Archive | January 2013

‘Wasting Time,’ A Poem

I am still working on some stories, tweaking them, so I figured I would post this little poem I wrote a few weeks ago in the meantime.  I’ll have some new stories up sometime in the next week or so.  I had originally posted this on Facebook but I figured it would fit on my blog.  Enjoy!

Wasting Time
by Clinton Nix

Wasting the days

sitting near a computer,

with manufactured rhythms

pulsating my eardrums.

 

My brain is a network of highways,

packed with loud cars driving erratically

from destination to destination.

I have found ways to hinder the tiny travelers,

causing traffic jams for the sake of amusement.
But when they stop moving,

they also stop existing.  

The First Chapter of ‘The Incredible Story of Morton William Geebles,’ a Novel

I decided to post the first chapter to a novel I wrote a couple of years ago.  It was for the ‘National Novel Writing Month’ contest, and I had completed the 50,000 word goal.  This novel will probably never see the light of day, or get developed into anything other than what it is.  However, I may use Morton in something else in the future.

Let me know what you think!

The Incredible Story Of Morton William Geebles

By Clinton Nix

(Unfinished)

This is similar to how I envision Morton.

This is similar to how I envision Morton.

(CHAPTER 1)*******

Morton unfolded the newspaper that he stuck into his coat pocket in a hurry to catch the train. “A house mysteriously caught on fire on 15th Ave,” he spoke aloud. “Hmmm. Some things you can never explain.” His commentary annoyed the nearby passengers. For as long as Morton could hold a book, he always had the habit of speaking aloud what he read. Morton blindly reached out his hand in an attempt to grab the cup of coffee by his side. “Aw, now I’ve done it,” he pouted as the pool of coffee dripped off of his coat and pants and onto the floor. He rummaged through his pockets for a single tissue, but to no avail. “Argh.” He clumsily pulled himself on his feet, grasping the metal bar on his right side. The woman sitting across from him grimaced as he brushed against her in a mad dash for the lavatory. Morton always found an excuse to walk, ever since he bought his new shoes. They were made of a shiny leather, custom tailored to his feet. He was very proud of the shine, and made sure that everyone saw them. They made a squishy sound if he walked slow, and a dull tap if he walked fast.

Morton’s pace increased steadily as he passed each cabin. “Why does the bathroom have to be on the OTHER side,” he grumbled. Suddenly, someone shouted.

“Morty!”

As Morton turned his head to see who was shouting at him, his left foot caught on the support for the seat nearest him. He took a tumble and fell face down on the floor. “Ugh, my shoe…” He was clearly not worried about his own safety, but rather if the shine on his left shoe would be dull compared to his right. He pulled himself back on his feet, slowly anticipating the stares and the “aws” of the surrounding passengers.

“Morty, you goofball, I knew it was you. You are always getting into trouble. Are you okay?” It was Caroline, a former classmate of Morton’s. They had become good friends, and ended up having classes together, and sharing projects. At the time, neither of them had many friends, so they always relied on each other. At some point, Caroline’s popularity changed, and she stopped spending as much time with Morton as she used to. The last time that Morton saw Caroline was about two years ago.

“Um, er, of course. Y-you see, the c-combined actions of looking around and walking at an uncomfortably fast pace is something that has a definite learning curve.” As Morton spoke,he shook his head a bit from side to side, out of nervousness. Caroline looked a little confused as Morton explained his situation with striking detail. “Morty, you haven’t changed since then. How’ve you been? You gotta keep in touch!” Morton remembered that Caroline always talked so fast that he couldn’t get an answer in for quite a few moments at any point in time. He always wondered how she was able to breathe between all the questions. “My number is still the same. I gave it to you, do you need it again? Call me some time!”

“Yes, I reckon I still do have it. Writing it down in my planner,” he responded as he pulled out a pad and pen and continued to scratch something down. “See ya,” she said, turning to her friend who was seated by the window. Who knows what she was doing on this same train, where she was going. Morton didn’t have time to ponder it.

