Category Short Story

Aug 1 2013

My Need to Stop “Wanting”

I need to stop “wanting” to do something and just do it.

I went on Instagram the other day and captioned this Michael’s inspirational photo with this spiel about how I need to be more creative, and/or write more. Ask me what I’ve done so far. Go ahead, ask. Better yet, why don’t you guess. That’s right … nothing.

I’ve got this huge mental block that’s a mixture of procrastination and utter fear and it’s making me freak the f-ck out. My ultimate goal in life is to be a creator — in multiple senses of the word and I find that my creative process is just not what it used to be. And that scares me. Have I lost it? Have I lost my ability to create?

Most nights I feel as though I’m sitting the dark, waiting for the muses to speak. A soft whisper, whimper, anything in my ear. And I just can’t find it. I can’t find the words or the will to start. Am I going deaf, or are they just not talking anymore?

“I want to…” is how I preface sentences these days. I don’t like it. The only way to make it stop is to be proactive and my normal surges of artistic, innovative energy are just NOT there.

I swear, this is why some of the more creative people throughout history had to smoke opium, or drink heavily in order to produce masterpieces. This damn pressure to make something out of nothing. It’s insane!

But I’m rambling…

I saw a lady today and I tried to craft a hint story about her:

“She reminded me of mocha and chocolate, but looked nothing like it. Pouted lips and tiny wefts of hair she struggled to contain with a pin.”

Then after a minute of thinking, I found that I didn’t like it. And it was a word over. But in the back of my mind I congratulated myself, stating that at least I tried. I wanted to craft a hint story and I did. Failed technically, but I went after it.

Where has the inspiration gone? Am I going insane? Am I slowly but surely going out of it because I’m over-thinking and over-analyzing the situation at hand? It should be pretty simple to just do something — to just get up, and push myself to write something or craft something. To just do, instead of wanting to do.

Is this quarter life crisis just kicking my ass in more ways than one?

GRRRRRRRRR!

In the past, when I wrote, it was almost like an out-of-body experience — my thoughts just floated onto the page and came alive on their own. I was a vessel and the story, its characters, the emotions … everything just came out of me just like Ray Bradbury said about all his best stories. They wrote themselves and he was just the person, the vessel they used to come into existence. Sigh..

Well, at least I wrote today. That’s better than nothing.

Oct 30 2012

Untitled Musings #4

She came over to my apartment, and I couldn’t help but feel a little anxious. We’d been dating for some weeks and I have to admit that I really like her. I’ve always liked her really. I’d known her for a while, but just never really had the nerve to ask her on a date. When I did, we hit things off so well that it only made sense to keep dating. When she kissed me, I knew that I didn’t want to stop kissing her. And the way she looked at me – some kind of twinkle in her eye, biting her bottom lips and a blush on her cheeks – just only reassured me that I was right to ask her out again. Continue reading →

Sep 4 2012

Micro-Story – The Once Was: A Handicapped Man

There was a young middle-aged looking man with sandy blonde hair and dark sun glasses. He looked Scandinavian in ancestry and wore a business shirt and trousers nearly about this moderate frame. He walked through the train, holding onto the pole with his disfigured hands. his fingers were unevenly spaced and looked somewhat arthritic. He held each pole as best as he could, as he must have grown accustomed to such a simple feat.

He caught sight of an empty seat and moved toward it. The man next to him with “normal” arms shared a courteous laugh or joke or pleasantry of some sort. They sat side by side, both with newspapers in their hands. The deformity of the blonde man with sunglasses extended pass his hands to his arms which were shortened and seemed to be missing elbow joints. Thus, they stuck out strain in front of him. He maneuvered through his newspaper (as he must have grown accustomed to) with ease flipping through and folding pages with no trouble at all for the rest of his transit.

Sep 3 2012

Micro-Story – The Once Was: An Asian Girl

There was a little Asian girl no more than twelve, whose metal filled smile was always beaming with sweet innocence. Long hair contained in a single low ponytail and bright round eyes behind her small framed glasses. Adorable. She was accompanied by an older while male, quite possibly in his late 40’s. Her adoptive father, maybe. He stood with her, talked to her and constantly made her laugh. He fixed her lunch sack on her arm. She groaned, the way children almost always do when their parents tell them to do something they don’t want to. He looked on her the way parents look over their children to make sure everything is OK to ensure that their bundle of joy is safe and sound.

