Page 5 of 36
#161
Quote by Todd Hart
When you're writing novels, the most important thing is a really watertight plan for the story. You can't just write and hope it goes well, you have to know exactly what's going to happen. Obviously you'll change things or add bits as you go, but a good plan goes a long way.


Indeed, I've started writing a chapter summary in advance, at the very least so I don't forget shit. Of course, I always end up shifting events from chapter to chapter, but yeah, it definitely helps.
#162
I did an experiment where I made a story up as I went along. I had no idea what the plot was until I was finished writing it. It was fun. Wasn't good though.
Quote by Ian_the_fox
You're not girly enough of a boy for me, and you're not man enough to take the top. So like, sorry bitch but you ain't mine! Sorry.
#163
Here's the opening to what I hope will eventually become my debut novel. I've been planning it for ages but only recently started working on it. Feedback is appreciated.

One cold, Thursday morning; James awoke from a dreamless sleep and was appalled to discover that he was dead.
Understandably, this had come as something of an enormous shock to him, nonetheless because he was fairly certain that he had definitely been alive the night before when he went to sleep. And also because, as a matter of fact, he had been quite certain of being alive when he initially awoke. Nothing on that morning had seemed to be at all out of the ordinary when James first emerged from his deep slumber. He had gone through all of the usual routines that come with waking; open eyes, close them again, repeat, blink, repeat, rub eyes, yawn, repeat, scratch genitals, consider masturbating, decide against it, yawn again, stretch arms, fart, yawn, try to look at alarm clock, remember you don't have an alarm clock, wonder what day it is, consider going back to sleep for another hour, and at no point during these rituals could he ever recall feeling especially like he had very recently become deceased.
Every little detail of that fateful morning seemed to James to be completely normal. So much so that it initially seemed quite boring in it's normalcy, not that boredom was something James was acutely unfamiliar with, as a matter of fact boredom was a state of being that he almost revelled in. But that morning in particular had at first seemed almost remarkable in it's boringness, to the point that James could actually recall getting the notion, whilst lying there in his waking haze, that an extremely uneventful day lay ahead of him.
So desensitized by the normality that permeated that morning was James, that it was not until he finally managed to unattach himself from his bed, having lain there for a good hour at least, stood up, stretched, walked forward a little, and then turned around to be confronted by the sight of his own body, lying stretched out, cold and grey in the very spot where he himself had previously been lying, that he began to feel as if something was amiss.
#164
^It's good overall, but the opening needs a tad more punch. It was just like, "dude's dead," didn't really have any weight. You didn't really hit your stride until ' Nothing on that morning had seemed to be at all out of the ordinary when James first emerged from his deep slumber.' That's when I shifted from, "hmm that's bad," to, "ooh that's tragic." It just didn't hit me until about that point. Overall though good.
Quote by Psihodeliko
PASIVITY ENDS

Rain. Dark sky attacking the skyscrapers. Walking through the dark alleyways of my city. Beggars. Drunks. *****s. Pimps. Drug dealers. Walking through the dark alleyways of my mind. Sea of decadence. These... people... trying to pull me down with them. Still, I keep on going. The strength I believe to have... Is it just my anger? No. Mustn't allow myself to think like that.

There he is. Cigarette in mouth. Burnt almost to the filter. Careless. He throws the cigarette butt on the street. Rain. Pouring down on him. Hair wet. I walk slowly. My strength suddenly leaves. But then I remember what he did. With each step I grow stronger. I clench my fists. No way back.

...

Ok, here's the short intro I promised. If I three people say they're intrigued, I'll continue writing. Well... I'll do it even if they don't. Just won't post...

I like it. It's only the first two paragraphs of the thing so I didn't really get any story info, but the words and descriptions were great.
Last edited by cornmancer at Jul 14, 2010,
#165
Quote by cornmancer
^It's good overall, but the opening needs a tad more punch. It was just like, "dude's dead," didn't really have any weight. You didn't really hit your stride until ' Nothing on that morning had seemed to be at all out of the ordinary when James first emerged from his deep slumber.' That's when I shifted from, "hmm that's bad," to, "ooh that's tragic." It just didn't hit me until about that point. Overall though good.

