Life, writing

2017: A Year of Almosts, So Far

I’ve been meaning to sit down and post for a while, but adult things got in the way and I couldn’t find the time. And before you go accusing me of watching movies and eating pizza, know that you are right. I have been spending more time just to myself because I think I’ve left part of me somewhere and instead of spending a lot of time going out of my way to find it, I’m just gonna grow a new part. Which sounds super gross if you’ve just watched a certain youtuber play through The Evil Within (Markiplier, it’s Markiplier). Any way, I’ve got a few new projects coming up in the next few months that I am very excited about. I’m not sure how much I can talk about one of them, but the other is pretty cool. We’re putting together a podcast. I think that’s all I’m going to say on that one, specifically because I know I’ll spoil something because I suck like that and I don’t want to do that.

You don’t realize how many people hate you until you update your blog at the library.

One thing that has been really bothering me is people who take creative writing courses because they assume it’ll be easy. That the class will be an easy A and there isn’t a lot of work that go into it. Now I’m not comparing a CRWR (creative writing) course to a 400 level engineering course. But I feel that there are quite a few people that are in my current writing course that are there because they thought it would be easy. That irks me so much. I mean, I don’t care what classes you take, you could take them all, but at least put forth an effort. Especially at university, where you’re paying to be here. If you’re not going to write anything, don’t take the course. I’m in a workshop class right now, and there are a ton of people who never say anything. I’m a little guilty of that, but that’s because there are some people in the class that choose to dominate and refuse to let other opinions stand without argument. Others just try to re-write the story without any actual feedback. Our instructor isn’t the greatest, but he’s not actually a professor. He’s our writer is residence at the college, so he has different ways of looking at the class and our work. I figured it wouldn’t be like the class we took last semester, mostly because of our instructor. But I was okay with that. He tries to lead the class to the best of his abilities, but I feel like there is a dominating force that deserves a punch in the face. Others aren’t going to share what they think as the ass sits smugly at the front of the room interrupting and arguing every point. If the shit he said was helpful then maybe, but it’s mostly just what he wants to hear himself say and I get angry every time he talks. He’s like the guy who joins your DnD session and then tries to be the DM because he’s read all the books and knows exactly how it’s played and obviously you don’t understand what you’re doing. Except I can’t kick him out of the group…

Speaking of DnD, there may be a person I can get a game started with here at school. There is a chance that I’ll get a job here during the summer, which means that I’ll have a place to live and everything, which is super nice. There are a couple of people who seem interested and it would be nice to get into gaming again. It’s a lot of fun and it’s a great way for me to release stress.

I’m working on a new short story. This is a lot different than the last one, there aren’t any creepy monsters or white cats. It’s a story about a guy named Draper that gets a job at an amusement park that is run by an omnipotent god that has no idea what he is really doing. Draper is a sad guy with a pretty complex back story that doesn’t get explored all that well yet. I had the SO read it and he said it works, but he inspired the story so he already understands the backstory. I’ve got to find a way to fit that into it without being blatant. There is a writing competition that takes place on campus that I’m thinking about going for. An former professor sent our old class an email about it with the tag line “What have you got to lose?”. I miss her so much, I wish she taught 340. There honestly needs to be more people like her teaching at the university level.

I like how I can’t seem to write when I need to but then I’ll hammer out a post with over 800 words in a matter of minutes. That has never made sense to me.

Anyway, keep an eye out on twitter/facebook for announcements of my upcoming projects, because I”ll probably share there first and I’m always open to feedback.

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Picture Courtesy of google images
First Drafts, Short Story, writing

Knock Three Times (Part Two)

Matilda woke up a few hours later, her apartment quiet and cold. Stuffing her feet into her slippers, she shuffled to the thermostat. It was still set at the seventy mark from earlier, but the room temperature read about thirty-eight degrees. Matilda tapped on the thermostat and selected the outside temperate. It read sixty degrees.

She exhaled sharply, her breath steaming. She walked to the window and tried opening it, but the window was stuck. She pulled up on it with more force which only made the wood groan.

Fuck.” She smacked the window sill with an open palm and winced; grumbling in pain. Her breath fogged up the window. It was dark outside, the clock in the kitchen read seven. It was strange for it to be dark this early in the summer. A frozen gust traveled passed her ankles and she stepped back from the window. Kneeling down, she held a hand next to the vent on the floor. Cold air blew up from the vent; glancing back at the thermostat, she noted that the blue light for the air conditioner wasn’t on.

