The Song

It's been awhile since I've done anything with this blog. When I created my new one, I wrote here that I would still post some new work from time to time. Lately, the only new writing I've done has been on the novel I'm working on. I don't want to post that here, as it's too long and not done and on the off chance it ever gets published, I don't want to have already released it. Anyway, that's a really longwinded way of saying, I did something new today, and I want to share it with you. Here's a poem I call

The Song

The road stretches on and on and on and on out of sight,

blending with the darkness of the wood and the stars in the night.

The old man saunters on, singing a lark of bygone days.

He sings of love and seasons.

Of fields and waves.

He sings a song of kings and peasants both alike to the old man in the night.

He sings of a wandering gnome who found a garden filled with bees.

The bees fought a great war, thousands died.

The gnome watched with glee as insects piled high

above the grass and flowers and in the end the garden was a waste,

and so the gnome sauntered on.

The old man pauses now, and turns off the path.

He walks into a glen and bows a stately bend.

He sings the trees and asks them for a boon.

The trees hear his plea, and grant him a bed.

The old man lies his head beneath the ash, yet sings still all through the night.

He sings of ogres and foxes.

He sings of sprites and gods.

He sings of a woman and a boy.

He sings of villages and lords.

He sings of life and of motion. He sings of death and of creation.

He stirs in the morn and saunters on

down the road stretching ever ever ever on.

A body lies still in the glen,

but from this body the song has gone.

Thought for Food

I was told to do a freewrite for a class. I came up with this. It's not actually a story, but a personal musing. Still I hope you find it entertaining or enlightening. Please give me your thoughts for food. (And by this I do not mean I will trade food for your thoughts. I mean I will eat your thoughts.)

Thought for Food

Right now I don’t want to write. I don’t want to read either. I mean, I do. I want to do both. I want to find out what will happen to Lerris, but I also want the joy and accomplishment that comes from writing. I want both these things, and yet, I don’t feel like doing the work. I want the payoff without the effort. Here’s the thing though. When I went to work today building the announcer’s box with David, I didn’t feel like doing it. I was hot and tired and sore, and I simply didn’t want to do it. When the day was done I looked at all we had accomplished. It was a good feeling. Satisfying. But it was only satisfying after the work was done. We’ll go back tomorrow and finish, and then I’ll look at it and feel a sense of accomplishment for having created something good in this world. Really though, if we showed up tomorrow morning and the whole thing had been finished by elves or trolls or even werewolves in the night I would be elated. I would love to not have to build the box. The joy is in the finished product. I do not feel good standing in the heat and getting sweaty and gross and tired. I feel good after it’s over. With writing and reading that’s not the case at all. With writing and reading, the joy is not in the product as much as the process. I don’t want to just know what happens to Lerris. I want to discover it. I want the journey as much or more than I want the destination. I don’t want to have written a terrific story as much as I want to write one. In the writing I am a creator, and I am proud of my creation because I did it not because I have done it. I know that last sentence may be somewhat confusing, but please try to think about what I can mean. The joy you’ll feel won’t be in knowing the deep thoughts of my heart. (As if the heart did any thinking. Silly poets.) There is not as much joy in knowledge as in discovery. Thought for food.

Forking Around

I wrote this story in a fit of creativity and despair. I do so hope you enjoy it, and please feel free to comment.

Forking Around

This is the story of how I lost my virginity to a spoon.

“Listen! This is absolutely the last time I’m going to say anything to you! You understand? If you don’t do something soon, I’m gone!”

The words left her mouth in a rush. She hadn’t planned on saying them, but now that they were out what was she to do? She didn’t want to leave Jeff, but if she didn’t go through with it he would know he could just walk all over her forever. She felt trapped. Stuck under a rockslide with life slowing leaking out of her, figuratively speaking of course. She needed time to think, and for that she needed to take a walk.

Now that the ultimatum was there, she had some planning to do. That’s the problem with saying things you don’t plan. She always said them, but she wasn’t prepared for the consequences. She was certain he wouldn’t change at all. He’d pretend for a day or so, but after that he’d be the same old slob he had been for the last two years. She’d be forced to leave, and that meant packing, finding a place to go, getting help going there, and explaining to everybody what was happening. It would be so much easier if she could just leave everything and disappear. No worries, no explanations, nothing. It would be so lovely. Reality demanded more though. She’d call her mother. That was the first step. Let her know she’d probably be living with her soon. Then start looking for places to live. And a job. Life sucks. Why does it have to be so hard? Why couldn’t she just find a place and a job that suited her and apply and get it? Why all this waiting and researching and script-writing? She didn’t need a perfect fit. Just something nice. Was that too much to ask? She turned around and headed home. As soon as she got to this line of questioning it was almost time for the walk to be over. Next she just needed to take it one step at a time. Life. Not the walk.

A few days later Jeff was doing remarkably well. He had shaved, done his laundry, swept and mopped the kitchen and even fixed the bathroom sink. He was looking for a new job too. Not that things at the cheese factory weren’t going well, but…well…he was working at a cheese factory. The pay wasn’t great, the hours were long, and he came home smelling like dirty feet or rotting garbage. For a man with his talents, the cheese factory was not the place to be. Things were looking up. They always were after she went on a walk. It wouldn’t last long though. Pretty soon they’d be right back where they started. But for now she tried to be positive and supportive. She helped him look for jobs and submit resumes and she cut his hair for him. It was the least she could do if she was leaving in a few days. She hadn’t told her mother yet. Out of hope for them, she told herself, but it wasn’t true. She hadn’t told her mother because she didn’t want to admit failure. She didn’t want to admit that she loved a man who didn’t care, and that was the heart of it. Jeff cared now because he might lose her, but in the end after she left he wouldn’t really care. He’d be sad, she was sure of it, and she knew he cared for her. Just not enough to be the man she needed. It wouldn’t be long now. Just a few more days and he’d give up and be back at the cheese and WoW. Or was it EverQuest? Or Guild Wars? Or…she couldn’t keep them all straight. He could, and he did, yet for some reason he couldn’t realize she was serious. He was a fantastic Khajit wizard, but he didn’t know the first thing about her world.

