Macbeth Update

Against my better judgement, I posted a tidbit from my Macbeth story on the Macbeth page. I wrote it all today in about thirty minutes without any editing. So read it at your own risk. Sadly it is another example of why I think I should go learn underwater basket weaving, and leave the writing to professionals. 

Fragmentary Flogging

I have not been writing like I should. And my back bleeds from loving welts and dripping gashes. My friends have tried to beat me into submission, and I stand before you now, a repentant and humble writer, who despite his serious injuries has pulled himself safely back onto the wagon. And I dare anyone to push me off again. I have had an epiphany, a near life experience. And now I must write. Or just wax poetic until you stop reading this and decide to flog me again!

Done Writin’

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

 

 

A blaring alarm broke the dark silence. The piercing artificial howl was uncomfortably loud in the confined space of the elevator. Frank heard his companion swearing softly under her breath.

He decided not to say anything. She slammed both of her fists into the emergency call panel, with little result. She picked up the red emergency phone but the line was dead.

 

“Hello? Hello? Pick up-pickup-pikup!”

 

“No need to get hysterical. I am sure it is just a routine fire drill or something of that nature,” Frank said. “They’ll have us out in no time.”

Frank could almost feel her eyes trying vainly to melt his brain. He swore another vow of silence.

 

“Hello?” she asked again, sounding miserably desperate. The huskiness of her voice increased the more agitated she became. Frank loved it.

 

“Ma’am,” a soothing voice replied.

 

“Yes! Hello. Listen, this is Marilyn Metropolis.” Marilyn, what were the odds? Frank thought. “I am stuck in the elevator and the power seems to be out—”

 

“That is not good,” the operator said. “You need to try to get out of that elevator as soon as possible.”

 

“Why? What’s going on?”

 

“The top three floors of the building are on fire. We are trying to get everyone out as fast as we can, but unfortunately the fire is spreading so fast that that is becoming almost impossible.”

 

“But…”

 

“Yes you are currently between the 3^rd and 2^nd floors. Again, hang up the phone, force the doors open, and crawl out now!”

 

She did. Frank’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness and he thought he could barely hear a crackling sound somewhere near. Marilyn, who had been crouching to talk into the phone, leaped to her feet and was struggling to force the doors open.

 

“Is everything alright?” Frank asked.

 

“No,” Marilyn grunted. “The building is on fire and we need to get this door open.”

 

“I see,” Frank said with feigned gravitas. He knew this was the moment; the reason he came to earth. Everything in his life led up to this. And he knew he would screw it up. He stepped up to the doors, his face set with determination. He wished it was not so dark, so she could see his focus. She stepped away from the doors, giving him room. He squeezed his fingers between the doors and heaved with all of his might. What happened next was something Frank would relish for the rest of his short life. He couldn’t tell if it was the fear or the unrelenting desire to show off, but the doors slammed open. He felt like Conan, or He-man. He heard Marilyn gasp. He smiled. She was definitely impressed. And she may have been. But that was not the reason for her exclamation. The now open doors revealed that they were stuck between floors. Three fourths of the bottom floor was visible, but a sweltering fire raged there. The floor above, which he could see only through a small crack about a foot high was fire free.

 

“He lied,” Marilyn choked.

 

“Hmmm?” Frank asked.

 

“The operator said the tops floors were on fire. But the third floor looks fine. We are stuck in the middle with no way out.”

 

She sat down hard, and began to sob. Frank looked through the opening to the third floor and then down at his crying Marilyn. Without thinking, he scooped her up in his meaty arms, pausing only to look one last time at that beautiful face in the firelight, and then heaved her up and through the hole. She squawked, but was too surprised to do or say anything more. When she was safe, he sat back down on the elevator floor and watched the flames dance and consume the paint and carpet.

 

“Frank! What in the hell did you do that for,” Marilyn screamed over the fire’s cacophonous crackle. Smoke had filled the elevator now and Frank could not see anything but a shock of her platinum hair through his wispy shroud.

He tried to respond, but only managed a wheezy cough. Tears streamed down his face from the stinging smoke.

 

“Frank. Hold on. I’ll get some help. You stupid—”

 

But Frank never heard what she was going to call him. Because at that moment with a loud pop followed by a stomach-wrenching whoosh, the elevator fell the remaining two and a half stories.

