Another Moment.
Two years ago I was driving back to college in a snowstorm (Thanks, PA!). The snowstorm stopped as I turned onto the last road that would take me directly to college.
A thought occured to me.
I could drive the last 8 miles of my trip at 15mph and be totally safe, or I could take advantage of my newfound skills driving stickshift and gun it.
Before I could make a decision, the Lez Zepplin cover of Led Zepplin's Kashmir started blasting on my stereo.
I smiled and upshifted into third.
The next fifteen minutes were among the happiest in my life.
For those brief moments I was totally alive. Doing 50 miles per hour on a half inch of ice and snow where turning the wheel two inches the wrong way would mean I losing control of the two tons of my car and dying a fiery death.
Transcendendental Driving. There was no difference between me and my car. We moved together perfectly.
Anything less would have ended both of us.
So it went. For one mile. Two miles. And another. Soon I only had three miles to go.
The world flowed perfectly and life was easy. Just the me-car, the road, and our dance.
Another impulse: Hit fifth gear.
My engine roared and my tires barely gripped the road. The familar scenery flew by and my heart sang.
Finally, after seconds and seconds, each lined up right after the last; Each perfectly formed and filled to the brim, my exit. My gears shifted down and I slowed to easily controlable speeds. Success.
I had made it home.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Friday, October 2, 2009
Some of the greatest moments of my life:
Instead of some fiction, I've decided to spend some time thinking back to the moments in my life where I've felt most alive.
The first and oldest I can think of was at Kennywood my freshmen year of high school. It was one of those busy, sunny days until about 5pm when a storm blew in ending the fun pretty solidly. My friends and I didn't realize it, but it wasn't a normal storm. It was a strange somewhat rare beast called a microburst.
We'll get to what a microburst is in a moment. By 5:30 all the rides were closed and a heavy rain set in. We joined a herd of people in the central cafeteria, and found ourselves nearly packed in. In one of the smartest things I did in high school, I took one look at all the people inside and thought "People packed inside a building when it's dark outside in an electrical storm. If the power goes out, there will be a stampede. Maybe I can find a safe place outside."
So I did.
I spent a few minutes living it up on the steps under and overhang. This worked well until I thought about where panicing people would stampede to and decided it was time for a new place. I looked across the way, there was a series of carnival games whose attendents were letting people weather the storm with a little elbow room and with full cover.
Perfect.
Before I get to the climax, it is important to know of The Hat That Survived Kennywood. You see, for a few years I had been looking for a good hat. The problem is, I hated (and continue to hate) baseball caps and the like. And my burgeoning fashion sense haddn't yet grown to love the fadora. This, along with my being totally unhip, lead to my buying on this very day a hat resembling the one Gilligan wore on that fateful three hour tour. Only mine had the word "Kennywood" on the front in large, friendly green letters.
So I started to walk across the way to the game booths. What I didn't quite realize when I started was the winds were between 50 and 60 miles per hour.
The winds were 50 to 60 miles per hour because Kennywood had found itself smack in the center of series of microbursts. A microburst is a strange form of weather that happens when cold air gets above warm air. Which leads to all hell breaking loose as the cold air whips downwards at near gale force. Anyway, onward.
About halfway between the two points, the wind caught my hat. Without thinking I leaned forward and down to catch it in my right hand. As I made for the grab, every hair on the back of my neck stood up as I realized a piece of debris flew full force right where my head would have been if my hat haddn't flown off.
So I escaped to the game booth contemplating my coming within six inches away from death.
And you better believe I still have that hat.
The first and oldest I can think of was at Kennywood my freshmen year of high school. It was one of those busy, sunny days until about 5pm when a storm blew in ending the fun pretty solidly. My friends and I didn't realize it, but it wasn't a normal storm. It was a strange somewhat rare beast called a microburst.
We'll get to what a microburst is in a moment. By 5:30 all the rides were closed and a heavy rain set in. We joined a herd of people in the central cafeteria, and found ourselves nearly packed in. In one of the smartest things I did in high school, I took one look at all the people inside and thought "People packed inside a building when it's dark outside in an electrical storm. If the power goes out, there will be a stampede. Maybe I can find a safe place outside."
So I did.
I spent a few minutes living it up on the steps under and overhang. This worked well until I thought about where panicing people would stampede to and decided it was time for a new place. I looked across the way, there was a series of carnival games whose attendents were letting people weather the storm with a little elbow room and with full cover.
Perfect.
