought to give me my right to be able to choose to be a democrat, to choose to speak my mind, to choose whether I want a religion or not, and to choose whether I want to write or not, I am proud. I am proud to be an American, where I still have the best right of all: the right of choice.

So please, if you read this, on this Veteran's Day don't just copy and paste "In Flander's Field". Write what you feel about our veteran's. Tell the veteran's what you think of their sacrifice. After all, that's what this day is for.

Writer's Block: Titular Heroes

Tue, 11 Nov 2008 21:20:38 GMT

Kurt Vonnegut's books have great titles, like Breakfast of Champions and Slaughterhouse Five. If your life was a novel, what would the title be?

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Hmm. That's a hard one. I can think of chapter names, such as "Fast food, Duct Tape, and Dog Piss" or "Endless Noise, work at an arcade". For a title of my life, though, it would have be one of the following:
The Contemplative Musings of an Intellectual Procrastinator
The Duality of Man (or Give Me More Porn!)
Holy Crap! Why did I do that?
or
Making the Grade: One Man's Ordeal with Codependence.

Um...yeah.

Writing Woes

Sun, 09 Nov 2008 17:14:26 GMT

THIS REALLY SUCKS! I MEAN REALLY SUCKS!

I decided that this year I would take part in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month for those of you who don't know) to try and boost my writing productivity. I always have this big problem when I go to write. It goes something like this:
1. Get idea (so far, so good)
2. Open up laptop and go to Word or open up notebook and pick up pen.
3. Begin writing.
4. Get as far as anywhere from one paragraph to three paragraphs.
5. Stop.
6. Inner critic begins to tell me that it sucks. It really sucks. In fact, it sucks so much it's surprising that it's not creating a blackhole in the middle of my living room.
7. Quit and come back to it.
8. Never go back to it.

I have not completed anything in at least four years. Count it. FOUR YEARS! It really just, irks me.

I have no idea how to combat this...sickness of the inner critic. I don't know how to shut it up or anything. I didn't used to listen to it at all and then one day it simply got louder. And louder. And even louder. Everyday it got louder to the point where as soon as I open up a notebook and grab my pen, or I open up my laptop and sit my fingers at the keys, all I hear is the inner critic.

So, my question is...does anybody have any suggestions on how to strangle (or at least muffle) the inner critic?