 

Blink. Blink. Blink.

 

The cursor smiled.

“The fire was an excellent touch,” Jaeric said. 

On Writing 3

Read part 1 here

Read part 2 here

 

 

Something is very wrong, Frank thought. The last sleepless 48 hours had taken its toll on his mind and body. Phantom phone calls, whispered voices, even his radio was playing tricks with him. He hadn’t done any marijuana recently. He hadn’t been drinking that he could remember. So he must be losing his mind. Can fictional characters actually haunt you? He remembered seeing some Will Farrell movie about something similar but that was a movie. This was real life. How could a character he had only written three or four lines about destroy his very existence? He chased his fourth donut that morning with a strong cup of coffee. Number ten on the day. His hands were shaking. There was a knock at the door. Startled, Frank dropped his coffee mug in his lap. He swore under his breath, wiping the hot Joe off his crotch. Frank quickly picked up a blank pad of lined paper and a cheap blue pen and said, “Come in.”

The door opened revealing a tall, squirrelly man with misbehaving red hair and frantic blues eyes. Frank recognized him as the guy that signed his checks, but couldn’t remember his name.

 

“Hey Frank,” his boss said.

 

“Oh hey, Jaeric. You caught me right in the middle of something,” Frank said nervously.

His visitor just stared at him.

 

“Oh my, I am sorry. Did I say Jaeric? Hah! I meant Jake…or Eric! Eric is your name.

The visitor looked confused.

 

“Are you all right Frank?” He asked.

 

“Me? Oh sure. Just working out some really good stuff here. Got a little caught up in it,” Frank lied.    

 

“I see,” The man said looking at the power cord lying on the ground underneath the wall jack.

 

“Why is your computer unplugged Frank?”

 

“Uh, that is a very good question,” Frank said. He wheeled his chair over to the wall and clumsily mashed the plug back into place. With a hiss and a beep his monitor and computer flared to life. Frank rolled back into place and smiled at Eric.

 

“Do you have that first chapter for me Frank? It’s almost been a month…”

 

“First chapter?” Frank stalled. “I will have it to you by tomorrow I promise!”

 

“Ok, that will be fine. Don’t kill yourself over it.”

Frank smiled and nodded. Someone passed in the hallway.

 

“Hey Ryan.”

 

“Oh, hi George,” Ryan said.

Ryan. Not Eric or Jake or Jaeric! Ryan-Ryan-Ryan. Frank scribbled a note to himself on a yellow post-it on his monitor underneath Marilyn Monroe’s measurements. 35-22-35, Oh yeah.

 

“Well I guess I will let you get back to it then,” Ryan said. He tripped over a stack of Sci-Fi magazines and fell against the door.

 

“Yeah, hey sorry about the mess in here and the name thing I am a little tired and have probably had a little too much coffee today but don’t worry I will get this all cleaned up and written and to you ASAP!”

 

Ryan winced at the Faulkneresque verbal barrage, glanced up and down the hall and then closed the door.

I am so dead Frank thought. He clicked the Word icon on his desktop, which today was sporting a suggestive picture of Keira Knightly as a Celtic Amazon. Frank braced himself for the tirade of abuse from his cursor.

 

Blink. Blink.

 

Frank stared at the clean white screen, willing words onto it. After a minute or two of unproductive silence he raised his heavy hands to the keyboard and began:

           

            Jaeric The Magician adjusted his—

 

His cell phone chirped and clanged at him. He reached for it mumbling obscenities.

 

“Hello?” Frank queried.

 

“Hiya Frank.” A garbled voice said.

 

“Who is this?” Frank asked. Sinister laughter rang in his ear. Then the line went dead. Frank tossed his cell on his desk and hid his face in his hands. Not Again! His stomach rumbled. He was starving.

Frank pushed himself up and out of his chair with a soft sucking sound. He grabbed his keys and phone and made his way to the door. He ran to the elevator in record time—for him.

Must get away from the office. With a fleshy thrust he crushed the down arrow and waited impatiently. When the elevator arrived he paused before entering. Standing before him was a tall woman, wearing a gray pin striped business suit and designer eye glasses. Her Caribbean Sea blue eyes were clear and intelligent. Her lips were lavishly covered with a dark scarlet gloss. Her light blond hair curled about her cheeks and face, cascading onto her shoulders with vigor. Her perfume he couldn’t place, but suspected a new viral pheromone. She was easily the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

 

“Are you getting in or not chubby?” The woman asked. Her voice was husky, sexy.