Many trees could be seen passing by the windows. “We’re still near Tacoma,” he thought. The train had not made it far past the tri-city area. His attention was then pulled back to his coffee soaked coat and pants, to reality. “Oh…” Morton made for the lavatory with great haste, eventually reaching the door. “Occupied…Hmm.” An awful smell was exuding from the other side of the door. Morton thought hard about entering the bathroom, carefully analyzing the pros and cons. “Well, I’ll be able to clean my pants,” he thought. “But, the smell might be so unbearable that my stomach might churn…I do have a sensitive stomach,” he countered. “If I see Caroline again, I have to be more dignified.”

“But no…it is decided!” He exclaimed. Morton turned around and headed back to his seat, being careful not to be seen this time. For Morty, his shoes were his most important deciding factor. If he went in the bathroom, there was a chance that they could be spoiled by something that may lurk there on the floor. He would not have that.

On his way back Morton tried to sit in his usual spot, but it was taken by a large boy, who was absorbed in his ice cream cone. He had a blue shirt that had dark smears on it. Morton looked around, and found an empty seat further back. He walked over and sat down; he was minding his own business when the man next to him gave him a good hard look. He was a guy with a big frame, with a large, squared face. He wore a suit and a round hat to match. He made no effort to conceal his stares from Morton.

“Hey, boy, what’s your name?”

“Me? I’m Morton, Morton William Geebles.”

The man looked at him intently, and put his hand out for a shake.

“I’m Sam, Sam Goodpenny. Nice to meet you there, Marvin.”

Morton became irritated with Sam; he never liked it when people pronounced his name incorrectly.

“It’s Morton,” he said, giving a few seconds pause before meeting Sam with a handshake.

“What’s a man like yourself doing on this train at this fine hour?”

Sam had a fast way of speaking, so much so that Morton had trouble following his words.

“I’m on my way to Portland.” Morton nodded in assurance.

“Oh, what for? Family? Business? A girl?”

Morton was annoyed with this comment. He replied in haste, making sure that he set the boundary with the man.

“No, sir, not for those reasons. I am going for, uh-” Morton paused, forgetting what he was going to say.

“It’s fine, Marvin, fine.”

Sam got the hint that Morton didn’t really want to talk. The two of them sat in silence for a few moments. Sam looked around, and then with his eyes, he was trying to look at Morton without turning his head. He couldn’t wait any longer, and let out a question.

“Where you from?”

Morton looked at Sam with a dumbfounded expression. He thought it was obvious, since they where on a train from Seattle. Nevertheless, he responded.

“I’m from Seattle.”

“Oh, nice, the good ol’ rainy city. You know, I used to live there. I’ve been traveling about- I’m a salesman after all- and I have family in Seattle.”

“Did you visit them just now?”

Sam looked away, toward the other side of the compartment.

“Yeah. But I can’t stay too long in one place. I’ve got traveling in my blood.”

The man sitting opposite of them looked up from reading his newspaper, and stared at Sam for a few moments.

“What are you looking at?” Sam shouted.

The man didn’t respond, and instead, looked back down into his newspaper, meanwhile his stature slunk down a couple of inches.

“Some people, I tell ya. It’s like pulling whiskers on a cat, and the cat swats you but he doesn’t have any claws. All they are, is talk, and I’ll show those people a thing or two.”

Morton was surprised by the stranger, and by Sam and his actions. He didn’t know whether to be afraid or to laugh.

“Ha ha ha.” Sam chuckled hard, and slapped his hand on Morton’s back. He spoke, pointing down toward the stains on Morton’s pants.

“Look what happened, buddy. You’re really clumsy, you know that? Don’t worry, I’ve got something for you.”

He picked up his briefcase and opened it, revealing an array of different products inside.

“Let’s see. This one is new, just came out of the lab.”

Morton wasn’t interested, but he was cornered, and had no way of escaping.

“It’s a stain remover, and I can sell it to you for forty dollars. It’s a steal.”