I like it. It's only the first two paragraphs of the thing so I didn't really get any story info, but the words and descriptions were great.


I think PeZ was going for the "Dead? Yes, and?" effect. Guess the character's a bit like Lebowski.

Thank you, Cornmancer. It's like a teaser. Makes you watch the whole movie (or avoid it, of course).
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#166
Quote by Psihodeliko
Well, if you're writing in first person, I think the reader would get the impression that the character is unstable, maybe schizophrenic or something like that. But it would help to actually read that passage.


Yeah, it's first person. But it's in different styles. The murdering part is 'actually' happening, I suppose, in the sense that the majority of the story is written like that. The others are either dreams or parts of the main character's writing.
I'm writing it on my other computer, so I don't have it handy. Not sure if I want to publish anything at all yet, I was planning to wait until I finished it all.
I might put a bit up here, though. Wouldn't do any harm.
#167
sweet work everyone, theres some good stuff floating around.
Psihodeliko- im intrigued!

Has anyone else sent in an entry to Colohue?
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#168
Quote by cornmancer
^It's good overall, but the opening needs a tad more punch. It was just like, "dude's dead," didn't really have any weight. You didn't really hit your stride until ' Nothing on that morning had seemed to be at all out of the ordinary when James first emerged from his deep slumber.' That's when I shifted from, "hmm that's bad," to, "ooh that's tragic." It just didn't hit me until about that point. Overall though good.



Well, it's supposed to be a comedy, not tragic.
#169
Quote by PeZ546
Well, it's supposed to be a comedy, not tragic.

When i read it i caught a hint of that flavor but couldnt be to sure because it was a short passage. But should be an entertaining read if your going that route!
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#170
The idea that I'm trying to convey is that this character has lead a very mundane life (His backstory will be fully explored, leading up to the revelation of how he died) and is now going to lead a very mundane death. So what I'm intending with this passage is to present James' reaction to his own death as almost trivial.

You'll notice in the opening sentence I use the word 'appalled' to describe the character's reaction, but rather than being the sort of appalled you would be in reaction to something truly shocking, in this case it's the sort of 'appalled' you are when someone leaves your fridge door open overnight or uses your toilet without flushing. Therefore, the character's demise is shocking, but in a completely trivial way.

Hope that makes sense.
#171
I have writer's block. It's rather pissing me off.

So how does everyone get though writers block? I hate writing through it, because that usually results in some rather sub-par work which results in having to spend ages putting it right again. Normally I just stop writing for a while and listen to some music, play some guitar, play some games and stuff until I get an idea, what about everyone else?
...Stapling helium to penguins since 1949.
#172
Quote by PeZ546
The idea that I'm trying to convey is that this character has lead a very mundane life (His backstory will be fully explored, leading up to the revelation of how he died) and is now going to lead a very mundane death. So what I'm intending with this passage is to present James' reaction to his own death as almost trivial.

You'll notice in the opening sentence I use the word 'appalled' to describe the character's reaction, but rather than being the sort of appalled you would be in reaction to something truly shocking, in this case it's the sort of 'appalled' you are when someone leaves your fridge door open overnight or uses your toilet without flushing. Therefore, the character's demise is shocking, but in a completely trivial way.

Hope that makes sense.


ahh, yes this makes sense. It truly sounds like a cool idea, get writing! i want to read more of it haha.

Quote by Todd Hart
I have writer's block. It's rather pissing me off.

So how does everyone get though writers block? I hate writing through it, because that usually results in some rather sub-par work which results in having to spend ages putting it right again. Normally I just stop writing for a while and listen to some music, play some guitar, play some games and stuff until I get an idea, what about everyone else?


Sometimes, i will listen to music that matches the sort of tone to which i am writing and write while listening to that album. It works well for me, or usually reading something similar to your writings helps too

best of luck!
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#173
Quote by IXIchiodoIXI
Sometimes, i will listen to music that matches the sort of tone to which i am writing and write while listening to that album. It works well for me, or usually reading something similar to your writings helps too

best of luck!