Sep 3 2012

Untitled Musings #2

The water felt nice that day.

We journeyed to the farther end of the beach where other locals hung out, away from the tourists who populated the areas that caught the most sun and had the most access to everything they could buy with their hard earned foreign money.

We laid in the sand for what seemed like hours…the warm kernels exfoliating our skin, my legs thrown carelessly and lovingly across his, my eyes closed, soaking up the feeling of cool air faintly trailing over our bodies. Continue reading →

Sep 2 2012

Micro-Story – There Once Was: Three Boys

There were three white boys sitting together: one with super curly “jew” hair, the other with more relaxed curls and the third with an “I’m-too-cool-for-super-jew-curls” low cut. The three all wore cargos and tees, two wore open-toes Birkenstocks, while the third wore skipper shoes you’d see on someone who was used to being in a life of privilege on a boat, or yacht or something. They spoke in moderately hushed tones and laughed quite a lot. With every influx of passengers, they huddled into a murmur and then laughed aloud. A girl, with breasts to spare, walked past in a strapless mini with a female and an effeminate male trailing close behind her.

The boys looked on at the girl. The one with moderate curls said something to the others. They laughed. Another set of teenage girls entered. A girl in a mini dress. Another girl in a striped shirt and pants and a third girl in half a shirt and short denim jeans with her pockets exposed underneath. The length of her pockets exceeded that of the actual pants. The boys looked on in wonder. They continued to look at the girls. They didn’t laugh much after that.

Sep 1 2012

Micro-Story – There Once Was: An Old Man

There was an old man sleeping, his cane lodged between him and the windowed side of the train her sat next to. His head was crouched low. He appeared dead most of the time, the frail old man. After a few stops, he jerked up, his words garbled for a bit. He looked at his watch.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“8.30,” a woman replied. He grumbled. A clear bottle of liquor appeared from out of his pocket. He took a swig, the faint smell of intoxication scented the neighboring air. He continued to grumble. When the train stopped, he grumbled again, then sucked his teeth. He continued to look at his watch. He would get to his destination late, if that was his complaint. If he truly had a destination. He pulled out his liquid companion and put the bottle to his mouth again. He took a smaller sip this time. Appeased, he tucked his head into his shoulder once more and went back to sleep.

Aug 31 2012

Micro-Story – There Once Was: A Couple

There was a couple that occupied the two seater cornered of the train. The girl wore white Jordan sneakers while her counterpart wore black socks and open-toe adidas slippers – the footwear of champions. They laughed and smiled, holding hands and interlocking fingers. The girl slung her legs over the boy’s knees. They hugged and cuddled all the while laughing and exchanging looks of longing. The man that stood next to them tried to choke back laughter as he listened in on their conversation. They kissed, nuzzled, caressed fingers, kissed again, and again and when the girl yawned, the boy placed his hand to her mouth. They sat in their own universe as the train jerked back and forth. And when it was their stop, they kissed, held hands and walked out the train doors together.

Aug 30 2012

Micro-Story – There Once Was: Older Woman

There was an elderly white woman with a few slight grey whiskers on her chin and a sweet demeanor. She gathered her things to one side to make room on her seat in the moderately crammed car. She looked up and spoke, at first her words incoherent. When I finally removed my headphones, she said “I feel like I’m in Kindergarden, these seats are so low!” She laughed, the signs of age apparent on her teeth. A bushel of thinning white hair sat atop her head and a set of large clear framed glasses rested on her nose. From the style, it appeared that the 1980’s retro look was what she preferred in eye wear. She may have been a teacher, her bags filled with books and paper.

Aug 26 2012

Untitled Musings #1

I had visions of a girl
dancing in the moonlight, on the orange-kissed earth.
Feathers at her feet, glitter in the air,
the scent of ripened raspberries combing her hair with
bits of leaves tangled in her mane.

Who was she? Continue reading →