“Oh, no thanks, no thanks.” Morton wanted to get the stain out of his pants, but he knew a scam when he saw one. Sam made a sour face, and tried to convince him of the greatness of the product.

“If not that, then I have this watch, from Switzerland…”

Sam pulled out the watch, and swung it around, as if to demonstrate its durability. He was spitting out the features, dimensions, the color, and the history of how it was made, as if he was reading from a piece of paper. To Morton’s relief, the train finally made its last stop, and his escape seemed within reach.

“Whew, finally here.” he said aloud.

It was nice, uh, Sam, sir….this is my stop, goodbye.”

Morton bowed his head and started walking away, in a hurry, while Sam was spitting words out like a machine gun, trying to keep Morton from leaving. Sam was now out of sight, and out of mind, and Morton could continue on with his journey. Every month or so, Morton traveled three hours by train to Portland, from Seattle. He did this for one of his great passions, which he kept solely to himself. Every month, a new issue of Glorious Tony came out, and the first prints were always exclusive to Portland, the author’s home city. To Morton, Glorious Tony was his brother, his companion…he felt a strong familiarity with Tony that he couldn’t quite explain. Maybe it was the way he dressed; always looking crisp, wearing the top Italian suits, even if it cost him every penny. Perhaps it was the way he spoke to others, with such diligence and formal wording. Perhaps it was the fact that he always ended up in the right places at all the right times; he was there to save the diner from robbery, or to save the child falling out of a nearby window. These are all things Morton aspired to do, and be; even though he failed miserably at almost all of them, he knew one day he could be glorious, like Tony.

Morton contemplated what was going to happen in the next issue as he left the train, making his way to the bookstore. Perhaps Tony was going to meet his untimely end? At the end of last issue, it appeared that he had swallowed just a bit more than he could chew. Most of the time, Tony ended up in the right situations…but this time, it felt a bit different, and it scared Morton. Tony had chased down a mugger, who was taking advantage of a helpless old lady- only to run right into the gang that the mugger was a part of. It killed Morton to wait for the next issue, but now it was here- finally.

Scepter Books.” Morton felt chills as he spoke the name of the only place that carried new copies of Glorious Tony before the official release. By now he had totally forgotten about the coffee stains on his coat and pants, but they had almost dried anyway. Morton entered the store, heart pounding heavily. Before he was even able to greet the salesperson, his vision started to fade; all the books and people in the store merged together into one big blur. Morton was out before he hit the floor.

*****

The store was practically empty. Because a strange man passed out in the doorway, the unlikely event that it was, Morgan decided to temporarily close Scepter Books. “It’s not like I’m going to get many customers today,” Morgan thought. He brought the strange man to the back room, where there was a couch that was meant for break time reading, not for unconscious strangers. Morgan looked with quizzical face upon the brown stains on the strange man’s pants.

“What have I not seen now?” Morgan thought it ironic to be wearing such expensive clothes, yet to have them ruined by so thoughtless an action. “And the shoes, ha ha!” They were just so shiny. “I’ve got a walking comic in my break room!” Morgan laughed for a second, then became serious on the realization of what, in reality, lie before him. “Right,” Morgan thought. This man needed medical attention, after all. He never even thought of calling an ambulance. It just didn’t come to his mind. “I can’t imagine how it happened. Maybe he’s diabetic, and was desperate to get some sugar, so he ran to the nearest place, my bookstore,” Morgan hypothesized. “On second thought, not very likely. He might have just hit his head on the way in. He looked pretty frantic, probably too much coffee.” Morgan looked down. “The evidence is there,” Morgan said, pointing to the stain.

“Oh!” Morgan quickly got up and went to the bathroom. “This is the least I can do,” he said. He soaked a white rag, wringing it out several times. The steam fogged up the little mirror above the sink. “Okay.” Morgan went back to the hapless stranger, who lay unguarded on the green couch. As Morgan wet the stranger’s forehead with the steaming rag, he couldn’t help but notice the rips in the couch. He had wanted to throw it out long ago, but never got himself to actually do it. If he knew that this was going to happen, he would have gotten a new one.