Okay...do you happen to know any illogical, humorous, slightly romantic and apocalyptic music?
...Stapling helium to penguins since 1949.
#174
Quote by Todd Hart
Okay...do you happen to know any illogical, humorous, slightly romantic and apocalyptic music?


Mogwai - Mogwai Fear Satan. The song has irrational mood swings
If you try and take a cat apart to see how it works, the first thing you have on your hands is a non-working cat. - Douglas Adams
#175
Quote by Todd Hart
Okay...do you happen to know any illogical, humorous, slightly romantic and apocalyptic music?

the first thing that came to mind was Tenacious D

and thats the only thing haha
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#176
Quote by IXIchiodoIXI
the first thing that came to mind was Tenacious D

and thats the only thing haha


Me too.

Now to dig around in my cd collection for Tenacious D. I'm sure by the time I've found it my writer's block will be gone...but you gotta pass the time somehow.
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#177
Quote by Todd Hart
Me too.

Now to dig around in my cd collection for Tenacious D. I'm sure by the time I've found it my writer's block will be gone...but you gotta pass the time somehow.


haha exactly, or just que up a playlist on youtube of them live, even better!

I work at a desk all day, lame job and dont have much to do so i have plenty of time to write, but when i get writers block all i can do is sit, find music and if i wait long enough something comes to mind. its quite a lame fix but its all i have to work with ahah. i havent done much writing at home for various reasons.
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#179
Quote by denizenz
Songwriting and Lyrics? There's a whole forum on UG dedicated to writers/writing...


It's 9 pages in.


And the songwriting and lyrics forum is a) musically based, and b) mostly dead. Nobody critiques anything in there.
...Stapling helium to penguins since 1949.
#180
Quote by Todd Hart
It's 9 pages in.


And the songwriting and lyrics forum is a) musically based, and b) mostly dead. Nobody critiques anything in there.

It isn't music based...it's 90% poetry. Of course, the other 10% is metalcore/post-punk garbage. Whatever. I didn't have anything constructive to add...just wanted to point out the fact that the forum exists. If anyone's interested, they can check the works in my sig.
#181
Quote by denizenz
It isn't music based...it's 90% poetry. Of course, the other 10% is metalcore/post-punk garbage. Whatever. I didn't have anything constructive to add...just wanted to point out the fact that the forum exists. If anyone's interested, they can check the works in my sig.


But still, nobody critiques in their. Plus this thread has a good group of people now so.
...Stapling helium to penguins since 1949.
#182
Quote by denizenz
It isn't music based...it's 90% poetry. Of course, the other 10% is metalcore/post-punk garbage. Whatever. I didn't have anything constructive to add...just wanted to point out the fact that the forum exists. If anyone's interested, they can check the works in my sig.


I think earlier in the thread thats been brought up. but this is more story based sort of stuff.

stick around though, post something.
i'll probably give your stuff a read.
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#184
Quote by denizenz
Alright, I'll stick this and check it out. I'm working on outlining a concept for a novel, so once I commit something to paper I'll post it here.

awesome.
any idea on what you want write about?

Also, theres some pretty good pieces back a few pages that are entertaining to read
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#185
Inspiration has suddenly hit me. I have a feeling this manga/comic is going to be good.
"If God exists, there's no way he is French" - Andrea Pirlo

S A D B O Y S
#186
Quote by Psihodeliko
PASIVITY ENDS

Rain. Dark sky attacking the skyscrapers. Walking through the dark alleyways of my city. Beggars. Drunks. *****s. Pimps. Drug dealers. Walking through the dark alleyways of my mind. Sea of decadence. These... people... trying to pull me down with them. Still, I keep on going. The strength I believe to have... Is it just my anger? No. Mustn't allow myself to think like that.

There he is. Cigarette in mouth. Burnt almost to the filter. Careless. He throws the cigarette butt on the street. Rain. Pouring down on him. Hair wet. I walk slowly. My strength suddenly leaves. But then I remember what he did. With each step I grow stronger. I clench my fists. No way back.

