Current Works in Progress.

I am sorry for my missing my writing work post this last week AGAIN! I have been working a lot lately. Let me do a sum up of what I am working on. I am writing my testimony if how I went from a Satanist to a Christian which is taking a lot out of me. I have some ideas for some more Lord of the Rings poetry. I have written some work on my comic book story as well as an alternate tale of Mortimer Crane an accountant who aspires to be a superhero. Which I hope you will find interesting.
That's about all that's going on in the writing world other than I am starting to draw character concepts of my protagonists as well as birds and beasts of my world which go anywhere from sparrows to strange human like mutations. Its been a fun place to create and design. If there is any advice I can give anyone its write. Even if your world concept isn't strong for heaven sakes write already!!
You can build detail and flesh things out as you go. If you think you can turn in a first draft to an agent please don't expect to hear anything back from them. I have been working on my current concept for over ten years and it has changed and grown in a lot of pleasant ways to what it is today. You don't have to take as long as I did just don't expect to have all of your ducks in a row before you write.
Push yourself. As one artist said in a how to draw superheroes book lately it's not inspiration that pays off it's purspiration so get to work and share it on my site if you want. Now you don't have to give all of your trade secrets away but it helps just to share with other writers. I share with my family and nonwriter friends and I get blank stares. Or I get an experience like Daffy Duck when he tries to upstage Bugs Bunny. Silence and Crickets. "Ha,ha everyone laugh at the duck!"

Cheers see you next time!!

Shakespeare a Masterful Writer

OK, here it is Wednesday. I have been trying to think about what author I can recommend. I'm afraid I am going to have to cheat today and use Shakespeare. I recently saw King John, it's not one of the more well known plays out there. The premise without giving everything away is King John and a rightful heir of France are vying for the throne of England.
First of all the actors were incredible which you won't get if you read the play, but what I love about the writing of this play is how William can take a tragedy and nearly make it a comedy by have disaster nearly averted but alas salvation passes like two ships in a storm or fog that don't see each other. That is what I love about Shakespeare the way he executes his plays.As in King John when disaster is nearly averted it was really inspiring to my writing.
You really come to love his characters only to see them die(in his tragedies anyway.) His revenge plays were masterfully written too if you think about it. Hamlet, a revenge play about a possibly mad hero who can't decide whether to take revenge. The consiquences of his indeciciveness costs the lives of those closest to him.
Othello, a revenge play based on the point of view of an antagonist. The Tempest, A revenge play where the wronged party decides to forgive those who wronged him.

So, if you're trying to come up with something new and can't think of anything consider taking an old idea and turning it on its head Shakespeare did.

Blessings, Brian

My apologies on Friday, I forgot that the Library where I do my posts is closed on Fridays, I shall have to post my fictional works on Saturday. Barring that I'll move it to Thursday. I'm going to try Saturday first. If you pardon the pun. I'll keep you posted. Well I had a great church service Sunday. It was about living a victorious life. A.k.a. remembering and finding out who I am in Christ. For any nonChristian readers out there who are like, "Huh?" Never mind.
 Anyway got to meet up talk to friends. Share frustrations with a guy there who has been a manager for twelve years. Management is a frustration thing. I can try and get my work done but getting the employees to get there work done is challenging. They drive me nuts. But belittling them or trying to control them(I haven't done.) will only destroy morale.
Or swearing and muttering about them under my breath( I have done) doesn't help either. Yes I suppose this could be considered hypocrasy to non-Christians and Christians a like. The truth is I'm not perfect. If you run across anyone who calls himself a Christian and tells you he doesn't sin or do anything wrong run away really fast.

I didn't become a Christian because I had my life together, I became a Christian because my life was falling apart. I will give my testimony on another sight I will let you know when its posted. I have R and R for the next two days and may I say I am enjoying it as much as possible. Oh as a side note just to blow your mind, we are having a special guest speaker Sy Rogers who is talking about sex and relationships next week. So yes there are times when the Church talks about sex, not enough I think but its awesome when we do.
Everyone else is why aren't we??

So write comments please. I know it's inconvenient and it takes time. I feel the same way when I am on deviant art. I don't write a comment on every peice I put in my favorites on that sight but I do try to leave at least one comment per artist. It really is encouraging. Also if you write let me know what you're writing you don't have to give the whole story away but lets face it writers encourage each other.
peace out,   -Brian

The following post was origionally a comic book story idea, however being a werewolves have apparently been over done in comic books they don't want it. I saw an overview of what Marvel did with the werewolf scene and it seemed to me that the writing was sloppy and more of a way of throwing something out there to boost comic book sales. If anyone disagrees I invite you to correct me on this.
The long and the short of it is I made my story idea a poem as a way of saying pffftt, to the comic book industry, see what you think.



                                                                 Weeping Rain




The rain comes down in sheets,

Beneath a sooty

Rooftop a howl echoes.

It's meant for me.

I stand on a flat rooftop

Looking at the lamp lit streets below,

Fear pours into my belly,

Like an icy stream from the mountains,

My hands shake

Under my wet cloak:
I pour powder into my wheelock pistols,

Leaning my readied rifle on my knee,

Like a centurian preparing for war.

How I wish I had a friend.