Suddenly, the small finger on the stranger’s right hand twitched. “Oh!” Morgan jumped back, the tempo of his heartbeat increasing. “Are you okay?” Morgan asked to a deadening silence. His eyes were opening, so Morgan went closer.

“how many fingers am I holding up?

Whats your name?

…where are you from? What are you doing here?”

Morgan realized that he had asked way too many questions, even for a conscious person to answer. He decided to pause for five seconds between questions, at least until the stranger became conscious. Morgan waited for about a minute to ask his next question. “What’s your name?” He asked in a more composed manner that time. “..M….Morton.” The stranger struggled to get the name out. Then, “Morton…Morton William Geebles.” He seemed well enough to stress the proper wording of his full name. “I’m Morgan. Are you feeling okay?” “Why is it that you ask, sir? Do I appear unwell? Am I not normal?”

“Well…you just-” Morgan was interrupted by Morton’s quick rise to his feet. “Oh, Glorious Tony!” Morton exclaimed with profundity.

There was a short silence before Morgan spoke again. “What? is that why you are here?” “Ah, um…well, I just heard about it and..” Morton felt a little bit ashamed. “I’m trying to figure out why you passed out. Do you know of anything-” Morgan didn’t complete his sentence. He was waiting for Morton to fill in the blanks. That didn’t exactly happen. “Your lips are chapped, and you have coffee stains. Perhaps you just got a bit dehydrated.” “..oh,” Morton said in contemplation. He realized he didn’t have anything to drink in a long time, being so frantic about the new issue of Glorious Tony. “Are you sure you don’t need medical attention?” Morgan asked intently. “No, no, I’m fine. It’s okay, really.” Morton seemed like he was trying to assure himself. He brushed his pants off and looked at Morgan.

“Perhaps you need this,” Morgan said as he tossed the still-warm rag to Morton. “Oh, oh yes,” Morton responded as he fumbled to catch the towel, eventually dropping it on the ground. After a lot of rubbing with the towel, the stains still seemed to be there, with a pronounced outer ring that was dark and unmistakable. “Ugh.” “These things happen, it’s alright,” Morgan assured him. Morton knew that he was trying to make him feel better, but it didn’t help. “Oh yeah, since you mentioned…” Morgan said to Morton’s now-peaked interest. “Here’s the new copy of Glorious Tony. You can have it for free. It doesn’t sell much anyway…”

In that instant, Morton completely forgot about his stains. He just wanted to hold the issue in his hands. Morgan had a smile on his face; he didn’t understand what this guy liked about Glorious Tony. In fact, Morgan hated it; he thought it was poorly written and very cliché. He knew that Morton liked it, though; Morgan felt good for that reason. He could tell that it was hard for Morton to keep his eyes off of the copy in his hands. He knew that this stranger was now ready to go, and his bookstore would be quiet once more. “Alright,” he said as he patted Morton’s shoulder. Morton said his goodbyes to the shop owner and made haste to read the new issue of Glorious Tony. Morgan told him to come by any time, that he was still going to carry the new copies of Glorious Tony despite their low sales.

“Now it’s back to the usual, day-to-day,” Morgan muttered to himself, as he picked up his coffee cup for another sip. Morton sat at an old bench on an adjacent street. He was finally alone, undisturbed, and had the issue in his hands. “Here we go,” he said as he opened the cover to the first page.

*****

‘The Interloper,’ a Short Story Without Dialogue

For class, I had to write a story without dialogue, and with a couple of pre-chosen items.  Let me know what you think in the comments below.