...

Ok, here's the short intro I promised. If I three people say they're intrigued, I'll continue writing. Well... I'll do it even if they don't. Just won't post...

First paragraph reminds me of this http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-PtgFUk_pTk

Continue story plz.
#187
Quote by Psihodeliko
PASIVITY ENDS

Rain. Dark sky attacking the skyscrapers. Walking through the dark alleyways of my city. Beggars. Drunks. *****s. Pimps. Drug dealers. Walking through the dark alleyways of my mind. Sea of decadence. These... people... trying to pull me down with them. Still, I keep on going. The strength I believe to have... Is it just my anger? No. Mustn't allow myself to think like that.

There he is. Cigarette in mouth. Burnt almost to the filter. Careless. He throws the cigarette butt on the street. Rain. Pouring down on him. Hair wet. I walk slowly. My strength suddenly leaves. But then I remember what he did. With each step I grow stronger. I clench my fists. No way back.

...

Ok, here's the short intro I promised. If I three people say they're intrigued, I'll continue writing. Well... I'll do it even if they don't. Just won't post...

I really liked that. When I first looked at it and saw all of the fullstops I cringed. However, upon reading it I discovered that you possess the descriptive powers necessary to pull it off. You made me want to read more and understand why the character is so angry, almost blind with rage.
"If God exists, there's no way he is French" - Andrea Pirlo

S A D B O Y S
#188
Quote by I.O.T.M
Inspiration has suddenly hit me. I have a feeling this manga/comic is going to be good.

sweetness.
post dat shit

I really liked that. When I first looked at it and saw all of the fullstops I cringed. However, upon reading it I discovered that you possess the descriptive powers necessary to pull it off. You made me want to read more and understand why the character is so angry, almost blind with rage.


Continue story plz.


Along with me, that makes 3 people intrigued. you are now obligated to continue Psihodeliko
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#189
Thanks for the positive feedback guys
I'll continue writing the story in the evening.
If you try and take a cat apart to see how it works, the first thing you have on your hands is a non-working cat. - Douglas Adams
#190
Quote by Psihodeliko
Thanks for the positive feedback guys
I'll continue writing the story in the evening.

awesome!
but dont feel pressure and let our interest push your pace. Then it will cut down on your creativity and originality
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#191
Quote by IXIchiodoIXI
sweetness.
post dat shit

I'm currently planning the first issue at the moment, but i'll give you the gist of what it is anyway as I doubt that anyone here is enough of a dick to steal an idea.

The central character is William Mammon Hind, a ruthless businessman who cares only for himself. Karma catches up with him and he dies in a car crash. He wakes up in a cold, damp room and is told by a man that he is going to give him one more chance at life, as long as he is now completely altruistic.

There is more to it, but that is a basic synopsis.
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S A D B O Y S
#192
Quote by IXIchiodoIXI
awesome.
any idea on what you want write about?

Absolutely. I had a few ideas actually, but the novel is about a young-ish girl who gives her life to save her father from some kind of terminal disease at the exact moment that the angel of death falls from heaven in defiance of God and his called position as a facilitator of what he sees as murder. This results in the girl being caught between worlds...they basically trade positions as one sacrifices immortality to become mortal and vice versa.

It'll play with traditional concepts of morality and mortality...
#193
Quote by I.O.T.M
I'm currently planning the first issue at the moment, but i'll give you the gist of what it is anyway as I doubt that anyone here is enough of a dick to steal an idea.

The central character is William Mammon Hind, a ruthless businessman who cares only for himself. Karma catches up with him and he dies in a car crash. He wakes up in a cold, damp room and is told by a man that he is going to give him one more chance at life, as long as he is now completely altruistic.

There is more to it, but that is a basic synopsis.


are you oging to do the illustrations too?
Soudns like a solid concept, im interested in checking it out! Sounds like the perfect starter to a series.


