I recently had a dream – one of those dreams that pulls you in and captures you, that you hate to wake up from – it was so detailed and real. I woke up feeling as though I’d lost something important.
I tried to remember everything I could, tried to write down all the details that were fresh in my mind. But it wasn’t enough. I lost so much, I could just feel it.
I like to refer to these as my material dreams because these dreams are where I find my best story ideas – where I get great writing material.
When I think about it, I realize that a LOT of my stories came into existence via my subconscious. I wasn’t sitting around trying to think up an idea – I was sleeping and it just developed.
So, for this writing prompt:
Take a recent dream – or a recurring dream with which you’re very familiar – and write a snippet of the story behind that dream. Since it’s a dream, put yourself in the place of the main character and write in First Person P.O.V.
Here’s mine:
The lights flashed ahead: blue and red. I braked as I approached the scene, creeping in carefully. With so many police cars and so many flashing lights, I was expecting a car wreck of some intensity. However, as I neared, there was merely a blockade and police shining flashlights through car windows.
Must be a sobriety check point, I thought.
I lined up with the cars in front of me and lowered the volume of my stereo. It wasn’t necessary, but it seemed that lowering the volume was always the proper thing to do in the car when something important or serious was happening, regardless of whether or not volume had anything to do with the situation.
As our line inched forward, I thought I saw movement in the darkness just beyond the bubble of flashing cop lights. Upon closer inspection, it turned to be an advertising banner for a local pizza joint staked into the ground and flapping in the breeze. I shook my head. It was late and I had worked a twelve hour shift at the office editing reports. I was tired – my eyes were tired.
My turn at the blockade came quickly. I rolled my window down as one of the officer’s approached my car. He flashed the light in my face and peered into the backseat of my Jeep.
“License and registration, please,” he said.
I unclipped the insurance paperwork from the underside of my visor and handed it over so he could skim over it while I retrieved my license from my purse. He waited patiently but continued to flash the light into the backseat as if expecting to find something illegal there.
“Have you seen or heard anything unusual this evening?” he asked.
“No, not particularly,” I answered, giving him my license.
“Well, all seems to be in order here,” he said after a long moment, returning the paperwork. “But I want you to head directly home and stay inside this evening.”
“Excuse me?”
“We’ve had a lot of bad things happen to a lot of good people tonight,” he said cryptically, glancing over his shoulder at another officer who was checking out another driver in the next line over. “We hope to have the matter resolved soon, but it’s my suggestion that you get yourself somewhere safe and keep an eye on the news.”
I opened my mouth to ask him for a better explanation but he stepped away from my car and began waving me through the blockade. I drove through reluctantly and found myself backed up in another line slowly advancing through a small detour. Again, I saw a flash of movement off the side of the highway, but there were no advertisements or signs posted there.
My conversation with the cop had left me feeling uneasy and as I stared out my window, searching for something creeping through the night, I locked my doors as a simple precaution. The line of cars progressed forward and I finally approached the detour, which led us away from the center lane of the highway.
There were several more police cars stationed there, making up a half-circle around something I couldn’t make out. Men in black suits milled about talking with the officers and scribbling down notes on pocket-sized paper.
As I passed through the detour, I was certain that I had seen a man out of the corner of my eye. I looked, thinking my paranoia was simply getting the better of me. Then suddenly, a hand slapped flat against my driver’s side window and my door handle rattled loudly as the hooded man fought against the lock.
I floored the gas pedal and swerved into the ditch, passing the car in front of me. My heart was beating in my throat, the pulses reaching down to the tips of my fingers. I careened wildly to the side, gripping my steering wheel with white knuckles, and steadied the vehicle.
Once I had pulled back onto the highway, maintaining my frantic speed, I looked into my rear view mirror. He was there behind me, driving what looked absurdly like a cement mixing truck. I panicked, veering off the highway to take the first exit onto the city streets.
I passed into a small park, thinking I could outrun the large truck on the narrow residential streets nearby. However, he was on me in moments, ramming that massive truck into my back bumper. I screamed as the steering wheel ripped backwards out of my hands. The car began to skid sideways and then I hit something hard and fast.
When I opened my eyes, I was pinned upside down in my car, hanging from my seatbelt. Blood was dripping down my face, but I didn’t feel too much pain. I fumbled with the seat belt, one hand braced on the roof above me, and then it clicked and I crumpled to the ground. I kicked the driver’s side window, trying to get out of the car, but the window wouldn’t budge. They made those things stronger than I had imagined.
He’s out there, I thought.
I tried to find another escape route. The windshield was crushed but it too refused to break loose with the minor amount of force I put on it. Behind me the rear end of the car was more elevated than the front, so I squeezed into the backseat and managed to get the back door to open into a gap just wide enough for me to fit through.
I collapsed onto the ground – what felt like hard dirt – and rolled onto my back. The hooded man was leaning against my crushed back bumper watching me with amused eyes. I tried to scream but no sound would come out of my open mouth. I could only stare at him with my jaw dangling open.
He pushed off the car and slowly moved towards me. I tried to scream again. The police were so close…If only I could scream. I stood, swaying on my feet, and tried to run. My feet refused to respond, and I tripped, slamming back into the ground.
He continued walking towards me. He was patient. I wasn’t going anywhere, so he relished the moment, taking it in slowly.
I felt his hand on my ankle.
And I tried to scream again…
And remember: if you wanna share your own writing prompt, drop it in the comments! Write on!
Photo by Jerrico W.
I’m now 25 years old. All at once it seems young and old. When I was a kid, 20 year olds were adults.
Now that I’m 25, I find myself wondering when I’ll feel like an adult, wondering if all those adults just felt like big kids themselves.