Drawing by Ralph Steadman

Drawing by Ralph Steadman


The Interloper

By Clinton Nix

Frozen grass crunched beneath the steps of a shambling man. His shoes were crusted and worn, and dirty toes protruded from holes in the sides. His quivering eye scanned the surroundings: a freshly paved path through the grass, which led to a double swingset, and a picnic table off to the side with a group of parents lounging in bundles, huddled to keep warm. Squeaky clean-and-combed children giggled and bounced as they weaved through the pathways with their hot breaths escaping into the air like smoke.
One boy clutched an ocean-blue rectangular box, which had a shooting star etched in the side. He unlatched the tin, and a plethora of snacks tumbled out. The ragged man cast his gaze upon the contents like a magnet, groping his midsection furiously. His face was ghastly, with a horrid expression that pierced the atmosphere like a spear. He stuck out like a sore thumb, and it didn’t take longer than a few moments for the loungers to catch a glimpse of this unsightly intruder.

The boy shuffled through his mound of snacks like plundered treasure. He kneaded the pile flat and even, leveling the goods so that every variation could be seen. A stray piece of edamame teetered on the edge of the picnic table, and slipped through the boy’s failed attempt to snatch it mid-air. The ravenous stranger eyed the lone piece of food and ambled slowly toward it, one step at a time. A man in a camping blanket rose to his feet in haste, with an iron stare that broke to pieces under sight of the slovenly being that walked nearer to his child.

With each step of the abominable thing, a gasp escaped from the bundled man at the picnic table. His frightened squeaks grew louder, but his body was as frozen as the grass. He was terrified, but he could not move a muscle to save his son. His breath became hotter, and the small white puffs from his mouth turned to steaming geisers, pulsing in rhythm with the monster’s steps. The others caught notice of the beastly man and pointed, but with arms extended, they froze in place, with the only sign of life visible by way of breath. The small boy looked directly at the approaching alien with serene composure.

The grizzly demon neared the picnic table overflowing with mounds of snacks. His gaze waved, and lowered from the boy, to the table, to the grass below. The ground thumped as he fell to his knee-like nubs. The rabid creature thrust out its grubby, filthy hand-claws, and purloined the treasured edamame from the earth and began to devour it with gangly teeth until no morsel remained. In a lustful craze, the disgusting alien beast thieved another snack from the table, and began ravaging it just the same.

While the horrendous abomination of a life form was occupied, the parents of the boy dethawed, as if a magic spell had been broken, and began to act. They snatched their belongings, along with the boy and as many snacks as could be hoarded in an armful. They fled the park and the wicked diseased creature without looking back. The subhuman thing had passed out during their mad rush, after gorging itself.

***
Upon waking, the disheveled man lifted his quivering eyes, and cracked a smile that cast a shimmering light upon his grimy face. Stumbling to rise, he noticed the pale green glow of another edamame placed gently by his head.

—-

Total Recall: Complete Memory Failure

total-recall-poster

The remake of Total Recall is a pretty terrible movie, as far as plot and character development is concerned. I have to say, I wasn’t expecting much, but I think the reason for the letdown is that in the first 20 minutes, the movie seems like it might actually be good. Those hopes get obliterated as it progresses out of the opening scenes.

Total Recall starts out with an interesting action sequence; it’s mainly interesting because I didn’t really know what was happening. Colin Farrell acts as the main character, Douglas Quaid, and in the first scene, he attempts to escape some robots that are chasing him with a mysterious woman by his side (Jessica Biel). This event ends up being a dream sequence.

From there, we are introduced to the setting of Total Recall, in which Douglas works at a factory assembling robots in the “Colony” (recognizable as Australia to us 2012 earthlings). Douglas is struck by the dream, and his life just doesn’t seem to fit. Not even his supermodel wife is enough to assuage the disconnect that he feels with reality.

What I just described is the most interesting part of the movie. In the first moments, Total Recall attempts to build the setting and characters; Douglas Quaid’s life actually seems to be interesting. Well, it all goes to hell once the initial ‘Rekall’ scene takes place (literally and figuratively).
Douglas decides to have a specialist company implant false memories into his brain, and that’s when, as shown in the preview trailer, things go completely haywire. This scene is actually well played, minus the over-the-top philosophical phrases about life shoe-horned into the dialogue from a character acted by John Cho, mostly notable for his work in Harold and Kumar.

