Challenge: Fail.

WAAAAHHHHH!!!!! Why did I do this?!? And then why did I not do it? And...and...oh dear. As I type this sentence, it is 11:38 pm Monday night, and I have absolutely no idea where I’m going with this story.

A word of caution: what are about to read is very likely to be lame, as it was thrown together at the last minute with no inspiration.

Then again, that was kinda the point; this is an exercise.

I need a name...What was that name I thought of earlier? Eh, whatever.

…...............

 

It was bound to happen I guess.

Truth be told, I’d expected it sooner, but now, as I sat there in that room, as alone a man could be, I could only wish that I had more time.

Time to say goodbye, time to right my wrongs, time to spend in any of the numberless places I’d rather be at this moment; away for my responsibilty; from my call.

But my time was up.

One of the the two fluorescent tubes above my head was out. That was the only change since last time. Same bolted-down table and chairs, same cameras. The reinforced glass panel in the door was the only break from the gray walls and grey ceiling, and nothing ever happened on the other side.

I wished I could kill the genius who put that window there. The guy who built this whole, boring closet, and decided to force me to stare at the same boring part of it for eternity, a glimmer of freedom dangled just out of reach.

Leaving the light burnt out was a nice touch though, made the atmosphere just a little more depressing, and put off a vibe of neglect like they might forget you in there too, and let you starve to death. That’s the sort of thing that makes a good interrogation room, or in this case, a “waiting room”. The distinction coming from the handcuffs which had secured me to the table on my last visit.

I suppose that was different too.

She didn’t knock, but why should she? If there were a name on the building, it would be hers. She shut the door behind her, and took a seat in the chair across the table before speaking.

“Mr. Allen.”

I nodded. “Susie.”

…..................

Time out. It’s 12:41. What the heck? Those few paragraphs are all I have to show for an hour’s work? I’ve got to find another writing method... Anyway, onwards!

…................

Susan Keller would have been pretty if she didn’t spend so much time being the man. One whiff of her airs, and it was clear who wore the pantsuit in this corporation.

…...............

Wait...did I just make a pun in my narrative? Can I do that? “One whiff of her airs”? I don’t know why, but that makes perfect sense to me. Get it? ‘Airs’ like the way you hold yourself, like you’re more important than everybody, and ‘whiff’ like... Never mind. I like it.

I need to quit interrupting you here; you’re trying to read a story. (And I’m trying to write one.)

…............

Her shoes were tight, her hair was tight, and her manner was tight. Oh, and she hates it when you call her ‘Susie’. Predictable. 

“Do you know why you’re here?” She asked. Ms. Keller always had a file with her. Today’s, she placed on the table, turning it for my perspective.

“I hope not.” I said, even as her expression confirmed my fears. She said nothing, only pushing the folder towards me with her fingertips. I accepted it, refusing to allow my hand to tremble. The manila folder sat directly in front of me, unlabeled, save for the cliched ‘classified’ stamp. I pushed it away, unopened.

“How did she get out?”

….................

Yay vagueness! Maybe I can write a whole story without having a story!

Anyway, I’m sorry. I have to go to bed. I work in the morning, and it’s 2:39 now.

That’s right. Three hours, and not even a whole page. Maybe you’re starting to see my frustration. “What the heck?” you say. 3 hours?!? You must be the world’s slowest typist!

Well, maybe, but that’s not the problem. I’m thinking and overthinking, and pre-thinking, and rethinking. And re-writing. I really need to work on that. (Keep in mind that this is after editing. More editing than writing, I'd say.)

I’m going to try to have the whole story up by Thursday (Or on Thursday) Hopefully, all that extra thinking will give me a head start. Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think so far, (if there’s enough so far to think about.)

Yeah, I'm disappointed too.

In Which I Challenge Myself

It was bound to happen I guess.

Truth be told, I’d expected it sooner, but now, as I sat there in that room, as alone a man could be, I could only wish that I had more time.

Time to say goodbye, time to right my wrongs, time to spend in any of the numberless places I’d rather be at this moment; away for my responsibilty; from my call.

But my time was up.

….......

...Don’t you want to know what happens? Don’t you want to know who this guys is, and what’s going on? Me too!  I have no idea what any of that means, but I’d really like to, which is why I think that the above paragraph, which I wrote only a minute ago, might be a good opening for a story.

It came easily; no pauses, no writer’s block. It’s times like that when I feel like a good writer. I feel like I could write actual fiction that people might actually want to read. I feel...at home. Like writing is who I am, and what I’m here for. It feels awesome...

And then I stop.

I run into those first questions, and I just don’t know the answers.

Who is this guy?

What was bound to happen?

What is this responsibility he talks about?

What is he waiting for by himself?

To whom did he want to say goodbye?

All of the questions I want the reader to ask, but if I can’t answer them, I’m kinda stuck. So, what now? Now, I suppose I have to make something up.

I hate that. I don’t want to make anything up! It should just come to me!

No, that’s not weird. I feel like my best work comes when I’m under absolutely no pressure, self inflicted or otherwise. I have tons of what I believe are good story ideas piled up in my head. Ideas that “just came to me”, just waiting for me to sit down and type them out. Except when I go to do that, I run into this very problem: details; questions. Even if I knew what genre this story would fall under, or the main point of the story, or a name for the hero, or his motivation, I would be every bit as stuck. I’m starting to realize that I’ll always have to make something up.