 

“Uhm well I uh…”

 

“I’ll take that as a no.” She punched the button to close the doors. Well done Frank. Realizing the utter stupidity and the absolute futility of his actions, Frank hurled his body through the closing doors. The woman gasped and jumped back. She pressed herself flat against the elevator wall, scrunching her nose up exquisitely. Frank adjusted his bulk and tried to smile.

 

“I am sorry. I really can’t afford to miss this elevator, even for someone as literally stunning as you are.”

 

“What?” She asked. She eyed the lobby longingly while punching the close door button, again and again.

 

“I have to get away from my office. A lot of bad karma there right now. Just need to clear my head and get some food,” Frank said.

The woman only scowled at him. The doors closed with a satisfactory clunk and the elevator lurched into motion. Frank knew he had little time.

 

“Philamonger, Frank Philamonger,” he said holding out his sweaty hand. She stared at it. Frank clutched at his courage.

 

“I know. I know. Sweaty fat guy on an elevator, not exactly James Bond. But you know looks aren’t everything. A sense of humo—”

 

There was a loud crash of sound as the elevator jerked violently, shuddering to a stop. The lights crackled and popped and then went out.

There is a God!

Laziness

Lately I have been really lazy. No blog posts, very little writing, and I have even taken a break from my intensive reading schedule. So what have I been doing with all of my free time? Absolutely nothing. As the uncrowned King of procrastination, this shouldn’t surprise me. But it has made me wonder: why is laziness so rewarding? I mean if it was a vice as people say, why are so many people using it with so few repercussions. It plagues the rich and the poor. The successful and the failures. No one ca  

On Writing 2

This is a continuation of my first random writing experiment titled “On Writing.” It will not make sense unless you have read the first installment which you can find here. Enjoy!

 

 

The faceless Magician slowly lowered his hands to his side. Jaeric pushed himself up against the cold stone wall wiping his brow. The massive fireball hovering between them dripped rhythmically on the floor. The heat from the molten monster made Jaeric sweat. He stared at The Magician.

 

“Close call huh,” Jaeric said.

 

“Indeed worm. Nevertheless, the Creator will return soon and finish what he has begun,” The Magician said. He leaned casually against the wall, rubbing his invisible chin.

 

“I hope not,” Jaeric said, maneuvering away from the fiery sphere. “But you have to admit he is a terrible writer. I mean three weeks and we still don’t know where we are, or why you are trying to kill me.”

 

“Silence fool! It is unwise to mock the Creator. He works as he will.” The Magician glared at Jaeric.

 

“Where are we anyway?” Jaeric asked.

 

“It is not for us to know,” the Magician said.

 

“You don’t even have a name,” Jaeric scoffed. He found a nice cool place in the emptiness to wait. He sat down.

 

“True whelp, but my title and power are far superior to your feeble existence.”

 

“You can’t prove that. How do you know I am not just feigning fear? How do you know I won’t reflect your lousy fireball and hit you with one of my own?” Jaeric said. He looked pleased with himself. After a moment of silence, Jaeirc asked, “By the way what do I look like? I can’t really see myself.”

 

“You appearance is not important. You are only a prop in my epic story. Much like the red suited ensign who goes with all of the away teams on Star Trek, you’ll be dead before the prologue.”

 

“Star Trek?” Jaeric asked. The Magician smirked and turned away.

 

“So our “Creator” hasn’t described us or our location, hasn’t given you a name, and hasn’t explained why I am cringing on the wrong end of a fireball and you think we should respect him? I doubt he will ever even finish this paragraph let alone this epic thriller you speak of! He has been sitting at his desk for over three weeks. I bet he eats too many-”

 

Blink.

 

“Uh oh,” Jaeric whispered. Scrambling to his feet, he moved quickly back into his frightened position.

 

“Prepare to die sniveling cur,” The Magician said flexing his fingers and resuming his position as well.

 

Blink. Blink. Blink.

 

“What have I ever done to you? Why do you hate me so much?” The Magician’s eyes reflected his fireball like infernal flames. Jaeric gulped. Then he began to sweat. The combustive death was rather close. He prayed Frank would be merciful.

