"Humanity is slowly shutting down" - Jesse Hasek, 10 Years

Friday, September 30, 2011

This Week in Reading #6

Geist by Philippa Ballantine

This Week: 150 Pages
Last Week: 155 Pages
Total: 1,157 Pages

Favorite Sentences and/or Passages (in no particular order):

1: It was good weather for a riot. - Geist

2: This Chambers, whoever he was, had better have a thick skin, because right now she needed someone to take [her anger] out on. - Geist

3: No one since Pareth, the Presbyter of the Young during Sorcha's childhood, had dared give her a nickname, but from Gent, it was somehow acceptable. - Geist

The first sentence would, by far, have to be my favorite sentence of this entire book. I honestly believe it could be filed in among some of the greatest opening lines of novels, like "Call me Ishmael." or "It was the best of times; it was the worst of times." The other two hold significance in defining the character of Sorcha Farris. So far, even within the first opening scene, she is depicted as a very strong woman, mentally and physically, who could hold her own in the world, no matter what the situation.

Thursday, September 29, 2011

Drowning

(Original song lyrics by Ty Thomas)
(Pending changes by the band)

I'm drawn away
from this tumultuous hurricane,
stinging winds stripping away 
what's left of us.

Up above, my eyes are opened
Truth reveals a frightening fate

Lost in the clouds,
I'm drowning in the darkness
What am I doing here?
Eyes blinded by our past,
Slowly fading out to black
What are we waiting for?

Faces painted on our lies.
Masks to cover up our crimes.
We're trying to hide from it,
Lying, so we can't see it.
Are we so blind?

Lost in the clouds,
I'm drowning in the darkness
What am I doing here?
Eyes blinded by the past,
Slowly fading out to black
What are we waiting for?

(Instrumental Break)

We're losing this game, but nobody sees it
We're breaking apart, but nobody knows it
How long before we all fall away?

Lost in the clouds,
I'm drowning in the darkness
What am I doing here?
Eyes blinded by the past,
Slowly fading out to black
What are we waiting for?

Monday, September 26, 2011

$7.99 Well Spent

Just this past weekend, I celebrated my three-year anniversary with my girlfriend. We went out to the mall, and wandered around the various shops. Over the course of a couple hours, we found ourselves divulging in free samples in a cooking store, going crazy over all the different types of chocolates, fawning over cute little teddy bears in Build-A-Bear, and riding the double-decked carousel that dominated the food court. I'm not much of a 'mall-goer', but I must say it was a wonderful time, regardless. Complete with messy burgers from Red Robin and a trip by Barnes and Noble to snoop for new reads, it couldn't have been any better.

Speaking of new books to read, I happened across this little paper-back book, nestled into a corner on the fantasy shelves...

The first thought that crossed my mind when I saw it was a simple one, "Pretty small book, might be easy to read."

I know, terrible first thought. Moving on.

As I pulled it out from the shelf, and lay eye on the cover, the art immediately grabbed my attention. The lion brought back memories of C.S. Lewis, and the fiery, red-headed, fierce-looking, magic-wielding heroine implored me to read the summary on the back.

I checked the price tag. $7.99 was not a bad price at all. And I bought it there and then, without even cracking open the book itself. Most would call that a stupid move, but I decided to trust my gut instinct

After reading the first bits of the pages, the story seemed simple: Sorcha Farris is one of the most powerful Actives within an organization known as The Order. Her husband, Kolya Farris, is also one of the most powerful Sensitives within The Order. In this world, Actives and Sensitives, both with different magical powers, work together to fight creatures known as geists, undead spirits that possess humans and in general, wreak havoc on the living.

The Actives possess magical gauntlets that have different runes inscribed along each of the fingers that call upon different types of magic. However, they are unable to see the geist. This is where the role of the Sensitives comes in. The Sensitives have the ability to see the geist, and by a magical telepathic bond, they report that information to their Active bond-mates, who then use their magic to eradicate the geist.