A woman's scream sounds in the distance,

Not long now,

I tamp my wad and silver pellet,

Fasten my Wheelock pistols at either side,

Raising my rifle, cocking my hammer I wait,

A rock dove skitters in flight as I take aim,

In its direction,

The sound of animal-like sniffing from the alley
below,

My hand shakes,

A howl cuts through the air

Slicing through my nerves,

The rifle slips,

A thunderous reply from below,

I curse,

My ears ring,

Pulling my pistols I cock them and wait,

At the door,

A beam securly acrossed it in the rain,

I smell him before I see him,

Musky wet dog,

I say a silent prayer

Aiming my pistols,

The beam snaps at the first blow,

A wet snarl snaps at me,

From behind the splintered frame,

Wood showers at me

A giant wolf leaps at me,

The crack of the first shot splits the air,

The beast yelps,

Leaping into my chest,

I land hard,

Sucking for air and getting none,

I am a man smothering in thick wet blackness,

Snapping teeth and claws search for me,

My hand is twisted on itself, I can't feel it,

The second shot goes off,

The ringing now is very loud,

The weight of the beast lifts off me,

I reach out like a drowning man for shore,

A sharp pain shoots in my wrist,

I feel the pop

When something heavy lands on it,

I turn and look upon my fate,

Instead before my wild eyes

Like ice, the beast melts

 Into the form of a young man.

With my foot I roll him over,

A gathering pool of crimson surrounds us both,

My shirt is warm,

A metallic tang fills my nose,

He coughs and spits red,

I hold his hand with my good hand,

He tries to speak,

His eyes are blinded by the rain,

Mine with fever,

In a picture in my head,

Long ago,

I see a young boy, like him,

And a happier me,

We laugh,

The sun shines,

I kick the leaves beneath my feet,

The sun is bright on our faces,

I tossle his hair,

The rain is heavy,

He doesn't see my tears,

He squeezes my hand,

He cries out, and lets go,

My boy, my boy,

My dear sweet boy.

Well school is done, just working for a season. Really feel this is a season of God's growth in my life. I'm in management right now. A friend of mine, Jackie is starting a blog while she does missions in eleven countries in eleven months. It encouraged me to get back into writing and blogging. I'm currently writing two stories one is The Princess and the Dragon about a royal family rescued from a dragon, the other is my main superhero story "Flight of the Sparrow, a story about a would-be heroes flight to the past to save his world from dying. The only way he can do it is with the co-operation of a time traveling villain he can't really trust.

I also need to do some editing on Statuary, my twighlight zone-type short. I'd like to whip that into shape and get some feedback on it.
Things have been tough recently, living with a beligerant roommate, yet God used the situation to really grow me. The issue in question was resolved. I think God worked more patience in me than I had before. This was a tough one this guy reminded me of my dad. He had a kind of do what I say or else attitude. (shrug.) Which at this point in neither here or there.
I think I'm going to set this sight up as Monday's being a check in, and Fridays being my posting my peice day. I think I will do Wednesdays as a pick a favorite author and what I like about their work day for two reasons.
1. At somepoint I think people get sick of hearing you talk about yourself all the time. Either than or I get sick of talking about myself all the time.
2. It keeps me reading.

However, Today I am going to cheat so I can get a jumpstart on my blog.

Today I am going to nominate The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros. If anyone has a hard time writing or understanding what it means to write a short short story this woman has mastered the form. In short its almost like poetry in prose form. Sandra not only has a strong ecomonmy of language(saying a great deal with as few words as possible.)but protagonist's voice is masterfully done as well. We follow the life of a young latino girl who grows up in the projects of Chicago as she grows up. The character's voice and outlook on life changes too. I can't recommend this book enough even if you're a Science Fiction and Fantasy Writer like myself.

The Song of Eldamar

Eldamar, Lord of the north,

Whose gleaming waters and

White towers

Drew in the weary sea captain.

Southern cities amid minarets

Gleamed in the mountains of Telmir,

Mantled,

Snowcapped sentinels,

Tolvin and Grimhorn.

Aberden, golden city of the ancients.

Exerpt: Flight of the Sparrow

A young woman came out of the kitchen that was about Albert’s age, she wore an apron and a burgundy shirt and trousers. She was wheeling a tea cart and poured Buddy a cup. What he noticed immediately about her were her dazzling green eyes. He tried dodging eyes with her but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of them. Buddy cleared his throat which made Albert blush. “Thank you Angelique, “Buddy said.

Albert reached out and shakily took the cup of tea given to him. A warm golden light spilled out from the fire place warming the room with a golden light while the wood in the hearth crackled. Albert readjusted himself in an overstuffed chair.

Buddy had been a hero, a founding member of the famous or infamous Guardians of Freedom depending on whom you talked to. That was before the tragic accident that took his legs from him and marked the end of his superhero life.

Buddy’s sitting room was filled with mementos and photos of him and The Guardians of Freedom, everywhere but the mantle piece where a lone silver urn stood. Albert wondered why he had the photos up there and said so.

“Those, Albert, are a recent addition.”

“Doesn’t it remind you of what you lost?” He said, glancing down at Buddy’s legs.

“At one time I suppose so.” Buddy said rubbing his thick bearded chin thoughtfully.

“Now, it reminds me of old friends.” Buddy wheeled himself over to one of the larger pictures of The Guardians of Freedom. He paused for a time staring up at the pictures. Everything was quiet save the crackle of the fire and the rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock in the north corner of the room. “You know it’s funny, sometimes I feel like they are here in this room watching down on us.” Buddy said.

“Do you miss those days? “

“A little maybe, however, honestly, and this may sound strange, but it turned out to be a good thing.”

“How?” Albert said giving his a disbelieving look.

“Look, Albert, I do miss the adventure but it wasn’t until I lost my ability to run that I realized how much I was neglecting Angelique. She was growing up without her mother and father. She had already lost her mother and I was determined that she wouldn’t lose her father too.”

Albert turned away staring into the shadows. “What is it?” Buddy said.

“It was my mother wasn’t it? She killed your wife and crippled you.”