Matilda grimaced. With Mrs. Flintman gone she wasn’t sure who she should call to fix the air system. What about her son, a tiny voice in the back of her mind spoke. She dug through her desk, looking for any scrap of paper. Under a notebook she found a scrap of paper with the words ‘Flintman, son’ written on it. She grabbed her phone and dialed the number.

She got a busy signal. Frustrated, she hung up the phone and tossed it to the floor. She plugged in the kettle and while it warmed up, she dug out a hat and scarf from a wicker basket by the door. The kettle whistled and she switched it off. She began to pour the water into a mug when something stopped her in mid movement. Something that was almost familiar.

The beat was almost not there at all. For a moment she suspected that it was in her head, until it grew louder and she could hear the lyrics.

Knock three times, one the ceiling if you want me. Twice on the pipe, if the answer is no. Oh my sweetness. Means you’ll meet me in the hallway, twice on the pipe mean you ain’t gonna show.

She turned and looked into the rest of her apartment, scrutinizingly, as if blaming the room for the noise. Her eyes found the grate on the wall. It was louder than it had been the night before, cutting eerily through the frozen air. She knew then where the noise was coming from, although fixing the problem made her feel sick. The noise was coming from the basement.

Matilda paced her apartment, her slippered feet sliding across the hardwood. It had only been a dream after all, but just something about it had stayed with her. It was only Jason down there, maybe he didn’t realize how loud the music was, maybe she should just go knock and ask him to turn it down. The vision of the door to the basement stairs surfaced in her thoughts and she felt her breath catch in her throat.

Get a hold of yourself, for christsake you’re an adult. It’s a basement. We aren’t freezing to death listening to seventies music because you’re scared. Angrily, she stomped her feet, balled up her fists, and faced her front door. In a jolt of angry courage she pulled open her front door and stepped into the hallway. The hallway was colder than her apartment, but it didn’t deter her from walking toward the back of the hall, where the door to the basement would be. The music was in the hall too, up through the same grates in the walls. A low rumbling gurgle joined the music the closer that Matilda got. Her paced slowed as it got louder and changed into something more recognizable. It was a growling noise and it was moving on the other side of the wall. She shuddered and put her weight against the wall, her legs betraying her.

Only in my dreams did that wall between us come apart.

Her moment of courage was gone and she felt her knees start to buckle. The hallway began to rotate and twist. The growling continued ahead of her, she trembled. The music was blaring through the building, but she could hear something moving up the stairs. It was a soft and sludge-like sound, it made a slapping noise with every movement. The lights flickered and Matilda suffered with the music. The lyrics forced themselves into her brain scrambling all of her thoughts. She felt more dizzy and disorientated than she ever had. She heard the door to the basement swing open with incredible force.

I can feel your body swayin, one floor below me you don’t even know me.

The lights in the hall started to pop, going out one by one away from the basement stairs and sprinkling glass shards into the carpet. She felt a stone drop in her stomach and turned back to her apartment. She struggled to walk to the door, her entire body fighting her on moving; terror seizing her limbs. Tears were freely flowing down her face as she grabbed at the door knob. Whatever was in the basement was close behind her, she could hear it moving across the carpet. She could feel heat from it on her calves and the smell of rotting flesh filled her nose. She pounded on and forced her weight against the door, as it became harder and harder to breath. She screamed into the darkness as her door burst open.

Matilda fell inside and pushed the door shut with her foot. But not before she caught a glimpse of what was behind her. Green eyes that glinted in the darkness. She scrambled to lock the doors and sat with her back pressed it to, sobbing into her hands. The last thing she remembered before passing out was the music cutting out almost instantly, the growling stopping, and a soft, wet tap on her door.

Crafts

What I’m Making

So, I haven’t posted in a while and it’s because I’ve been working on this great project. My secret project. An awesome secret project. Which apparently going to be huge. It’s already 6 feet tall, and I’m not sure how long it’s going to be. But I’m excited. I decided to show you all how far along I am. I’m not as far as I wish I was, but my carpal tunnel has been kicking me in the wrist lately because I’ve been playing TONS of Army of Two with Bryant. It’s a really awesome game!

Uber=Secret=Awesome Project

If you would like to guess what it is you are more than welcome to comment.

Crafts, Life, Short Post

After A Few Days…

Hi everyone! I haven’t posted anything in the past couple of days. I haven’t had anything to say really, and I didn’t want to bore your brains out like meal worms. I’ve been working on my new project and playing a video game or two. I haven’t been feeling my best, really down lately. I’m hoping that I can get my project done very quickly so I can show you all!

 

Happy hooking!