I slip up from time to time and catch myself saying things that I used to laugh at my parents for:
“Wow, this area has really grown. Don’t you remember when all this was just one big field?”
“Oh my goodness, he’s so big now. Wasn’t he just a baby?”
“If you’re not watching the television then turn it off! You’re wasting electricity, and I have to pay for that!”
“I remember when gas was just $1.08 a gallon.”
Sometimes I’ll read something or hear something that makes me realize just how much change occurs in the span of one lifetime. I mean, no one had cell phones when I was a child – now every 12 year old you meet has the equivalent of a mini computer in their back pocket.
I’ve recently been introduced to the concept of a quarter-life crisis, which I found to be both mildly amusing and somewhat depressing. I laughed at the idea of a 20-something year old kid having a meltdown over not knowing where their lives were headed and sinking into depression over all the things they hadn’t yet accomplished. I thought, “You’re barely out of childhood – at least the way I see it – you’ve got plenty of time to live your life and do all those things you always dreamed of doing.”
But part of me thought: “Nope, you’re already behind. Look at all the things you missed out on in college because you were too shy or too afraid to try.” And in all honesty it does sometimes feel like I missed that ship and those opportunities will never float past again. I realized that I can understand those young adults who experience this so-called “quarter-life crisis” and to some degree, I can even relate to them.
I think it’s the adult in us that is responsible for the quarter-life crisis, not the child in us. The child in us dreams big: he wants to travel, he wants to experience everything, meet everyone, and live fully. The adult puts his foot down and says it’s not possible, that we’re not being practical or realistic. There are bills to pay – money can’t be spent on frivolous trips or expensive toys. There is a job to be done and obligations to society – you can’t just disappear for weeks at a time to go off exploring the wild, hiking through mountains, or learning to scuba dive.
The adult replaces the child as the dominant voice and all of those childish dreams kind of just fall to the wayside – the adult belief that those dreams are unattainable takes their place. Something similar happens to everyone. I imagine it’s linked to that notorious “loss of childlike innocence.” You fall into a routine marked with discipline and responsibility and the adult develops, becomes more mature. Still, the child is always right there nagging – “Let’s go play!!”
I think at this point, life gets in the way. Adults tend to look at those newfound responsibilities and see no way around them. You can’t miss a bill or there are serious consequences to pay. That’s what you’ve been taught. Your credit will be tarnished forever. Your service will be shut off. You will be frowned upon by those with the power… In the end, you spend years feeding a corporate monster and running in that notorious rat race until you realize it was all for nothing.
You don’t have picture albums full of faraway places, videos of you doing exotic things in distant lands… You’re not forever immortalized in film, there’s nothing floating around with your name on it, there’s nothing cementing your identity or the place you held in society. You only have perfect credit and a paid-off mortgage – And a sad, little child locked away inside you, who finally gave up and knows it’s too late now, even for him. You lost your chance.
Isn’t that what a quarter-life crisis must feel like? To know that you’re abiding by the rules and expectations set before you by your parents and your grandparents and all the rest of society…and yet, you’re accomplishing nothing of any importance to yourself?
I imagine that would be my quarter-life crisis. Maybe it’s different for everyone. Maybe there’s someone out there living it up, going crazy and wild, without any responsibilities whatsoever. Maybe they’re finally realizing everyone is much more “accomplished” than they are and they feel as though they totally wasted their life thus far. Maybe they’ve decided they went down the wrong rode in life…
Who can say?
This movie…whoa, okay? Just whoa. I saw this movie last night, and I have to say that I think this is probably the best movie I’ve seen in a very long time.
This isn’t a review because I don’t want to say anything about this film right now. If you want spoilers, find them somewhere else.
The only right choice for someone wanting to know more about this film is to go see it for themselves. Trust me, it’s worth it.
As expected, DiCaprio totally delivered on this movie. It’s probably his best film yet, and if not, it’s definitely at the top of the list.
Likewise, I was impressed with Ellen Page, who I always seemed to want to like because I just thought she would be a good actress – I just couldn’t find a movie with her in it that didn’t suck. (Granted, I haven’t seen them all – so recommendations are welcome.)
But I have to say, the actor who I was most surprised by was Joseph Gordon-Levitt: AKA Tommy from 3rd Rock From The Sun – which is how I always remembered him. I’ve seen him in some things since the 3rd Rock days but he still always had this very childish appearance or a childish persona to some extent. In Inception, he really, finally came off as an adult – a more manly adult than I would have expected from him. (Again, I haven’t seen all of his movies – or even his most recent, so that might be why.)
But regardless of what I thought of each character/actor individually, it was the story that I found simply remarkable. I was just blown away. I’m sure there are those of you out there who would just love to point out any plot holes or continuity inconsistencies or whatever that you have found. Well, shove off, I don’t give a damn about any of that.
This movie was a thoroughly enjoyable experience. It’s one of the few movies I felt was worth the $10 ticket price. I’ll most definitely be buying it when it comes out on Blu-Ray. Don’t miss out on this “Theatre Experience” though – you should really see it before it leaves the cinemas!!
I’m beginning to feel redundant, so I’m going to shut up now. But seriously! GO SEE IT.
It’s been a while since I did a review of a web-comic.
Zap! has been on my site for years, linked in the sidebar as one of my favorite web-comics. So, I guess it’s about time I write out a review for it.
I’ve been a fan of Zap! since probably 2004 or 2005 – though the comic was started in 2003.
I’ve always been in love with the art style used for this web-comic. It’s true that the art started out a bit rough but it’s progressed through the stages of development that I love to see in an online comic. I thoroughly enjoy watching an artist grow and perfect their craft (though any “artist” whether illustrator or writer or musician will always say there is never any “perfection,” you just keep learning.)