Before I get to the climax, it is important to know of The Hat That Survived Kennywood. You see, for a few years I had been looking for a good hat. The problem is, I hated (and continue to hate) baseball caps and the like. And my burgeoning fashion sense haddn't yet grown to love the fadora. This, along with my being totally unhip, lead to my buying on this very day a hat resembling the one Gilligan wore on that fateful three hour tour. Only mine had the word "Kennywood" on the front in large, friendly green letters.
So I started to walk across the way to the game booths. What I didn't quite realize when I started was the winds were between 50 and 60 miles per hour.
The winds were 50 to 60 miles per hour because Kennywood had found itself smack in the center of series of microbursts. A microburst is a strange form of weather that happens when cold air gets above warm air. Which leads to all hell breaking loose as the cold air whips downwards at near gale force. Anyway, onward.
About halfway between the two points, the wind caught my hat. Without thinking I leaned forward and down to catch it in my right hand. As I made for the grab, every hair on the back of my neck stood up as I realized a piece of debris flew full force right where my head would have been if my hat haddn't flown off.
So I escaped to the game booth contemplating my coming within six inches away from death.
And you better believe I still have that hat.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Sunday, September 13, 2009
A new, more jesus inspired story
The following is an idea I got while reading The archives of Slactivist's awesome critique on the Left Behind series: http://exharpazo.blogspot.com/2007/01/index-to-slactivists-left-behind.html
Something shimmered for a moment and the tailored clothing just a second ago worn by Reverand Frank Basin fell to the floor.
The room Reverand Basin's clothes found themselves was a dimly lit backroom of a posh lounge. It was an off night and there were only three other people in the room.
The first man was dressed in a collarless black polo shirt and sat next to the pile of clothes. He looked confused. He had been talking to his old friend, Frank, a second ago. Now Frank's clothes lay on the bench and the first man didn't know how to process this strange new fact.
"Frank?"
"He's gone, Erik." The second man moved through Erik's personal space and sniffed the pile of clothes. "Shit. This isn't a magic thing."
Erik pushed his friend back and started rifling through Frank's leftover clothes, finding a few gold fillings, the pacemaker for Frank's heart, and what looked to be a kidney stone.
"What happened?"
Neither Erik Robertson nor his friend and business associate Walter Cauldwell the third knew it at the time but all over the world millions, if not billions, of people had just vanished leaving only their clothing. Panic hadn't yet had time to set in, but if Erik and Walter seem less than shocked, it's only because they spend their time poking around the secret underbelly of the world.
And thats all for now. I'm tired and need sleep. This story is fun enough to flesh out some more.
Something shimmered for a moment and the tailored clothing just a second ago worn by Reverand Frank Basin fell to the floor.
The room Reverand Basin's clothes found themselves was a dimly lit backroom of a posh lounge. It was an off night and there were only three other people in the room.
The first man was dressed in a collarless black polo shirt and sat next to the pile of clothes. He looked confused. He had been talking to his old friend, Frank, a second ago. Now Frank's clothes lay on the bench and the first man didn't know how to process this strange new fact.
"Frank?"
"He's gone, Erik." The second man moved through Erik's personal space and sniffed the pile of clothes. "Shit. This isn't a magic thing."
Erik pushed his friend back and started rifling through Frank's leftover clothes, finding a few gold fillings, the pacemaker for Frank's heart, and what looked to be a kidney stone.
"What happened?"
Neither Erik Robertson nor his friend and business associate Walter Cauldwell the third knew it at the time but all over the world millions, if not billions, of people had just vanished leaving only their clothing. Panic hadn't yet had time to set in, but if Erik and Walter seem less than shocked, it's only because they spend their time poking around the secret underbelly of the world.
And thats all for now. I'm tired and need sleep. This story is fun enough to flesh out some more.
Saturday, September 12, 2009
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Welcome and a first test.
In this blog I will be experimenting with my writing.
It will not all be good. That isn't the point.
I'm here to post the results of one new writing exercise a day.
Today's experiment is to write a complete story in 140 characters or less, so it could be posted on twitter:
Bleeding seemed the only choice. Then she saw an iron they left hot. A bloody hand reached and set hot iron to cold skin. Her world ended.
138 characters. Hmm. Not bad.
It will not all be good. That isn't the point.
I'm here to post the results of one new writing exercise a day.
Today's experiment is to write a complete story in 140 characters or less, so it could be posted on twitter:
Bleeding seemed the only choice. Then she saw an iron they left hot. A bloody hand reached and set hot iron to cold skin. Her world ended.
138 characters. Hmm. Not bad.
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