After a geist attack gone wrong, Sorcha's husband, Kolya, is badly injured. Despite the incident, Sorcha is needed elsewhere, so she is paired with a novice Sensitive named Merrick Chambers. They are hired to help the village of Ulrich, that has been the victim of numerous geist attacks. Along for the ride is Raed Rossin, a pretender to the throne--and bearer of a dangerous curse-- who Sorcha is sworn to protect.

And that's the gist of the novel so far. I'm looking forward to reading more of it.

Oh, and for those of you wondering if "geist" is a real word, I looked it up, and it is actually German for "mind, spirit, or ghost". How awesome is that?

Friday, September 23, 2011

This Week in Reading #5

The Overachievers by Alexandra Robbins

This week: 155 pages
Last week: 180 pages
Total: 1,007 pages

Favorite Sentences and/or Passages of the Month! (in no particular order):

1: "The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed." The Gunslinger


2: "The stars were as indifferent to this as they were to wars, crucifixions, resurrections." The Gunslinger  

3: "May we meet again on the path, before we all meet in the clearing. . ." The Gunslinger 


4: "When one quests for the Dark Tower, Time is a matter of no concern at all." The Gunslinger

Out of all these quotes, the winner would have to be #4. It's like a metaphor, where the Dark Tower can represent any large barrier that one needs to overcome to reach their end-goal. And when working to overcome this goal, you should move slowly and carefully. After all, slow and steady wins the race. Or so said the turtle, anyway. . .

facade

(An original poem by Ty Thomas)

an endless barrage of smiling portraits
concealing a cold reality.
a plaster slab painted bright,
that lies atop the ineffable truth.

but why bother caring?
this way is so much easier.
ignoring the cynics, rebuking the critics
all for a glimmer of happiness.

we live for this rare hope, that rare chance
that everything is as it seems
we hide behind painted masks,
hiding away our fears.

yet fame still makes the headlines,
faces seen too many times.
pushed to succeed, pushed to prove,
pushed too far, but nobody knows. . .

for fear never sees the light of day,
and in silence, it slowly takes over. . .

until only this hollow facade remains. . .