Now imagine my surprise when, after five years or so of being a fan, I only recently discovered that the creators of this awesome comic come from my very own home state. I’m pretty psyched about that, though I couldn’t exactly explain why. It doesn’t really change anything.
But yes, I call this comic “awesome.”
“Why?” you may ask? Well, do let me tell you.
Zap! seems to embody all of my favorite science fiction elements while simultaneously ignoring all the very aspects I hate about science fiction. It’s a win-win for me. It’s like seeing all the flash and bang without all the engineer’s behind-the-scenes explanations. Now, I like to know “How It’s Made” and “Who-Dun-It” as much as the next nerd, but I also like to relax and enjoy the ride when I’m being told a story.
And yes, this comic has a storyline – it’s not one of those daily, random funnies that many web-comics seem to be (though I’m not saying those are all bad, either.)
This comic is like a healthy dose of Star Trek, Star Wars, and Firefly all mixed together. And if you read it and you’re a fan of sci-fi, then you may have an altogether different comparison. I feed off what I know. Zap! is a story about a poor fella named Zap, who happens to find himself the most recent target of the Galactic Earth Federation. Of course, that puts him on the run. Zap meets up with the rest of the cast by stowing away on their starship, which just so happens to be picky about who captains her.
The journey truly begins when the Excelsior chooses Zap as her new captain. Let the antics begin.
There is a well-balanced load of both humor and seriousness in this story. I love how each character is given a distinct personality that is displayed through their mannerisms and behavior but also through their literal depiction – simply put: the way they’re drawn.
The action scenes are beautifully represented. The art contains just as much intensity and suspense as you’ll find in the story. The coloring is remarkably well-done. There is a beautiful contrast between the vivid, bright colors and the more subdued tones. And though I do like bold lines, I also love the subtlety with which this artist draws their characters. It’s very clean and yet detailed, without being cluttered and over-done.
Everything about this comic seems well-balanced to me, which is a huge draw for me. I love to find comics that have a high-quality artistic style accompanied by a high-quality storytelling ability. It’s a rare find, but they are out there.
Here, you can see just an example of the kind of art progression throughout the life of the comic.
The only words of caution I have are these: The story has the ability to suck you in and hook you, but Zap! only updates once a week. Once you’ve sped through the archives and caught up to the current releases, you’ll find that once a week feels like an eternity. But fortunately, there are worse drawbacks a comic could have.
I highly recommend this comic. It’s definitely one of my favorites. I even have the first issue on my iPod, so if you’re interested in reading it on the go…
You can find the full 3 issues on the Apple Store for your iPod Touch or iPhone for $.99 a piece. Or you can visit the official store on the Zap! webpage HERE!
Check it out! Zap!
I started this blog a few years ago as a sort of “side project” and at the suggestion of a writing teacher who believed that all of us writing students should have one, if for nothing other than the experience of regular (or semi-regular) writing and a sort of self-publishing.
I thought that over time I would discover some sort of “blogger voice” or a niche to write in, but that didn’t happen. I still wonder what the purpose of my blog is and what I should actually write about. I don’t have a specific topic to cover or a skill to teach. I simply like to write. Perhaps it goes against my credibility as a writer that I can’t come up with anything to post.
I look at the inconsistency of my updates and wish I did post more regularly. I just don’t have much to say. Or perhaps it’s just that I don’t think the majority of the general public would care too much about some of the little things I have to say.
So this brings me back to one question: Why do I have a blog? Well, I have it because it seemed like a good practice to fall into while trying to become a professional writer. So what else should I do but write? I would love to have something thematic to follow, something specific, something to garner a bit of a readership – I’m currently so random and erratic that this will probably not be the case for me unless I change something.
I basically write what I feel like writing when I feel like writing it. So… since I began all of this with the intent to become a better writer, I’ll return to my now long-forgotten plan to do some writing prompts. It’s been a while, so it should be fun to do one.
I recently went floating down the Illinois River, so here’s a prompt idea spawned by vacation:
- Put your character smack dab in the middle of nature, far from civilization (or give it the illusion of distance), and in a situation to which he or she is totally unaccustomed. Now put that character in danger; give them a crisis or some kind of emergency to deal with – without aid from the civilized world.
There are many possibilities here. Since I just returned from hours on the river and I’m going back again tomorrow for two more days on the river – I’m going to put my character on the river. You can put them in the middle of the woods, a desert, a jungle – whatever floats your boat (erm – O.o – no pun intended.)
Remember! You’re more than welcome (and encouraged!!) to post your own response in the comments and we can discuss the writing!
Meanwhile, here’s my response:
The banks were dark, the waters calm, and the sun’s heat dropped on Amber with an almost physical weight. She clutched the oar tightly in one hand and tried to adjust the towel around her shoulders with the other. Her arms were already burnt but the wet towel provided both relief and protection from further damage.
The current was steady but uncomfortably slow for Amber. It had been hours since she had last stopped and searched the banks for something to eat. She felt she had made little progress since then. She hadn’t paddled much, having already strained her muscles to get this far. She had no idea how much further she should go.
They were still following her. She caught glimpses of the strange creatures through the trees that crowded the riverbanks. She was afraid to stop and try foraging once more. She had only just barely made it back to her raft before they found her the last time. The men were unlike any men she had ever met before. They seemed more tribal to her though, even then they were unlike the tribal folk she had seen in documentaries. These men were plain wild.
They were like shadows among the trees, melting from one branch into another until there was no sign of them left. She had caught glimpses only indirectly. She had only seen the men fully when they had charged her on the banks as she was scrambling off shore.