At this point, the movie is still good. It still has redeeming qualities. Only when our fugitive hero returns to his home and the heart wrenching scene with his wife takes place, does the movie throw the metaphorical shit into the fan.
total recall Colin Farrel Kate Beckinsale
For those who still might be interested despite my warnings- I’ll just briefly describe the scenario. Basically, it turns out that everything is not as it seemed, or rather, it is what the movie was actually hinting at before. In that instant in his home, starting with the scene with his so-called ‘wife,’ the movie turns into a massive action slog where everyone is against Douglas Quaid.

Cue the random martial arts battle with Douglas’ wife. Cue the long escape scene. Get ready for the generic futuristic car chase, and widen your eyes for the supermodel killer wife who needs to look beautiful in every scene, at every angle. Ready your mind for the scene where Douglas Quaid’s real self in the past (Karl Houser is his real name) explains to his present self that he’s really a secret agent, and that they have to work together to help the resistance.

Viva la Resistance. Wait…what?

It really pains me to see that so much money was spent on Total Recall’s special effects, that nobody bothered to spend the extra time to flesh out the characters and the paper thin plot that holds all these extravagant action sequences together. At this point in the movie, it’s plainly obvious that any development of character and story is merely a support- a hand that holds the megaphone, if you will- for the endless action sequences to spew from. This movie might as well have been called ‘Generic Hollywood Sci-fi Action #500,’ because it certainly doesn’t try to be anything else.

Colin Farrell

Colin Farrell is as dry as sandpaper, and the movie tries to throw the ‘you are a secret agent but don’t know it’ spiel at you without much effect. Jessica Biel’s character is a flat, 2-dimensional one that only exists to support the construction of Douglas’ previous life. If this was the girl of his dreams, then I wouldn’t have known it if they didn’t cram it in my face, as the chemistry between her and Douglas is nonexistent. Her acting isn’t exactly top of the line, either. Just watch the scene when she’s driving the car in the chase scene. What is going on with her arms? Did they even try?

At that point, my interest in the movie waned to nonexistent. There is a lot of running, and shooting, and fighting that happens in various locations, but by that point it is too late.  If there was anything I gained from watching Total Recall, it is an interest in the original story ‘We Can Remember It For You Wholesale,’ by Philip K. Dick, for which this movie is based upon.

‘Robbie Fullman,’ a Short Story

This is a short-short story I wrote over the weekend, which was an assignment for class.  It’s about 420 words.  Please leave some feedback in the comments.

DISCLAIMER: This story deals with a sensitive topic in America at the time of posting.

Robbie Fullman

By Clinton Nix

“Over here,” John said, sifting through crowds of people standing in line. His hands clasped a red tray which supported a pile of greasy, dripping burgers. “I’m soooo hungry,” Jenna squeaked, stamping her feet at the table. “Steve shoulda been here. What’s taking him?”
“I don’t know, traffic?” John’s eyes were as apathetic as his words.
“Hey.”
“Hey what?”
John knew that tone. He knew what it meant when her eyes shifted coyly, when her smile was held back only by a failing effort to conceal it. It was supposed to make John’s heart flutter, make his chest wrench. What he actually felt was an empy wallet burning a hole in his back jean pocket, and an acidic sting in his gut. He didn’t respond.
“Hey now! What a perfect romantic moment for me to crash in!” Steve slammed his hand on the table, causing the mound of burgers to bounce toward the edge.
“Steve! What took you? I was about to eat yours,” John spoke with a half smile.
“Aw, got caught up behind a Robbie Fullman protest on 3rd and Seneca. Took twenty minutes just to get past the light.”
“Robbie Fullman? Who’s that again?” Jenna asked, in an attempt to mask her frustration.
“Robbie Fullman…” Steve slid his leather jacket open, which revealed that name in big, red letters.
“Robbie Fullman is a psycho,” John interrupted.
“You know, that sick bastard who shot up those kids,” Steve hammered.
John clenched his fist at the words.
“That fucking bastard.”
“Bastard doesn’t quite cut it, John,” Steve added. They both looked at each other, exchanging furious glances, magnifying their hatred.
“Jenna, I wanted to tell you this before. I decided to spend some money and join the R.F. Awareness Association.”
Jenna stared listlessly at the table upon hearing John’s words.
“All you need is a gun to join. I hope you understand, Jen. We as a society can’t tolerate this crazy shit happening,” John spoke in an attempt to reassure her.
“What does this mean?” Jenna asked, without a shred interest.
“Well, I thought about it for some time, and decided I wanted to be a part of it…every week we get together and raise awareness of that shit-fuck. Everyone needs to know,” John said.
“Why do you need a gun?” Jenna asked.
“Why do you think? To keep little shits like Robbie from doing what he did.”
John was the first to grab one of the soggy burgers. He took a bite, and the greasy ketchup dripped down his hands, splashing the table.