I wonder if those contrived ideas will always seem second rate to the inspired...

Probably.

Ooh. “The Inspired”? Possible Sci-fi villain anyone? No? Oh, ok. You’re right. Cheesy.

Anyway, I need to beat this. Writing fiction isn’t going to go away for me. I’ve been making up stories since before I could realize that was what I was doing. When I played with my Hot Wheels cars, they were characters, with strengths, weaknesses, and needs. The heroes never won in the first attempt, and the villains were never beyond redemption. Writing stories is what I was born to do.  I’m tired of wasting what I believe to be one of my greatest gifts just because I’m afraid of a few questions.

I think one of my biggest problems is that I never practice. I love every story too much to throw it away on something like that. I feel like my ideas deserve to be real stories, and the idea of pouring my heart and soul into something for nothing more than the experience is not at all appealing.

I need to get over it.

So...right. We have an opening. Let’s contrive away. It doesn’t have to be good, Andrew; this is practice.

Normally, I wouldn’t start with a vague opening and nothing else, (then again, normally I wouldn’t start at all.) but for the sake of this little practice round, we’ll call it a challenge.

Me: “I challenge me to write a short story from that paragraph, and post it on this blog by... by Tuesday!!”

Me: “Oh, yeah? Well challenge accepted. Oh yes I did.”

Me: “We’ll see, Me. We’ll see.”

...Is ‘me’ a funny word? I think it is. Just listen to it:

Me.......me........me.........ME.....me....Yeah it's a funny word.

Stupid Christians

Ok, so I didn’t post last week.

That happened. Sorry.

Please accept this little rant. I made it just for you. I’m hoping we can all get past this.

                                                                *   *   *

Today, I’m going to talk about stupid Christians.

Ugh. Stupid Christians. Nothing causes my palm to pose so great a danger to my face.

Atheists? Nah.

Injustice? Not so much.

Disney channel programming? (With the obvious exception of Phineas and Ferb) Almost.

Blegch! They’re just so...they’re so stupid!

I’d say that in general, I am decently tolerant of idiots. I mean, they are kinda EVERYWHERE. (I’ve had frequent sightings of idiots operating motor vehicles, for example.) Sure, that annoys me a bit, but I’ve learned to live with it. I’ve worked in a restaurant for a year and a half, and even that hasn’t managed to destroy my faith in humanity. Even if, God forbid, I allow myself to read YouTube comments, I usually manage to avoid causing the damage to my head and desk that occurs when the two are brought together with force, as would be the temptation. I’ve come to accept that stupid people are a part of life. America is a free country, and if you want to use that freedom to say “no thanks” to things like common sense and discretion, go ahead. Stupidity, I suppose, is as much a right as a choice.

But when it comes to what is right and wrong, I draw the line.

A very thick line.

More like a border: with fences and attack dogs and machine guns and DON’T BE A STUPID CHRISTIAN!!

You are representing God! You just lost your right to be stupid!

I’m not talking about how you drive, or about arguing with your most excellent server about whether or not salad is free. (Don’t do that.) I’m talking about knowing what you believe, and knowing why, and having answers for the important questions on which you have NO EXCUSE to even hesitate. I’m talking about about not basing your entire religion on what other people are doing wrong. I’m talking about not completely ignoring the number one command given to you by the one you call your master.

I’m not yelling, I’m just adding emphasis. Leave me alone. Shh.

Why is it that the people who are the most wrong tend to be the loudest? Proverbs probably says something about that, but the fact is, here I am, quietly gritting my teeth, while fools misrepresent me and my God in protests.

“God hates fags.”

No. NO. NO!!! Shut up! I want to make you eat that sign! I...I wanna....I just.... GAAHHHH!!!

GOD.

LOVES.

PEOPLE!!!

You know absolutely nothing about God’s character, yet you attend to represent it on as large a stage as possible?!? How about I give you another sign, one of the Bill Engvall variety, and you can go home and write your autobiography. Call it “How to Make God Facepalm”. Just...shut up and go away.

Ok, fine. I’m yelling. I did actually warn you that this is the one thing that makes me the angriest.

Did you know that on average atheists’ I.Q. scores are 5.89 points higher than Christians?

Why do you think that is?

Is it because smart people are arrogant and the prideful are their own gods? Maybe.

Is it because “God chose the foolish things to confound the wise”? Probably.

Is it because Christianity as it is so commonly practiced and therefore observed actually doesn’t make any sense? I think so.

How many Christians would look at a sign that says “God is in Control”, and nod in agreement? And when an atheist stops to ask “Why then, is the world so messed up?” How many could answer? Not enough.

“There are some things we just don’t understand” or “The Lord works in mysterious ways” or “all thing work together for good” simply will not fly. Shut up.

If God were in complete control of everything that happens on this earth, would that not make everything that happens his will? Would that not make Him responsible that all the pain and suffering the world has ever seen? Who could love such a God?

It’s not complicated. The answers to these questions are available to everyone, and maybe if some of the loud ones would put down their signs and pick up their Bibles, evangelism would be more an answer, and less an argument.

The sad thing is, those idiots will always be around; Satan is not going to give up his greatest weapon. As long as he can twist scriptures and manipulate fears, there will always be someone willing to strap on a sword, paint a cross on their chest, and go “crusading”.

There will always be stupid Christians...

…but they don’t have to be the loudest.

I might just be angry enough. How about you?