Even now she could hear the whistling. It came from a wooden cylinder tied to a string and it made the most eerie sound when swung in a circular pattern. The whistling was following her downstream. Amber stared at the cliff face that rose up ahead of her, wondering if that wall of rock would be the end of her. She couldn’t make out a bend in the river, but she prayed it was there.
Suddenly, the whistling stopped. The whistling that had followed her relentlessly for hours was replaced with a chilling silence. Over the past hours, the constant whistling had become something of a comfort, reassuring Amber that the men were there but unlikely to attack her.
She dipped the oar back into the water and began propelling her raft forward. She tried her best to ignore the burning in her biceps and focus only on the rock blocking her way. She could turn if need be and fight the slow current. It would be strenuous but she could make it back upstream. Back upstream to where though? To the crash? To the bodies?
She paused in her rowing to consider the metal box at the back of the raft. Now that it was empty, she could toss it. That might make the raft a bit lighter. It would also leave her without any kind of container should she manage to find something to eat. She didn’t know much about nature, but they always found nuts or berries on t.v. If she found something like that, she wanted somewhere to store them, so she would have plenty to sustain her.
There was a smudge of darkness flittering around the corner of her eye. She knew they still watched her. She turned quickly but the shadows weren’t moving. She couldn’t catch the men moving through the trees. They were too quick. she decided surviving was more important than berries and hauled the metal box over the side of the raft. The splash was too quiet and then the box sank to the bottom, out of sight. She found the raft no easier to maneuver and cursed.
The raft suddenly lurched, throwing Amber forward against the little prow. The oar slipped from her fingers into the water and continued its way downstream. Amber cried out and frantically reached for the oar but her raft was no longer moving and the oar quickly faded from sight.
From the trees, Amber could hear a series of low grunts and her raft began slowly drifting towards the overgrown bank. No…not drifting, she was being pulled. There was a hook embedded in the side of the raft and attached to the hook was a length of rope that vanished into the woods. The raft was rapidly deflating around her. For a moment, she considered diving into the water and attempting to swim downstream. But Amber was a poor swimmer and where would she go anyway? The men would always be on the banks waiting for her. She wasn’t going to risk drowning…though, she didn’t know if she wasn’t risking more by letting the men reel her in.
She coasted into the shadows of the trees just as the raft gave out and disappeared beneath the water. She stepped forward onto the rocky riverbed and stared at the bank, expecting the creatures to spring on her with spears and knives. She took a few more cautious steps forward, leaving the mass of synthetic fabric behind.
It seemed she was alone. Amber climbed up the riverbank and peered into the woods. There was nothing. And then she turned and came face to face with one of the wild men. Black mud was caked over his nose and lower-jaw. The area around his eyes was clean though his wet hair clung to the bare skin there. He pulled back his thin, cracked lips and revealed a crooked yellow grin and then suddenly, Amber felt something slam into the back of her head.
She pitched sideways into the river and felt the rocks beneath the water cutting into her elbow. Pain throbbed in her head and her vision was blurry. The water slapped her repeatedly in the face as she gasped, trying to rise above it. Something latched onto her arms and dragged her out of the water. Amber screamed and flailed her arms and legs.
Then she was struck again and all went black, the distant sound of the whistling ringing in her ears.
It’s strange how certain thoughts hit you sometimes.
I was half-heartedly browsing through Facebook, reading the mundane, self-serving status updates of some of the people I’ve “friended” and glazing over other status updates that one might describe as “vague” or “mysterious” but that I prefer to think of as cries for attention. I mean, honestly, if you’re posting it then it’s obvious you want people to know about it, so you might as well be clear about it. Otherwise keep it to yourself.
But one of my cousins had posted photos, and I tend to peruse family photos to keep up with family and what they’re doing lately. It’s not as if we really get the same opportunities to see each other that we used to. Somehow, when you’re a child and in no control of what you’re doing or where you’re going, you still get to see extended family members several times a year. You become an adult and suddenly life gets in your way. You have control over everything now, but somehow you can’t get away from work, you’ve got other plans that were made first, you can’t match up schedules with them, etc. etc.
Focus, me! The point I’m trying to get at is that she had posted a picture of a familiar gravestone. It’s located somewhere on their farm and as a child it was an adventure to take out the 4-wheelers and try to find it. We would cross barbed-wire fences, run from bulls, and hike across fields searching for it. Once we found it, we’d sometimes pull back the overgrowth (where we could reach – as I remember it had a cast iron fence around it) and make the gravestone visible again.
Now, the gravestone belonged to a woman by the name of Jennifer Krum Kilgore, it may or may not have been Anna Jennifer – I can’t remember exactly but it seems like there was another name (plus I can’t see clearly in the photo). I distinctly remember each of us – myself, two brothers, and my cousin – each choosing a name to memorize so we could tell everyone who was buried there once we returned. Somehow, no one could ever remember her name unless we’d just been out to see it.
The photo my cousin posted brought up all sorts of memories and thoughts in my head. It occurred to me that this stone represents a woman who lived in another lifetime. I can admit I don’t know the facts. The rumors, as I remember them, were always that she was part of a wagon train and got sick; that they buried her there because that was simply where she had died. But now, if you look at the photograph, it says “Of Butler” which means she must’ve been from the nearby town, right? I guess stories are often just that: stories.
Regardless, I’ve come to realize that this woman who I know nothing about, who was (likely) in no way related to me, who lived…maybe two hundred years ago – I realized that I’ve been to her gravesite more times than I have for the loved ones in my life that I lost, those that I actually knew. For some reason that strikes a chord in me, but I’m not entirely sure why. I remember as a child standing at her grave and thinking that no one in a hundred years had stood there other than us. That she’d been entirely forgotten. She wasn’t buried in a cemetery where people could come and show their respects or take a moment to remember her.