Absolutely. I had a few ideas actually, but the novel is about a young-ish girl who gives her life to save her father from some kind of terminal disease at the exact moment that the angel of death falls from heaven in defiance of God and his called position as a facilitator of what he sees as murder. This results in the girl being caught between worlds...they basically trade positions as one sacrifices immortality to become mortal and vice versa.

It'll play with traditional concepts of morality and mortality...



wow. Thats one hell of a concept. I really look forward to checking this out as well.

This thread has way to much creativity and potential!
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#194
Quote by IXIchiodoIXI
are you oging to do the illustrations too?
Soudns like a solid concept, im interested in checking it out! Sounds like the perfect starter to a series.

I'm not doing the illustrations, but my mate's a great artist in the style that I want, so he's going to be doing them. I will, however have critical input to the illustrations. I do have a copy of a picture of the main character, so I might upload it on here.
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S A D B O Y S
#195
Quote by I.O.T.M
I'm not doing the illustrations, but my mate's a great artist in the style that I want, so he's going to be doing them. I will, however have critical input to the illustrations. I do have a copy of a picture of the main character, so I might upload it on here.

nice, yeah load one up. I do some sketches now and then but im now artist, i like to think my drawings look good haha.

Oh and Colohue posted back a few pages about a little contest. You write what your take is on the "most artistic definition of love" the due date is 16th of july. which is tomorrow... just a fun little contest if anyone else was interested
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#197
Quote by The Contagen
To be honest, that love thing confuses me. I feel it strongly for someone right now, but it's something even I can't put into words.


its pretty tough to describe. like when i was in love i couldnt quite put it into words either, just little things about her.
But now since we recently had to split and all the stress and shit that goes along with it has happened you see the other side of the wall.

I'll go ahead and post my entry. I went towards the literal 'artistic' view but used it as a character in my metaphor.

The Painter’s Epiphany

The painter the higher power, armed with his brush and set of watercolor paint. He has a vision in his head of the perfect piece of art. This vision he has is almost tangible, it keeps him awake and is persistent in his thoughts. But when sleep finally ensues he dreams. He dreams of the perfect painting, sharp figures seemingly coming out of the expansive surrounding environment, vivid and mesmerizing in colors that decorate the canvas. This painting is only fit for the finest of galleries, it deserves the utmost amount of care. But it does not come easy. Time and time again of finding the right placement of objects the correct color, everything has to be perfect. It may take a couple of times or maybe hundreds. But he will know when the masterpiece in his dreams matches the masterpiece in front of him. He slaves tirelessly over it, obsessing its every detail. Days upon days of mixing paint, adding layers, contrasting and shading. Until he steps back and it doesn’t match the one masterpiece. Heartache ensues over all of his commitment, all the hard work and slave he devoted to this piece. He tries to paint again, but it doesn’t feel right, none of the colors match, the brush strokes are off. One by one he continues, with the one painful image he had abandoned, always resting on his mind and in his thoughts, and in his dreams, keeping him awake. He realizes that was the piece. He goes to his backroom and frantically searches until he finds the one. He gazes upon it again and sees the minor flaws, and he sees that the flaws make it unique. The attachment to this one piece is far to great, it has showed him near perfect, and it has showed him the hopelessness and pain of never coming close again. Because to learn of true love, is to learn of real pain.
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#198
Quote by IXIchiodoIXI
its pretty tough to describe. like when i was in love i couldnt quite put it into words either, just little things about her.
But now since we recently had to split and all the stress and shit that goes along with it has happened you see the other side of the wall.

I'll go ahead and post my entry. I went towards the literal 'artistic' view but used it as a character in my metaphor.