Thursday, September 22, 2011

The Butterfly Effect


It is often said that the things you come to appreciate and value the most are the things that you stumble upon accidentally, the things that you would have never noticed had it not been for one chance encounter, one simple glance, one moment that you strayed off the worn and beaten path. After a while, you begin to wonder how your life would have been different if you never met that person, or walked down that sidewalk, or picked up that phone. I begin to ask myself the inevitable series of questions that comes after that sudden realization. What if I had never gone to that birthday party? What if I had never said yes? What if I had never gone back?Eventually, you come to cherish these moments, these people, with all your heart. You never want them to leave you, you never want to imagine a life without them, and you can never bring yourself to forget them. The best opportunities only come once in a lifetime, and once you have them, you should never let them go, no matter what sacrifices must be made.
I used to be a very shy and quiet kid. You would seldom find me without a book in my hands, and it was rather difficult to get me to interact with other kids. I never did well in group projects, and I broke down when I got stuck with someone I didn’t know. Over the years, I developed a shell around myself that closed me off from the rest of the world, a shell that only I could truly understand, a shell that only my true best friends could ever break. One of these best friends decided to invite me to a birthday part that she was throwing at a local Laser-X. I agreed to go, and unknowingly signed away what could have been my life.
The birthday part was truly a wonderful experience, even though I lost most of the rounds of laser tag. But the defining moment of the entire party was the challenge at the Dance-Dance Revolution game. I had watched two girl face each other, both doing pretty well. Better than anything I could do, I thought. As their song ended, the taller of the two stepped down. The other girl asked if anybody wanted to face her.
Here’s my chance! I spoke up, “I’ll play against you.”
She nodded and smiled at me, brushing her curly brunette hair out of her face, “Okay, you want to pick the song?”
When the song was over, we both eagerly awaited for the scores to appear on the screen. When they did, I was in shock. A girl had beaten me. Oh man, this is terrible I thought. I sucked up what little pride I had left, and I offered her a high five, as I said, “Good game.”
She looked at me, quizzically at first. Then she saw my hand. “Yeah, good game.” She high fived me back, without halting to glare at me with spiteful eyes, like so many other girls had done to me before.
The shell splintered ever so slightly.
Secretly, I had hoped that I would see her again, even though all the odds told me that I wouldn’t. I didn’t even know her name. But Fate bet against those odds, and we met each other again at our freshmen orientation.
After many boring speeches given by school officials and class representatives alike, the orientation wound to a close. I found myself impatiently wandering around the parking lot, looking for my mom’s bright red van. Disappointed and bored, I ventured back into the school to wait for her inside.
That’s when I saw the girl again. She had just stepped out of the auditorium, and was making her way towards the door, her brother in tow. Instantly, I recognized her brother. From the look in his eyes, he recognized me as well. I approached them, and nervously acknowledge the girl, “Hi, I remember you from that birthday party.”
“Yeah, I played against you in DDR.” She sounded nervous as well, but still a smile spread across her face. We talked for a little while longer, and I managed to learn her name, as well as her email address. As they left, I repeated her name over and over again in my head. Kelli. . .
The shell had begun to crack.
During the first few weeks of school, we would sometimes run into each other in the pale white hallways of the freshman academy. We would talk for a little while, and then go about our day.  It seemed that we were destined to be friends, and little more than that. . .
But Fate was relentless, and it offered up another choice, another chance.
Kelli and her brother invited me over to their house a couple of days later, and for the first time in my life, I truly felt in love. Even though all we did was play video games and watch television, I felt like myself around someone. For that moment, the shell had been cracked open.
Before I knew it, I found myself sheepishly asking her if she would be my girlfriend. I was so nervous, I was shaking as I asked her. But when she said yes, my whole world was turned upside-down, and I knew from that point on, that nothing would ever be the same again.
The shell had shattered, the pieces scattering far and wide.
As I’m looking back at everything that has transpired over the past three years, all the memories flood my mind, and pure joy washes over me. Even as I struggle to put my thoughts onto paper, the memories stand out like red paint on the canvas of life. Our first date at the Johnny Appleseed festival, and how we tried to hide the fact that we were holding hands. Our first accidental kiss as we left school for the weekend, that left us both excited and scared. Our first real kiss on her back porch, that left us both blushing and giddy. The many after-school Fridays that we have shared watching movies, playing video games, and talking. The numerous nights we lost ourselves in conversation until two in the morning. The few moments that it seemed our flame would go out, and the moments where we talked out our problems and rekindled the dying fire. So many pivotal moments, where one simple change, one chance happening could have changed everything, for better or worse.
I have always been a believer in Fate, and even now I believe that things happen to us that we have no power to change. But when Fate gives you the moment of chance, you have to choose to take hold of your fate. Simply relying on chance alone holds no guarantee that you will find what you seek. Harry Browne once said, “You are where you are today because you have chosen to be there.” At the end, that is what it comes down to. You have the power to choose to accept or decline the perfect opportunities that Fate drops right in front of you. For your sake, I hope you choose correctly.

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Claims of the Day

In no particular order. . . (If you want to read the claims, just right click and open each in a new tab. Figured this way would conserve space. We don't want another REALLY long post. . .)

1: InsideOut (claim)

2: That One Guy's Blog (claim) (Perhaps my favorite one)

3: The Blanket Fort (claim)

4: Noodles (claim)

5: The Ozone Lair (claim)

 Out of these five claims, I have to admit that I immediately fell in love with the picture "that one guy" chose. As he put it, the painting had a "complex simplicity" that compelled the mind to wonder what was going on underneath the surface of the painting itself

Monday, September 19, 2011

Watching the World Run By. . .


Mood: calming, surreal, therapeutic, laid-back 
Colors: natural, realistic, contrasting (bench vs. nature)
Angle/Layout: simplistic, provocative, thoughtful
Interpretation: appreciation, respect, 
Space: clear, 

Claim: "In this photograph, the contrasting colors of the bench and the grass, along with the thoughtful camera angle, communicate a sense of appreciation and respect for the nature that we seldom acknowledge."