Ms. Kilgore was buried out in the middle of nowhere, smack dab in the middle of hundreds of acres of farm land. I remember standing there and thinking how sad that must be. But why? It’s not like she’s there waiting on someone to visit her. But still, I always felt an bit of sadness. I still feel sad to think of that lonely gravestone. But it seems contradictory to think of all the people I’ve lost in my life and whose graves I’ve never returned to. As that child, I always chose to venture out to Ms. Kilgore’s grave. I couldn’t always get my brother or cousins to take me…but I always wanted to go see it everytime we were out visiting. Maybe I felt she deserved to have someone who would tend to the tombstone and clear away the overgrowth so she wouldn’t disappear entirely.
Think about it…a hundred years from now, it’s very likely that no one will know you ever existed. Your tombstone will be just one more in a long line of other forgotten tombstones. Occasionally a passerby may stop and glimpse at your tombstone and make a nonchalant comment, “Kilgore? What an uncommon name…” but then they’ll just move along. Your grave will be tended by some groundskeeper simply because it’s his job, not because someone remembered you and wanted to show their respect to the deceased but rather because it’s another buck in his pocket.
Sometimes I think it’d be better to die and be buried alone, out in the middle of someone’s acreage. I think it would be better for some children, 100 years later, to discover your grave and feel like they had discovered a big secret, to give them some kind of mystery to try solving. I think it would be preferable to offer those children some kind of exciting, memorable experience than to be one more hunk of stone in a cemetery where someone routinely tends to your tombstone only because they get paid to do so.
I think I’d be happier in the afterlife if the proof of my existence was appreciated by excited, adventurous children than if it simply went unnoticed alongside everyone else’s in a vast cemetery somewhere. I’d rather be overgrown with weeds than covered with tarps and pins and ropes, my grave trampled all over when someone is to be buried nearby. Do you ever give a second thought to the people whose graves you’re walking all over when you go to a cemetery?
I understand that there’s nothing there anymore and you probably don’t care. But somehow it feels disrespectful and always makes my heart a little heavy.
Somehow… I have more of an attachment to the tombstone of this unknown Ms. Kilgore than to my own lost loved ones. Is that because it hurts too much to revisit theirs?
Ah…what an odd train of thought I boarded tonight.
Photo by Jerrico W.
When I was twelve years old, I used to go out into the creek behind our house and pretend that I was a traveler who had been in a terrible accident and was now stranded out in the woods or on some unknown island. My plane had crashed or my ship had sunk, and I was alone, a sole survivor – unless I had a friend over – and my only hope for survival was to find food and shelter.
My brothers and I spent entirely too much time building a “fort” back in the creek that was never remotely finished. We cut down saplings and weaved them around a clearing to make a wall that barely came up to our calves. It was a very large clearing; a smaller clearing might’ve yielded a much higher fence. We nailed boards to the tallest tree and it became our lookout. We buried a giant metal drum some distance from the fort (so my dad wouldn’t know we used it) and it became our fire pit. My older brother was really careful with this. He made sure there were no leaves, grass, or debris near it…we had a small stream nearby so we could bring water if there was an emergency. We had a small stack of firewood and a huge tree had collapsed at the edge of this smaller clearing, making for perfect seating.
During summers, when temperatures reached 95-100 degrees, my younger brother and I would steal my dad’s shaving kit and go out in the front yard. There was a massive stone buried to the left of the driveway. Our house was on some of the hardest Oklahoma land you could come across – it was mainly red rock and hard clay. My little brother and I decided to become archaeologists and excavate the rock. We used my dad’s shaving kit because it came with a small bowl and a big fat brush – normally for applying shaving cream – but we used it to brush back the dirt like real archaeologists do. We never managed to dig up this giant plate of rock – mostly we just ended up with a decent sized collection of rose rocks.
The point behind all of this is that children are amazing. Oklahoma heat is no joke. It’s not hot with a nice, cooling breeze. It tends to be 100 degrees with sticky humidity and this thickness that feels like you’re trying to breathe in molasses. The remarkable thing is…children will tolerate that heat, sometimes prefer it, to the air conditioning inside a boring house just so they can explore and investigate the world around them.
Now, I hope I still speak for the children of today. Granted, we didn’t live in the city and we didn’t have any computers yet. Yes…a world without the home PC, oh…my…God, they did exist once. We also grew up in a slightly more “country” setting. The nearest neighbors were a bike ride away as opposed to a stone’s throw (though that’s changed a bit in these recent years.)
Imagination drives children to play. All it took was a little bit of pretending and my creek became a new world to me whenever I stepped out into it. It wasn’t just four acres behind my house – it was a forest with tall trees and vicious animals lurking in the shadows. Other days I was like a pioneer and I would take my dad’s machete into our fort and get back to “work” building our settlement up.
(And yes, my dad gave me permission to use his machete – by 12, I was already pretty adept with a machete and a hatchet, and I had my own dirk that I wore in my boot.)
I like to think that, outside of school, I had a tremendously fulfilling childhood. I spend school breaks on my grandparents’ farm roaming over countless acres of land. I rode four wheelers, explored a different creek every day, rounded up cows, collected bones strewn across the fields where cows had died following coyote attacks… We left the house when we woke up and we were gone until the bell rang for lunch hours later. And after eating, we’d go back out until dark. Our imagination filled the hours.
School is the place that tries to strip you of your creativity and imagination. You’re not allowed to be crazy and inventive. You’re required to follow a strict set of rules and if you deviate, you have to redo the assignment. It’s even worse now days…there’s not even any PE anymore. What do kids do all day? Sit in uncomfortable plastic chairs and memorize names and dates only to regurgitate them later?