The Painter’s Epiphany

The painter the higher power, armed with his brush and set of watercolor paint. He has a vision in his head of the perfect piece of art. This vision he has is almost tangible, it keeps him awake and is persistent in his thoughts. But when sleep finally ensues he dreams. He dreams of the perfect painting, sharp figures seemingly coming out of the expansive surrounding environment, vivid and mesmerizing in colors that decorate the canvas. This painting is only fit for the finest of galleries, it deserves the utmost amount of care. But it does not come easy. Time and time again of finding the right placement of objects the correct color, everything has to be perfect. It may take a couple of times or maybe hundreds. But he will know when the masterpiece in his dreams matches the masterpiece in front of him. He slaves tirelessly over it, obsessing its every detail. Days upon days of mixing paint, adding layers, contrasting and shading. Until he steps back and it doesn’t match the one masterpiece. Heartache ensues over all of his commitment, all the hard work and slave he devoted to this piece. He tries to paint again, but it doesn’t feel right, none of the colors match, the brush strokes are off. One by one he continues, with the one painful image he had abandoned, always resting on his mind and in his thoughts, and in his dreams, keeping him awake. He realizes that was the piece. He goes to his backroom and frantically searches until he finds the one. He gazes upon it again and sees the minor flaws, and he sees that the flaws make it unique. The attachment to this one piece is far to great, it has showed him near perfect, and it has showed him the hopelessness and pain of never coming close again. Because to learn of true love, is to learn of real pain.


On the first line, would Artist not be a better word? And also, it should be The painter(,) the higher power. And highest may be better as there is nothing to compare him to, so higher sounds peculiar.

That's all that really struck me as odd. I like it, I'll give more thorough critique later if you like.
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#199
Quote by Todd Hart
On the first line, would Artist not be a better word? And also, it should be The painter(,) the higher power. And highest may be better as there is nothing to compare him to, so higher sounds peculiar.

That's all that really struck me as odd. I like it, I'll give more thorough critique later if you like.


ahh this makes sense. thanks for the read.

yeah if your willing to that would be awesome. That was the first thing that came to mind when Colohue posted the comp.
I like how it turned out though
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#200
And finally, Chapter 2 is complete.

Chapter 1

II. Full Circle
Peter had never driven so late before. In fact, he had never been out so late before at all. Being somewhat of a recluse, combined with the inability to sleep, Peter remained in his house all night wide awake, shutting his eyes only to blink. He would stay up watching early morning reruns of some of his favorite old sitcoms, though he never was able to remember what he had just watched, nor was he able to even pay attention to the show itself. The television had become his comfort zone, protecting him from the horrors of sleep deprivation.

One could say that Peter had even become afraid of the dark, fearing the agonizing sensation of unknowing what the darkness hid from Peter’s conscious. As a result of this, Peter always left all possible light sources switched to the on position, which in turn ascended his electric bill to towering heights, perhaps currently residing in some far out universe undiscovered by man.

But Peter had left fear behind in his condominium. He had undertaken a metamorphosis of sorts, as if some mythical beast that had settled inside him long ago had finally awoken from its slumber and let out a mighty roar thundering upwards to the heavens.

Burning with his newfound passion, Peter accelerated quickly to his detonation to meet his long-lost friend, his lover, his life’s companion, while obeying very few traffic laws, though it didn’t matter, he thought, as at this time there were very few creatures stirring in the metropolis that was New York City. The usual hustle and bustle had been replaced with the cold voice of emptiness. The explosion of sound resonating from Peter’s ancient 1979 Ford F150, a hand me down from Peter’s father, cut through the silence like a hot knife penetrating through a slab of margarine. Peter proclaimed his excitement at the appearance of his missing spouse to the city, even at this absurd hour of the night when most were sound asleep. Now racing to reach his objective, Peter stepped on the acceleration and sent his vehicle barreling down the streets of Manhattan, each second that passed bringing him closer and closer to his wife’s resting point.

In his head, Peter was consumed by times he had shared with his wife that seemed to have been hidden from his memory all these years. He recalled a time when he and Teresa had walked through the park in New York, hand in hand. Not a word was uttered for the duration of their stroll, but none were needed. Peter and Teresa’s chemistry was so strong that they knew exactly what each other were thinking. Their bond was unbreakable. They sat down on a bench and soaked up the magnificently glimmering sun together, not as two lovers, but as one superpower capable of conquering any obstacle thrown in their paths. This was just one of a smorgasbord of memoirs that Peter had regressed since his wife had left him without even a goodbye.