Sunday, September 18, 2011

Equinox

(An original poem by Ty Thomas)


Three years past, and nobody could know
the thoughts that would keep us up at night
high on the memories.

Afternoon walks with no goal in mind,
hand in hand we journey towards home.

Evenings with brownie batter galore
and sprinkles that litter the air.

Nights of reading each other's eyes, and
losing our selves in the blissfulness.

Regrets will pass, and sorrow will fade
Remember what brought us together
Not the money or the status, but
the hands of fate on the equinox.

Saturday, September 17, 2011

Voices of the Minorities

So let's just get right to the point, shall we?

Found some pretty awesome poets, and figured I'd share a few of my favorites with you. . .

"Dust" by Dorianne Lux

"Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver

"The Word" by Tony Hoagland

Personally, I gravitate towards poetry that has an expressionistic tone, the kind of poetry that leaves you thinking long after you have read it. Isn't that the point of all poetry, to make you think? I really liked these three poems for those precise reasons. "Dust" essentially sums up that little feeling that any artists gets when they feel inspiration, and that hits me right at home, since I'm aspiring to be an author, and just like the person in the poem, I often fail to see said inspiration. I would try to analyze this little thought more, but now is not the time to go all philosophical. There will be plenty of room for that later.

This Week in Reading #4

The Gunslinger by Stephen King (FINISHED)

This week: 180 pages
Last week: 314 pages
Total: 852 pages

 Favorite Sentences and/or Passages (in no particular order):

1: "Do you believe in an afterlife?" the gunslinger asked him as Brown dropped three ears of hot corn onto his plate.

Brown nodded. "I think this is it."

2: "May we meet again on the path, before we all meet in the clearing. . . "

3: "Go then, there are other worlds than these."


Again, I really enjoyed the use of short, sweet sentences throughout this book. They conveyed emotion just as deep as their lavishly detailed counterparts. 


And that is all for tonight. . . If you want to read more, check out the two poems I posted a while back, and the snippet of my latest story in my previous post. Thanks, and good night!


P.S. These font issues are really starting to make me go OCD. . . 

Friday, September 16, 2011

Wasting Away (Bonus Story Included!)

Ever get that gut feeling that something isn't right, or that you really messed something up? Do you hate how it grates on your stomach until you can hardly ignore it? How do you cope with the nagging thoughts inside your head?
                I've never been one to feel jealous before. But now that I do, this cold, heartless gnawing begins to eat away at me, driving me back to the rawest of human emotions.
                I feel like I’m wasting away what talent I have left. I don’t write as much as I should, I don’t practice my guitar enough to get any better, and to top it all off, nothing that I pound out at the keys looks good. They say a writer is their own worst critic. If so, I need to train that part of my brain to shut the hell up during my writing time.
                Just one day of pure inspiration. Just one day where everything can go just as I had hoped. Maybe that will turn things around. Maybe then I will feel successful, and the jealous feeling inside of me will subside.
               
                To the person whom my jealousy is directed at –
                I am truly sorry that I feel this way. In no way do I want to bring you down, or make you feel bad in any way. I hope that you can understand that. . .

                Well, now that that confession is out in the open, time for something completely different. . .