You wonder why the youth of today can’t solve minor problems when they crop up. They’ve never had to use their minds – they’ve only had to exercise their mimicry and memorization skills. If they’ve seen someone do it before or they were once told how, they can do it. If not, they freeze up and look for help. Children today are too afraid to try new things; they’re afraid to take risks.
But…on the other hand, children with strong imaginations – those that do somehow manage to retain that ability to think without instruction, I think they’re slightly punished in our society today. We stamp out creativity so much in school that if you have it, you’re mocked, you’re considered weird rather than quirky, you’re odd and people don’t want to be friends with you, etc., etc., etc.
I like to believe my imagination is just as strong as it was when I was a child. In my pottery class, I wanted to be unique and creative instead of typical, so while everyone else was making pots and bowls – I made a wishing well with a stone bench and a little bucket complete with a dragon guarding it. He has a pile of gold and jewels at his feet – and he must be young, because he’s decided to make the coins in the wishing well his new treasure.
The part that’s hard for me is differentiating between adult and child. When I leave my house and step into the “real world” everyday, I’m expected to leave that child-like outlook behind and take on my responsibilities and be an adult. When I get to work, I’m expected to work hard and be polite, respectful, efficient, and mature. Now, it’s not impossible to do all these things – I like to believe I do them all quite well. What’s hard though is maintaining a self-image. I’m not this adult I pretend to be at work.
I don’t know that I ever grew up enough to be this adult I pretend to be. To me, it’s just one more role for me to take on while I’m away from home. It’s a heavy part to play. Sometimes I want to cast it off when I know I can’t. Children hold nothing back – they have the ability to see the world both as it is and as they want it to be and they call it as they see it, no matter which way they’re viewing it.
Children are happy. Why is it that adults so often aren’t? Why do we see things only as everyone else tells us to? I work with people younger than me, some by four or five years, but I still don’t feel like an adult around them. I feel even younger than them at times, as if they’re my senior and I’m just a kid. I haven’t grow up. I’ve become an adult physically, by age, and also by societal standards, but my mind isn’t any different than when I was 12 years old.
If I was given the chance to go traipsing through the creek with a friend or two, pretending to be pirates searching for the cave concealing our hard-earned (stolen) gold, I’d jump at the chance. I guess I write because I’m not given that opportunity anymore. I can still imagine it even if I don’t get to go out and do it.
Iron Man 2. I saw it. I was excited to see it. I was what you might say “pumped up” about it. After I saw it, I didn’t write a blog post about it. So I’ll do that now.
First of all, I shall just state my opinion: Iron Man 1 was better. The special effects and digital magic may have been more spectacular in the sequel but it was also kind of a dud in other areas.
Things that I liked: Any scene that had interaction between Tony and Pepper – the writer(s) handle them so well. Their exchanges are quick, witty, and full of flavor. They’re entertaining. In fact, the same can probably said of the exchanges between Tony and his best friend, Chead–wait! Omg!
Who is this man?! What HAPPENED?
Yeah. I thought I’d do a list of things I liked first – but look where I found myself. See that side by side there? Notice anything fishy? Like…oh, I don’t know, the fact that these are two very different men? (Who coincidentally stared together in Crash, *wink* just a little FYI on the side there!)
This is one of my biggest pet peeves. I hate it when they change actors and expect you to ignore the fact that the person is someone totally new all of the sudden. Do not try to play off Don Cheadle as Terrence Howard. They don’t even look similar.
Here’s the thing… if the actor refuses to come back or there are scheduling conflicts, whatever, I think the character should just be written out. Or better yet, change the character’s name. That could’ve worked here. Tony only has one friend?
Sure, I bet the script was already written, the story was already done, etc. So yes, this would be a terrible problem. No one wants to try rewriting that much but if you know you’re going to do a 2 or 3 movie package – why don’t you contract your actors ahead of time? BOOK their time. RESERVE the actor.
I hate it when the characters magically transform into new people.
So, let’s just get into the things I thought were weak with this movie. Let’s start with Mr. Hammertime. The character of Justin Hammer – I imagine you’re supposed to despise him because of the choices he makes in the film. He’s not a good fella. But you know…he was more like a spoiled brat. He reminded me of those nerdy little rich boys who throw hissy fits if they don’t get things their way.
But that wasn’t what really bugged me about him.
Anytime Hammer was on the screen…I was just bored. I don’t know if it’s because the actor has no charisma or if it’s because his placement in the storyline was overdone. He seemed to get in the way and pull the pacing down until it was dragging along. In short, I couldn’t stand him.
I also felt like this film was just one big opportunity for the filmmaker/cinematographer/special effects guy/whoever to get to showboat it up. They spent entirely too much time showing how glamorous and awesome Tony’s life was. Yes, he’s insanely rich and the people love him – we get it. Now let me have the story.
I got sick of aerial shots of the city, of the racetrack, of his house, of whatever…They pan across these things slower than the scene when Forest Gump’s leg braces bust off in slow-motion.
Now if we consider the rest of the movie, without Hammer and without all the spectacle in a “The Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous: Tony Stark Edition,” kind of way, we might be able to say it was a good movie. I think these things are what killed the pacing for me.
I loved Gwyneth Paltrow, and I typically can’t stand Scarlett Johansson. However, in this film – there was too little Gwyneth and Scarlett didn’t bother me as much as I expected to be bothered. She pulled the part off remarkably well compared to what I’ve seen of her prior. But again, that’s my opinion.
Samuel L. Jackson. What did I think of our friend Nick Fury? Well, who gives a rat’s ass? He was in the movie for 5 minutes. However, this is one of the only characters that actually serves to help move the story forward. Without him, we’d just have Hammertime running around building little lego-men and erector sets and getting mad when his prison playmate pulls their heads off.