As if the drive had never even happened, Peter found himself standing mere feet from the door of the police department that was currently housing his wife for the time being. It was a tad difficult for Peter to comprehend what he was about to undergo when he stepped into that building. He stepped backwards to the day of his wedding, on a beautiful Sunday morning on August 18th, which, not coincidentally, also happened to be Teresa’s birth date. Peter remembered driving up to the church that housed the ceremony celebrating the allegiance that one would hoped would have brought them together for many years to come. He had arrived in a black tuxedo with a tie around his neck, black dress pants, and a white undershirt. Ronald, Peter’s best friend for as long as one could remember, drove him to the festivities, though he was a bit intoxicated from some pre-wedding celebrations that Ronald and a grab bag of his acquaintances had thrown him for Peter. They each had a common goal in mind; to celebrate the transition, in terms of maturity, from adolescence to manhood, of their friend Peter, brought on by the holy matrimony between him and Teresa Elizabeth Gonzalez.

Ronald parked and he and Peter stepped out of Ronald’s brand new convertible, making a nervous but confident stride to the church, where Peter would sign a contract, bonding him and his glorious fiancé forever. Ronald walked up to Peter and whispered “Good luck, brother,” in his ear. Peter had never been more anxious in his life. That day, Peter had felt reenergized, as if a new redesigned man had filled in his shoes while he slept, wasted from his excessive partying.

Peter stepped inside the sanctuary. To his right, he saw his beloved mother and father seated next to each other, with his two sisters, ages twelve and twenty-seven, seated to the left of their mother and to the right of their father, respectively. His mother’s name was Matilda, and she had worked as a high school mathematics teacher until the age of 64, and was renowned throughout the school board as one of the county’s finest. Peter had always gotten along quite well with his mother, a woman of deep thought and tranquility, as he had always wished to be a writer as a boy. His father, George Richardson, was a tall, muscular yet quite jovial man, his career being that of a realtor. His oldest sister, Katrina, was studying at a medical school and flew out of Washington with her boyfriend that she had met at school to attend her older brother’s wedding. Her boyfriend, Marcus, was a quiet gentleman, astute, and somewhat shy, yet friendly and professional if need be. His youngest sister, Marina, perched on the bench with an enormous grin on her face, ecstatic that was she both able to miss school time for a short wedding and excited that her brother, whom she always got along with quite well, was getting married to Teresa, who had become like a sister to Marina.

Due to a minor traffic mix up, Peter had arrived a tad later than he had told his family he would. “You’re late, dear” said Matilda, who, though she had no desire to express it openly at her son’s own wedding, was concerned for the duration of his absence that he was having second thoughts on whether or not to go through with the wedding. Peter hadn’t even noticed the time, let alone paid much attention to what had caused him to be late in the first place. He was too fixated on the reason he had worn his finest suit, the reason he had partied so late into the morning, the reason he had stayed up hours each night contemplating new idea to attempt to win the affection of his muse. He was in love with Teresa Elizabeth Gonzalez, and she was in love with him. Peter had become consumed with every aspect of this woman, like an addiction, it was the only thought that ever passed his mind. He had known that it was time to ask her to marry him when he became literally unable to perform any of the tasks his manger asked him to. Peter worked as an accountant, and the barrage of papers that were constantly soaring towards him like a cold, bitter wind had become arbitrary in the face of his beloved Teresa. Peter set aside the mountain of a workload his boss had tasked upon him and he swiftly and briskly stepped outside, headed straight for his vehicle. Inside his glove compartment hid a ring he had purchased weeks ago for this very day; a day which he knew was fast approaching. He grabbed it, drove quickly to the location of her current part-time job as a cashier working in a fashion shop, and stopped.

Teresa had seen him in his vehicle pull up to the parking lot, but brushed it off as one of his usual visits to her during his lunch break, until she looked up at the time and saw that his break was an hour away. This is unusual, maybe she’s out early, she thought.


continued on the next post...
Last edited by The Contagen at Jul 15, 2010,