                I want to give whoever takes the time to read this a look at what I have been working on so far. It’s not much, but any feedback at all is welcome.
                                                          ~ ~ ~
            A low and silent fog slowly crept up the dark city streets, quietly enveloping the decaying buildings until only a faint shadow of a world past was visible. The cracks in the plaster moaned under ages of stress and the remains of the paint painfully peeled away, fading away into the voracious nothingness.
A young man walked slowly down the center of the street, holding his head low. The wind howled violently around him as it battered the broken city. The smooth folds of the man’s long, dark jacket silently danced along with the wind, and what little light permeated through the growing darkness shone off of a silver-etched watch that dangled from the man’s waist. Deeper in the fog, a raven cried out to the wasteland. The ghastly screech echoed through the alleyways and resonated off the cold concrete before it reached the young man.
He looked up momentarily, and his pale brown eyes grew wary. Instinctively, he reached for his watch with his right hand, and he wrapped its’ long chain around his middle and index fingers. The watch calmly nestled down into the groove between his index finger and thumb, and he rested his thumb on the spring catch that revealed the clock-face itself hiding inside. He tensed himself, his eyes slowly scanning every dark shadow that surrounded him. He muttered two simple words to himself, “That’s new.”
The shadows seemed to close in on him. One by one, the growing void advanced on him until the darkness stood flush against the young man. He closed his eyes, and held his watch up in front of his head.
            A strange yet familiar silence lingered in the air. The fog was no longer visible, for the darkness was vicious in its rapacity. Suddenly, the air grew thick, and it seemed to pulsate with frightening ordinariness.
            The young man winced, but held his ground. His upper lip twitched briefly, but he quickly maintained control.
            The darkness took advantage, and it began to pulsate once more, violently tearing away at its prison.
            The young man wavered, his right hand shaking. He slowly shook his head, his black hair falling in front of his closed eyes.  
            Finally, with one last push, the darkness seemed to erupt in pure rage, and the young man heard a vicious shriek tear through the void. It burrowed into his temples, and forced its way into his brain. All the while, it cried, “WHY?! YOU CAN NOT ESCAPE US!”
            His knees buckled, exploding from the intensity of the screaming voice. He fell to one knee, and he shielded his eyes with his left hand. The wind whipped about him, and the shadows seemed to brush against him as his heart began to pound out of control. The voice continued to scream incoherently, and the young man could hear it growing louder. He recited the words that he knew so well, the words he had learned and cherished since that fateful night of separation.

Under shadows reign, I’m hidden
Out of body, out of mind, and
In my eyes, reflects the light that
Brings me to the land of knowing

            The voice was now screaming in his ears, the noise deafening and deadly. With a flick of his wrist, he opened the silver watch.
            The world seemed to fall out from under him, and he found himself suspended within the void. He repeated the words again and again, and with each line, the screaming fell farther and farther away, until it retreated, waiting to be met again. Gradually, the light began to pour through the darkness, and the young man found himself drowning in its magnificence.
            At long last, the young man began to feel the familiar air invading his senses. He opened his eyes, and he knew he was who he was again. . .     
                                                                          ~ ~ ~
                And that is all for today. Sorry for the extra long post, and thanks if you stuck with me for this long. Until next time, then. . . 


P.S - Sorry if the font looks different and it bugs you. I know it's bugging me, but it only happened cause I copied this post from a word document into here. So no biggies. Unless your really OCD. Then I sincerely apologize to you. . . 

Thursday, September 15, 2011

Through Jaded Eyes

 (An original poem by Ty Thomas)

Sharp points on verdant pine,
faded blooms of winter's coming,
whispering drops of storm's creation.

Children dance and laugh and play,
insects chitter in joyful abundance.
All while jaded eyes glare over them

and see nothing but a wasteland
waiting to be sowed. . .

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

Forgotten Dreams

(An original poem by Ty Thomas)

A dream lie forgotten by the bedside
crying out to be held again

Hope rests alone in the dust
slowly losing itself

Visions half-seen
Impressions half-thought
Ideas half-nurtured
Dreams half-chased

Are we so blind that we can not see
the message we are leaving?
We wonder why our younger selves
are slowly dying out. . .


 

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Silent Reverie





Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent.

~ Victor Hugo





Take time to actually listen to your favorite songs. . . Let them breath new meaning into your soul. Let them take you for a wild ride as you strive to understand the message behind the beat. . . 