As my brother pointed out: Iron Man 1 consisted of Tony getting new suits and then fighting a guy dressed up in a rip-off suit, and Iron Man 2 consisted of…that’s right, Tony getting new suits and then fighting a guy dressed up in a rip-off suit. Whats the third going to be about? Anyone think it might be about Tony getting new suits and then fighting a guy dressed up in a rip-off suit?
The possibilities are endless.
So, here’s the bottom line: Robert Downey Jr. was good. Gwyneth Paltrow was good. Scarlett Johansson was okay. Samuel L. Jackson was necessary. Cheadle was good – but wrong. Hammertime – whoever the hell he really is….Sam Rockwell? Please leave him out of all movies pertaining to action/superheroes/comic books/video games/etc. He is an office man character – or the guy that gets beat up on the greyhound bus as he sobs his way back to mama’s house because his business failed him. I don’t know.
And finally, our little Russian friend? Mickey Rourke playing Ivan – I couldn’t understand a damn word out of this man’s mouth. No idea what he was saying most of the time. I seriously… it was like watching his scenes while constantly searching for subtitles that I just knew had to be there somewhere.
Biggest Disappointment? They ended the first movie and you were left thinking there was going to be a relationship between Pepper and Tony – but there’s pretty much nothing like that in the sequel. He’s too busy with other issues. So even though they spent most of the first movie building up to it, they kind of put it aside for this film – mostly. There should have been more Pepper. I laughed the hardest when Pepper and Tony were interacting.
The biggest plus for this movie? Dialogue. The writer(s) have a knack for great dialogue. That’s the only thing that’s fast-paced and sharp in this movie.
Now before I totally end this… I should clarify: I didn’t HATE this movie. It’s actually decent. In my opinion, it’s not as good as the first one. It dropped the ball just enough. BUT it’s still worth seeing if you’re an Iron Man fan for the simple fact that the action scenes were really well done.
The fight scenes between Tony and the other suits were really cool to watch. They typically made up for the boring scenes that came just before. Because of the action scenes, I feel like it was more of an up-down-up-down kind of roller coaster ride. Great – boring – Great – boring…
On that note, you should realize this movie will not be as awesome as the first one, but you shouldn’t totally blow it off. Now, would I pay 10-14 bucks to go see it at the movies? Knowing what I know now, probably not. I’d probably wait to watch it at home. Or maybe at the dollar movie. I’d save my 10 bucks for Robin Hood – which was twice as good.
But if you’re a big Iron Man fan…I think it’s probably worth your 10 bucks. You’ll probably love it. If you’ve read the comic books and Hammertime was in them, then you may be expecting him to be a big ass douche and it may not faze you in the least.
So, without further adieu – I give Iron Man 2 something like 3 stars out of 5.
So, when I heard they were releasing
another Robin Hood, I thought…”My God, is Hollywood getting that desperate? How many remakes can we put out?” As a writer, I truly believe there are countless stories to be told – originality still exists. But Hollywood keeps rehashing the same old crap.
However, a co-worker informed me that he thought the same until he went and saw it with his wife. Turns out that this isn’t the same old story about the keen-eyed archer who goes up against the Sheriff of Nottingham in a battle for women and honor – or whatever you wanna say.
This is actually the story of a soldier named Robin Longstride, who happens to be an archer in King Richard’s army during his crusade.
This story shows what happened between Robin and Marion long before they were swinging in trees and romping around the forest with their band of dirty but merry men. And how John ended up king in the story we’re all so used to and why Robin is made an outlaw.
So, I’ll admit, I wasn’t too interested in seeing this movie. I really didn’t think it would be that good. However, my brother wanted to see it and since he’s just gotten home from Scotland for the summer – we were doing what he wanted to do while he’s here.
Between Russell Crowe and Cate Blanchett, I was pleasantly surprised. Both were very strong characters and their acting was very natural in this film. In fact, I think this was one of those rare movies that didn’t have an actor or character that I couldn’t stand (not including the ones that are supposed to come off that way as per storyline.)
All in all, I have to say that this was a much better movie than I anticipated. Somehow, the way the archery was handled, the film felt like it was different from those with the typical sword and shield bashing heroes. Even being a Robin Hood movie, it didn’t have the same flavor as all the other Robin Hoods. It felt very fresh and unique.
Russell Crowe played a more subdued, calmer Robin Hood – now, I don’t remember how perfect and stunning that one guy was as he played Robin Hood – see? I can’t even think of his name he was so wonderful. O.o
…
Kevin Costner! That’s it! (I loved him in Dances With Wolves, btw.) His version of Robin Hood (Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves) – albeit this may not be his fault, it may be purely my opinion on it based on vague memories of the time I actually finished it – wasn’t that good. It was alright; not horrible but not great. Just something to watch while folding laundry since it’s come on cable for millionth time right after Water World - which you couldn’t bear to even fold laundry to anymore.
Ahem. I digress.
Russell Crowe’s portrayal of our favorite Robin was much more laid-back. He was relaxed and calm. It suited the character very well. In fact, it somehow added an extra bit of belief to his archery skills – a man that calm and patient would be an excellent archer, wouldn’t he? I myself have practiced archery, though only briefly. And it’s a royal pain in the ass, although somehow entertaining at the same time. (Until you release the bowstring and it slaps the underside of your forearm giving you the most massive red welt you’ve ever had.) Oh, but the point – yes, the point was that it takes a patient person to be a good archer. Trust me.
While many of you may be raging and cursing, spitting involuntarily at the screen over the injustice done to your dear Mr. Costner here… I must just say (again, I loved him in Dances With Wolves) that his Robin Hood was…. particularly slow and boring. He tended to come across as cocky rather than confident.