‘The Coin,’ a 69 Word Story

the coin

In class, we had an assignment to write a 69 word story.  There really isn’t much of a requirement to meet, other than to hit 69 words exactly.  Of course, as a writer, it’s important that a story is conveyed to the reader, but how you do this depends on your style.  As for my story, it’s my first attempt at the 69 word form, so I would like some feedback from anyone who reads it.  I have a feeling that it’s a subtle story that may not be understandable upon first reading.  Let me know any thoughts about it.

The Coin

“Not anymore,” Jared thought. He looked down at the coin resting in his palm, tales side up.
“It lied to me last time- I shouldn’t listen to it.”
It was a 1976 quarter, rounded from wear but still had an impeccable shine.
“One more time.”
Jared flipped the coin, and it slipped his fingers and hit the ground, beyond his reach.
“Oh no…nurse! Nurse, hey! Please help me!”

For anyone reading, I encourage you to try your hand at a 69 word story, and post it in the comments section here.  It’s harder than you might think, but once it comes to you, the story can come out pretty quickly.

Operation Wordspill, and ‘The Words’

The idea came upon me last night that I needed to write.  Funny, because ‘today’ and ‘last night’ are not separate things; I have yet to close my eyes and get some much needed rest.  It will happen soon, no doubt about that. But right now, I must continue with this operation.  Operation Wordspill, that is.  I felt the need to write and express what is happening around me, so what better way than to use an internet blog like wordpress to get things going.

The Night Before

Last night was full of confliction.  Amidst an unnamed personal drama, I eventually settled upon watching a movie called ‘The Words.’  This was such an excellent choice to make for my current frame of mind.  It was as if, unconsciously, I knew what I needed to see.  To put things more bluntly, I liked the description and list of actors in the movie so I said, ‘Why not?’
I’m thinking that later on I will make a detailed article about the movie, its meanings and effect it had upon me, as a viewer.  That is something I’ve been wanting to do in general, actually.  I already review video games on oprainfall.com, so I could easily get started in talking about movies.  Seems like an apt choice.

Now, about the movie.  I’ll just give a brief description so that this whole thing makes any bit of sense.  ‘The Words‘ is about an author who has written a novel, aptly titled ‘The Words.’  The movie begins with the author at a public reading of his new novel.  His story tells about a man who has made the decision to solely focus on being a writer.  Basically, what happens is that he stumbles upon a draft of a novel that had been stashed away in a leather satchel, which had been lost and eventually wound up in a second hand store.  The writer decides to use this draft as his own, after an impassioned night of reading.  This ultimately has a dire consequence for the writer, as he is confronted about his theft of the story, and must deal with the results of his choices.
That is the gist of the movie, and I have made sure not to spoil anything, as my description of the movie is basically the same as the official description on the box.  While this basic premise is a constant theme throughout the movie, there are some subtle twists that become more apparent later on.
Ultimately, I felt a strong connection with ‘The Words‘ as it deals with the life of a writer, and the struggle of many different feelings associated with that life path, as well as some universal experiences in life.  The movie temporarily appeased the personal confliction I was having, and encouraged me to write, and so here I am now.  After a few hours of WordPress tinkering, I was finally able to commit words to electronic paper.

Thus begins a new journey.