Friday, September 9, 2011

This Week in Reading #3

The Hollow by Jessica Verday (FINISHED)

This week: 314 pages
Last week: 151 pages
Total: 672 pages

By the way, before I begin the sentences passage of this entry, let me just say one thing: The Hollow was, unfortunately, not a good read. The initial mystery that is set into place with her friend Kristen is completely overlooked when goody-goody Caspian comes into the picture, and you don't find out his secret until the very end. I understand the book was set up as a trilogy, but even when you are guaranteed a series deal, you should still make the first book a satisfying stand-alone novel. Because if you don't, the first book will mar the rest of the series, and the fans who stuck it out will say to new readers, "Just wait until the second book, it gets better." Honestly, when told that, I don't want to read the book at all. I mean, who wants to struggle through a terrible first book just to get to the good parts in the second? I would much rather read a synopsis of the first, then jump right into the second. But that's a tale for another time. Enough rambling. Check this post by another blogger if you want a better review of the novel.


Therefore, this weeks sentences will be a couple more from The Gunslinger

 Favorite Sentences and/or Passages (in no particular order):

1: "He found the irony, like his thirst, bitterly appealing."

2: "You will not see what you do not look for, maggot."

3: "The stars were as indifferent to this as they were to wars, crucifixions, resurrections."

A stark contrast to Jessica Verday's writing style, King excels in using short, simple, yet provocative sentences to deliver precise description, characterization, and themes of the novel. Definitely a radically different writing style. . . we'll see how this goes. . .

A new plan set in motion

An idea just struck me. A way to make myself read more.

I'm going to try and read one book a week, if not more.Hopefully, this will be a promise I actually keep to myself, and not just another lie I tell myself to make myself feel better. . .

Why do I do things like this? Putting projects off until the last minute? They say you write your best papers at two in the morning. Giving up on promises I make to myself? It's easy to just give up when you don't have anybody but yourself putting pressure. I'm my own worst critic anyway, it doesn't help that I'm also my own worst promise keeper. Countless times before, I've told myself that I will write this many pages of my story today, or I will read this many pages in the assigned reading for my English class. And countless times again, I've given up these promises, giving in to the easy life that is giving up

Today, I swear that ends. I don't care what it will take to get out of this rut. I tell myself that I want to be a writer, yet I haven't written a damn thing for almost a year and a half now. I give writing advice to would-be authors when I don't practice what I preach. This hypocrisy has to stop, once and for all. . .

Fate, if your listening, show me a sign, and I will try to follow. Give me the chance of choice that I long for.

Next week in reading: The Gunslinger by Stephen King

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Stuck

I've been stuck lately. Stuck in a bad rut of writer's block. For as long as I can remember, I have not been able to write a single page of a story worthy of the title "rough draft". Whatever I manage to pound out, I mull over it again and again until I have memorized it inside and out, then I end up deleting it a couple hours later.

Why am I stuck? What did I do to deserve this? Did I do something wrong, and I was decidedly punished by Fate? Or am I just stuck in this deep crevasse with nothing but an old rope to help me claw my way out of this?

Whatever it is, I honestly hope I'll be free of it soon. I watch as friends of mine finish their own stories, and I look at my own blank pages and wonder, "Is all this struggling even worth it?" I like to think yes, but until I can break out of my rut, I just don't know what I will do.

Until the moment of revelation, I'll keep trying to write. I may not be the most dedicated man on the planet. I may not be the most determined person on Earth, but I swear I will get out one day. And when that day comes. . . Oh, what a glorious day it shall be.

Saturday, September 3, 2011

Touring the Blogosphere

Among the blogs I visited this morning, these were my favorite ones:

1: InsideOut (Love the new layout!)
2: As Told By Ginger (Very pink, might I say.)
3: That One Guy's Blog (You read a lot, man. Respect.)
4: The Blanket Fort (I love your little bio, Miss Bed-Sheet-Caped Highness.)
5: Norwegian Wood (The mystery of who you really are is over. Bummer. Saw your twitter feed on the right side of your blog. Oh well.)
6: The Lost Message of Words (Probably the best title I've seen so far.)
7: The Ozone Lair (Nice little play-on words there.)
8: Under the Oak (Very simple, yet fun structure, complete with a depressingly awesome vampiric fish pond!)
9: The Adventures of Streamer Man (Waiting to hear that story sometime. . .)

I also visited all the other blogs as well, so nobody would feel singled out. ^_^ Besides, everyone deserves a comment here and there, right?