Then again… Maybe that’s not it at all. Truth is… it’s been so long since I saw the old Robin Hood that all I can really remember about it is always opting out when asked if I’d like to watch it. There was a reason I always refused, though it’s getting harder and harder to recall why.
Well, in any case, this is my blog, and I like Russell Crowe better. It’s easier to believe him to be a talented and precise archer, while still being able to kick ass if it came down to a hand-to-hand battle. I mean, let’s face it folks, I think Russell Crowe would spank Kevin Costner in a fight.
So since this is my review, Russell and Cate get two thumbs up, while Kevin and Mary Elizabeth Mastrantonio (Whew, what a mouthful…) get two neutral thumbs – or more like… hands that are too tired to bother with thumbs up or down. They’re just apathetic hands.
To wrap things up… if Russell would kick Kevin’s ass, I think it’s fair to say that I also think Cate would kick Mary’s ass. However, women are tricky – one might be surprisingly feisty. Though, you know… I saw Elizabeth: The Golden Age, so I still think Cate would be the winner.
Anyway, go see it. This Robin Hood was really good – way better than I thought it would be. And it’s not a remake. It’s a retelling – or more accurately, a prequel. So go with that knowledge in mind and then come back and tell me who was better. Your dreamy Kevin or that bad ass Russell – but be forewarned, you better come back saying “Russell” or we’re gonna have words, you and I, deep, meaningful words.
Today is May 3rd, and I sit here fuming.
Today is the 11 year anniversary of the F5 tornado that ripped its way through central Oklahoma, taking a number of precious lives with it.
I sit here fuming because I am angry with the general media right now. I click news links, I watch videos, I read articles…They all fuel my anger even more.
Grady County, people. Remember us!
May 3rd didn’t just touch Cleveland and Oklahoma Counties. This tornado didn’t only affect Moore and Midwest/Del City.
Do any of you even know about Bridge Creek? There’s a website devoted to May 3rd. It shows you pictures, news articles, videos of survivors telling their stories, maps that show the tornado’s path…. But where is Bridge Creek? We’re not listed on the map. The drop down says “Show damage in: Moore, Del City, Tanger Mall” but not Bridge Creek.
Why does no one take the time to remember us? I’m angry because this seems a grave error on the part of the general populace. “Remember those who were affected by this tragedy.” ”Pray for those who were affected by May 3rd.” This is what everyone says… but the only place we’re represented on that website is here: “Those Who Died”
You’ll notice there were many more lives taken from Bridge Creek than Moore. I’m immensely glad that those Creekers, both of my neighbors included, are shown a bit of remembrance at least in this little place. But that only quells my anger slightly.
I find myself burning with emotion to think that no one cares about the little po-dunk town of Bridge Creek. The big city is all that really matters. The cost of damage was higher there because it was an urban area, so the smaller rural areas don’t matter.
This may not be the truth of it but that’s how it feels.
I have lived for 11 years with a heated bitterness in my heart. I have nothing against those from Moore, and I’m not trying to say they didn’t suffer the same. I don’t want to belittle their experiences or demean them in anyway. But I do feel a bit of injustice each year. 11 years and the news always talks about Moore and only Moore.
How many people died in Moore? How many people found themselves running down a gravel road with a tornado fast on their heels as they tried to find shelter? How many people watched as their little brother was blown further down the street because he wasn’t quite strong enough to run against the wind – who had to have his big brother grab him and pull him back to safety?
How many people in Moore felt the dirt and gravel pelting their skin as they crawled into a storm drain beneath a road, praying that they wouldn’t be sucked out the end in the next few seconds when the tornado finally went over?
I know the damage in Moore was terrible. I don’t try to ignore that fact. I understand that houses were completely destroyed. I would have no reason not to believe that. Not after what I saw.
But I’m still angry. In Moore, didn’t you have rooms and walls still standing in places? Weren’t you able to find and salvage more possessions? Maybe you didn’t, and maybe you couldn’t. Maybe I generalize out of irrationality. My possessions were gone. They weren’t buried beneath rubble for me to retrieve. My room broke off the house and was carried away, never to be seen again. My entire life’s worth of belongings was gone that quick. Hell, maybe you found my things in Moore because they were not in Bridge Creek anymore.
Granted, I will admit, the creek caught a few of my family’s things and we were able to fish through the water and mud to retrieve a few things: my older brother’s entire comic book collection, a good number of dresses from my mother’s closet, some of my little brother’s toys. And I found two blankets from my bed, having been driven through the trunk of a tree like a nail by a hammer.
But none of this matters.
I simply ask that you remember Grady County and all the people in Bridge Creek. I ask that you remember the neighbors we lost. I ask that you pray for those of us who were asked by our wonderful media, “Do you have survivor’s guilt? Why do you think you lived when others didn’t?” And I hope that if you’re a reporter, you take a moment before the next tragedy and consider what kind of impact a question like that can have on a 13 year old girl.
I remember the cries of people searching for others. I remember holding a child who had just had his mother ripped out of his arms. I still remember how hard it was to keep myself from crying so he wouldn’t be any more scared than he already was. I saw neighbors walking around covered in mud and blood, dazed looks on their faces.
And I remember being too afraid to go into the debris for fear I might find a body.
Where is the love and support for Bridge Creek? When will the news remember that we were just as harshly affected as Moore? When will the media realize that we’re a part of this state as well?
I offer my prays to those in Moore. When will the news remind them about us, so they can return the favor?
Call me cold and bitter. Call me selfish and angry. It’s probably all true.
But at least spare a moment on this day for those of us that the rest of the state seem to have forgotten about.