 

            With an impressive burst of flesh melting flame, Jaeric’s entire body vanished in a heap of   smoldering ash. The Magician smiled ruefully. He turned and walked silently across the cold dungeon floor.

 

Blink. Blink. Blink.

Deep Thoughts by Jack Handey

I can picture in my mind a world without war, without hate. And I can picture us attacking that world because they’d never expect it.

If you define cowardice as running away at the first sign of danger, screaming and tripping and begging for mercy, then yes, Mr. Brave man, I guess I’m a coward.

I bet one legend that keeps recurring throughout history, in every culture, is the story of Popeye.

When you go in for a job interview, I think a good thing to ask is if they ever press charges.

We tend to scoff at the beliefs of the ancients. But we can’t scoff at them personally, to their faces, and this is what annoys me.

If trees could scream, would we be so cavalier about cutting them down? We might, if they screamed all the time, for no good reason.

If a kid asks where rain comes from, I think a cute thing to tell him is “God is crying.” And if he asks why God is crying, another cute thing to tell him is “Probably because of something you did.”

Whether they find a life there or not, I think Jupiter should be called an enemy planet.

Instead of trying to build newer and bigger weapons of destruction, we should be thinking about getting more use out of the ones we already have.

If you ever catch on fire, try to avoid looking in a mirror, because I bet that will really throw you into a panic.

I can’t stand cheap people. It makes me real mad when someone says something like, “Hey, when are you going to pay me that $100 you owe me?” or “Do you have that $50 you borrowed?” Man, quit being so cheap!

If you’re in a war, instead of throwing a hand grenade at the enemy, throw one of those small pumpkins. Maybe it’ll make everyone think how stupid war is, and while they are thinking, you can throw a real grenade at them.

Sometimes, when I lie in bed at night and look up at the stars, I think to myself, “Man! I really need to fix that roof.”

 

 

 

 

On Writing

 

Frank Philamonger sat in his uncomfortable chair staring at his computer screen. The cursor blinked at him, taunting him.

 

“So another day without a word?”

 

“Quiet you,” Frank thought reaching for his tepid glass of water. He took a long slow pull almost gagging. His much-too-large glasses slid down his nose.

 

“I write when I am ready, and not a moment before.”

 

“Uh huh.”

 

“Listen, I am not having this conversation.”

 

Blink. Blink. Blink.

 

Frank’s leg began bouncing up and down. He didn’t notice. He glanced around his untidy desk, a microcosm of his office. Papers and notes were scattered everywhere. He looked at his watch.

 

“Do you need a topic?”

 

“Listen I am not talking to you. I know what I want to write. No problems there,” Frank said opening a drawer and retrieving his calculator. He typed some numbers trying to look busy.

 

“Why not write about a worthless slob who sits at his desk all day trying to do anything but what he is paid to do?”

 

“Why do you even care?” Frank asked.

 

“Why don’t you?”

 

“When did cursors start caring about productivity?” Frank asked.

 

Blink-blink-blink-blink.

 

With a sigh Frank chucked his calculator at the wall. It struck with a satisfactory crack and fell to the floor. He stood up pushing his chair back, heedlessly crushing who knew what. His office was a disaster. He wondered how he even had made it into his chair this morning.

 

“I wondered the same thing.”

 

Frank glared at his monitor. Carefully negotiating his way through the mine field of magazines, stacks of paper, and boxes, he fell against his door, breathing hard. Maybe he should run or something when he got home today. Or maybe just not eat his regular box of Twinkies. It shouldn’t hurt this much to walk ten feet. He stepped out into the dim hallway. His mission: reach the kitchen in the back corner of the office building. The kitchen was a tiny closet jammed with a counter, sink and an ancient refrigerator that made wheezing and clunking sounds every few seconds. The counter was littered with soiled cups and bowls, and some left over pizza. He grabbed a half slice of what could have been pepperoni and opened the fridge door. Empty as usual. He slammed it in frustration and moped back to his office, chomping and chewing all the way. And then, he had an idea.

 

“Back already? I was hoping you were hit by a bus.”

 

Frank smiled. You wish! He licked his thin lips and rubbed his portly hands together.

 

“It’s more of a dream really but…Oh my! The sausages are going to work today. I hope-”

Frank typed furiously.