Friday, September 2, 2011

This Week in Reading #2

The Hollow by Jessica Verday
The Overachievers by Alexandra Robbins
Coming of the Storm by Kathleen and Michael Gear
The Gunslinger by Stephen King

This week: 151 pages
Last week: 206 pages
Total: 357 pages

Favorite Sentences and/or Passages (in no particular order):

1: "When one quests for the Dark Tower, Time is a matter of no concern at all." The Gunslinger

2: "I think novelists come in two types, and that includes the sort of fledgling novelist I was by 1970. Those who are bound for the more literary or "serious" side of the job examine every possible subject in the light of this question: What would writing this sort of story mean to me?  Those whose destiny is to include the writing of popular novels are apt to ask a very different one: What would writing this sort of story mean to others? The "serious novelist is looking for answers and keys to the self; the "popular" novelist is looking for an audience. Both are equally selfish. I've known a good many, and will set my watch and warrant upon it." Stephen King, Introduction of The Gunslinger

 3: "The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed." The Gunslinger

As you can probably tell, my main choice of reading for this week was The Gunslinger, the first book in King's widely acclaimed Dark Tower series. However, his introduction is what really caught my attention. He describes how he felt when he was young, and nothing but a fledgling writer. How he felt so powerful, that nothing could stop him, that he would notice the right idea once it passed him by.

In some ways, he reminds me a lot about myself, in a way. Young, ambitious, and waiting to change the world for at least one person through the power of a story well told. Tolkien did it. Hemmingway did it. Charles Dickens did it. Why can't I?  












Thursday, September 1, 2011

Turning Off the Lights and Slowing Down to Smell the Roses

I've always been a believer in fate and chance.

But what happened today cemented that belief.

I was listening to some Rise Against on the bus ride home, and I had just thought of all the reading I had to do tonight. I told myself, "I'll read if there is nothing else to do." Yeah, I know, terrible mindset, but alas, I thought it.

So when I got home, I decided to try and finish Metal Gear Solid 4. I thought, "I only have reading homework to do, so that should be relatively easy." I played for about an hour or so, then I got off to start my reading.

However, I got sidetracked again. A computer was open (a rare occurrence with three equally competitive siblings), and I proceeded to check my Facebook, catch up on my YouTube subscriptions, and all-in-all do really pointless, mindless things that are just wasting away hours of my young life.

Then, at 5:45, everything stopped. The power went out for some unknown reason. My mom was rather upset, and was calling the electric company, in hopes that our power hadn't been shut off. Fortunately, that was not the case. However, she did find out that the power wouldn't be back until about 10:00.

My sister had a paper to finish for school, so they went into the library. I chose to hold down the fort at home, just in case the electric company guys came out here. So, I proceeded along, with this schedule, as follows:

5:45 - 6:15 - Searched the entire house, trying to find the sixth volume of the manga series Death Note. I failed.
6:15 - 6:30 - Practiced the acoustic version of "Wasteland" by 10 Years.
6:30 - 7:10 - Continued reading The Hollow
7:10 - 7:20 - Made myself a peanut butter sandwich. (Peanut butter was hidden in the spice cabinet. Huh?)
7:20 - 7:30 - Continued reading The Hollow


Then, a quiet humming sounded throughout the living room. My sisters CD she had put in the player moments before the power had gone out sprung back into it's giddy tune, and it made me jump.

The power had somehow come back, even when all the resources said it would have been out for almost four hours, if not longer.

You know, it may just be superstitious nonsense, but I really believe that Fate was trying to teach me something today. It was telling me, yelling at me, screaming at me, to slow down, and enjoy the simple pleasures of life: reading a good book, enjoying your favorite music, the sounds of nature outside your window.

I'm aware that I this will probably change very little. I'll still check my YouTube subscriptions, and get distracted with stupid LolCat pictures. But I will always try to remember to slow down, and enjoy the simple joys while I'm still young and bright.

As Stephen King once wrote: "At nineteen, it seems to me, one has a right to be arrogant; time has usually not begun its stealthy and rotten subtractions."