After a week of perfect husbandry she lost him to the city of Neverwinter. It was time to move on. The poor dear really tried, and he far surpassed her expectations, but it was time to admit defeat. She packed a bag, and drove away. She told him she’d be going to visit her sister to clear her head. He gave her a kiss and said he’d miss her. She drove for some time, not thinking a lot about where she was going. She got on the interstate and turned north. She drove until she felt sleepy and slept in the car, then drove more. She kept at it until she saw a sign for Pennsylvania. Drive, stop, sleep, drive. It was therapeutic. Relaxing. Heartbreaking.

After two days on the road her funds were running thin. She had plenty of money, but she needed to keep some set aside for living whenever she decided to stop. She was at 3/8 of her tank. When she hit a quarter full she’d stop and that would be her home. Unless she didn’t like it, which happened to be so. She couldn’t live in a place called Youngstown. It just sounded pedantic. She put in five gallons and kept driving until she hit half a tank. Dubois. How was that pronounced? Dooboys? Doobo-is? Doobwah? Who would want to stay in a place with such a fucked up name? Luthersburg though, that was a town. Luther. Like Don Knotts or Dr. King. Or Martin Luther. Burg…burg…well she didn’t know any burg except hamburger, but that was enough. If there was such thing as a Lutherburger, it would probably be heavenly.

Four days in Luthersburg was enough to tell her it was not as heavenly a place to live as she’d hoped, but now she was stuck. She didn’t have enough money to go anywhere else and still find somewhere to live. Luthersburg.* The first day she was here it seemed so perfect. Quaintish. Nice. Peaceful. Zen even. Until she tried to find an apartment. Everywhere she asked they gave her funny looks and sometimes, when they didn’t think she was watching, they wrinkled their noses at her. Luthersburg. She finally found an upstairs room in a little cottage where an old woman named Marie lived. Marie Fulton. Luthersburg. Marie was 92; wore coke bottle glasses that may have been made of actual coke bottles for all the good they did her; her husband had passed away fourteen years ago; she was the first runner up for the 1939 Miss Clearfield County Beauty Queen; had three children, eleven grandchildren and twenty great-grandchildren (as of yet no great-great-grandchildren but Juliet had just gotten married in a nice little ceremony—nothing large, just family and close friends—on the beach in Hawaii. Marie was unable to attend, but she had seen pictures on Facebook—Yes! She had her own account and could use the internet as good as either of her two boys—and the pictures were just so lovely. Juliet would probably be having children soon then and then she could claim a great-great-great-grandchild!); she and her husband had purchased the house in 1952 for $22,000 which back then was quite a bit of money and they had done their best to keep up the yard, but now the neighborhood boys did it for her and she paid them five dollars and gave them a root beer, and they always loved that! By the time she had seen the room, she knew all this about Marie. Luthersburg. She knew this because this is what she remembered. The rent was cheap though, and although the house smelled a little of old, it was quite charming.

*Note. Should be pronounced in the fashion of a Seinfeldian Newman.

Happy Birthday to Me!

Today is my 25th birthday, and I thought I'd share a few thoughts for the occasion.

My life is a roller coaster of excitement, boredom, depression, anxiety, happiness, joy, fun and so many other things I can't even think of what they are. In my many years I have learned a few things.

1. I am most satisfied with my life when I am creating. This is why I created this blog and started writing stories. When I create, I am engaged not only with myself, but with the world around me and that makes me happy. 
2. Some things in life just suck, but you don't always have to slog through them. Sometimes, it's worth it to leave crappy things behind and forge ahead with what makes you feel good.
3. Along with #2, I have met so many people who talk about doing big things with their lives, but I know very few who actually follow through with these dreams/plans. There is no good reason not to do what you want in life. My mother has wanted to live in California for years now, and last October she finally did it. It wasn't easy, but she is happier now than she has been my entire life. (I'm guessing on this, but I am fairly certain it's an accurate statement.) I'm so proud of her for that, and I want to follow her example of practically following dreams.
4. Some relationships are difficult, but worth working on and keeping. Some relationships are easy, but are not worth keeping.
5. Family is forever, but family does not deserve everything you have. Sometimes, you have to treat family relationships like any other. Sometimes it's worth working at, and sometimes you need to allow family to take a back seat. The difference is, friendships can be temporary, family is forever.
6. I am the most important person in my life. I try to give to others and be generous, but in the end I need to do what I must to be happy, and if I must sacrifice my happiness for another it's not worth it. At least not so far in my life.
7. Disregard everything I have said. These are things I have learned for myself, but they are not prescriptions for anyone else's life. I am truly different from every other person I have ever met, and my life plan will not work for anybody but me. And that's okay.

These are just some of the musings I've had over the past few years/months/days/hours. I'm intensely grateful to family and friends for the support and love they give me, especially my wife Megan. I couldn't be the person I am without her. To wrap things up, I recently (within the last year) learned of a law which has governed my life for as long as I can remember, but which I could not articulate until I discovered it on the blog of one of my celebrity heroes, Wil Wheaton. Known as Wheaton's Law, it states simply and beautifully: Don't be a dick! Thanks to everyone who reads this blog and makes me feel good about my work, even if you don't comment you are appreciated.

Chris Taylor