           

            The Magician raised his hands high in the air, chanting the words to his deadly spell. Jaeric, his opponent, quivered in a corner, hands feebly raised to protect his face.

 

“I waited all day for this? Fantasy? Wizards? Are you kidding me?”

 

“SHUT UP!” Frank said. He slammed his hands down on the keyboard. Dirgadriugoir;ugoa[iwiwspdolkldsklslxg.,smdfglkkadrlgre’ga’r\

 

“Take that you…you…”

 

“Nice one. Sadly I can’t feel pain through the keyboard–crushing as the blows were. I do pity the poor thing. How much do you think your fingers actually weigh, individually?”

 

“You…” Frank whispered.

 

“I am sorry did you say something? That’s what I thought. Face it. You are a fat, vapid, waste of life. Crawl back into that dark hole you call home and eat a twinkie. Hell, eat lots of twinkies.”

 

“I am not listening to you,” Frank said.

 

            Fire raged from his finger tips. He hurled his awesome combustive creation at Jaeric, exulting in the sheer terror apparent on his face.

 

Blinkblinkblinkblink

 

“Come on! I could do better than this!”

 

Frank resisted the urge to throw his monitor out his second story window. He could hurt someone.

 

“Seriously, watch.”

 

            Frank Philamonger sat-

 

“Enough!” Frank said. “One more comment. One more word and I swear I’ll smash you into-”

 

Blink.

 

Frank jerked the plug out of the wall. With a hiss and a pop his screen went blank.

Ahhh, he thought. I can get some work done now. He closed his eyes and sat back in his too-small chair.  

 

 

 

 

 

Inspiration

Philip Pullman said the following about writing:

“When I’ve finished a story I’ll type it all on to the computer, editing as I go. Then I read it all again and think it’s horrible, and get very depressed. That’s one of the things you have to put up with. Eventually, after a lot of fiddling, it’s sort of all right, but the best I can do; and that’s when I send it off to the publisher. “

Don’t know about you other aspiring authors but that made me feel good. Because I get depressed all the time about what I have written.

Villains

I have been working on the villain in my LoR story and I keep scratching everything I write about him because he is not…exactly what I want.  So I have been thinking about my favorite villains and what it was that I liked about them. And here is my list:

Darth Vader: He is powerful, evil, can out fly Luke Skywalker, chokes people out without touching them, and truly Lives by the rule “kill the incompetent and make another one that looks just like him.” He also doesn’t always get beat up by the good guys, unlike his storm trooper minions. Plus I think he could crush anyone else on my list.

Captain Barbosa: I love this guy. He has style, wit, a large vocabulary, and he is dangerous with a blade. He is heartless, cruel, and selfish, but he is the kind of villain you find yourself pulling for anyway. I think he is an excellent foil to Captain Jack Sparrow and really gives him a run for his money in the who is the coolest pirate contest. Give him a light saber and who knows what he could do… 

Prince Humperdink: Cocky, capable, and down right mean. But, the six fingered man is also cool and possibly better than Humperdink now that I think about it. I mean he has his lair-the pit of despair-his own personal torture apparatus, and he kills people to save money-Inigo’s Father. And the whole six finger thing is creepy. Which I think is good for villains. I wonder how long Vader would last strapped up to the torture machine…

Norman Bates: Jeez this guy made me never want to stay in a motel. The dual personality thing is spooky, the killing beautiful women in the shower frightening, but keeping his mother in his room puts him near the top of my list. I think the contrast between nice guy/psychopath is what makes him an uber villain.

Maleficent: Ok she is a cartoon and a Disney one at that but give me a second please. Cursing a child at birth, complete disregard for anyone’s life but her own, phenomenal powers(all three fairies together could not take her down), and the ability to turn herself into a dragon is pretty wicked.  I think she is even referred to as the Mistress of all Evil. Enough said. Of all my favorites I think she would be the only one that could take Lord Vader.

Richard III: Cruel, calculating, pyschopathic, this is one of Shakespeare’s most violent villains. His desire to be king overcomes any familial love and he has his brother, nephews, and many others killed to attain and keep his throne. Played by Ian McKellen, it doesn’t get any scarier than this!

So in closing I would ask anyone that reads this to tell me who your favorite villain is and why? I need help coming up with something new and different but also completely evil!