Posts Tagged ‘ Inspiration ’

Time for Virtual Party Hats V4

Once again, we come to celebrate the next milesones that have been crossed off on the list;

10.000 views in a total of 5 months!

35 Followers!

And some crazy amount of likes!

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It’s amazing to see how fast this has grown, and I only have Halo my devoted followers to thank  for such a chance to show everyone my talents in writing. The greatest Milestone of all has to be the motivation to continue on with my occupational hobby. I almost gave up, unsure if it was the right thing to do, but the more I wrote I realized that I could be a writer along with anything else I might do later on.

For updates, BWaP will be posting videos related to minor life events or other media, which means that this blog will be it’s own personal doman and my Mint.com statement will begin to lecture me on the importance of keeping money in my account.

Again, thanks to all my followers and friends who have read, commented, and liked my posts. Since we can’t celebrate in person, special curcumstances has allowed us to participate in the party of this virtual realm. Let’s boogie!

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Invaluable Wisdom for the Twain in Each of Us

I was skimming through the net one day and found a great blog by the name of PLoS Blogs that revolves around science studies and biological research. With a little bit of digging around I was able to uncover a post by writer Steve Silberman speaking of helpful tips when it comes to writing a book. The tips written come from a number of different writers of different genres and the collaborative work put into it truly gives us a glimpse in the process it takes to create a compelling world for others to read.

*Since my outdated browser at work lacks the ability to share it through WordPress I have provided a link for all to read.

Practical Tips on Writing a Book from 23 Brilliant Authors

One of the most striking tips that I read was from Josh Shenk who said;

  • “Get through a draft as quickly as possible. Hard to know the shape of the thing until you have a draft. Literally, when I wrote the last page of my first draft of Lincoln’s Melancholy I thought, Oh, shit, now I get the shape of this. But I had wasted years, literally years, writing and re-writing the first third to first half. The old writer’s rule applies: Have the courage to write badly.”

We have to write, regardless of how bad we think it is, just write. Before we know it we’ll be done with the first draft and tons of pressure will slide off. Looks like I’ll have to kick my motor into high gear and get to pen-pushing.

Novel Transmogrification

My novel has taken a turn in the past months, becoming a full fledged book and not some exhibition of crumpled notes and doodles. For once I am satisfied with what it turned out to be, but I still believe it could be better…much better.
Anyway, I was suggested to post an excerpt for opinions and to give an idea to those who have questioned it’s literary nature. Perhaps it will go better than I think, something to distribute in exchange for monetary compensation.

 

The Rise Of the Titans

Chapter 1

A blue ball bounced up and down against a desk, disrupting the presentation that was setup for training the class of twelve aspiring racers. Heads turned toward the antagonist of the day in disgust and concern, for the trainer he approached the being and snatched the ball from the air. The young man looked up when he noticed that it never followed gravity’s pull.
“What do you think you’re doing Mr. Marnray?” The trainer said while inspecting the sphere, which seemed to be made of some treated foam.
The young man shrugged. “Bored. If it is what you people call it.”
“Aladar, I don’t appreciate your disruptions, regardless of your mental state it does not excuse taking time away from teaching others.”
“Perhaps we would get more out of learning if you actually taught us.” Aladar said hotly.
The trainer gritted his teeth and placed himself back in front of the class in restraint. The trainer was a unique being, one of Varluian origin. The extraterrestrial species lived in extreme temperatures which resembled the appearance of rocky, charred skin. Their vains glowed a crimson red, like flowing lava on the surface of obsidian. Evolutionary studies testified that they adapted to the harsh planet, but none were able to specify the time we found them, the same with all the other other-worldly nations.
A young woman raised her hand, gaining the attention of the entire class.
“Yes Jess?”
“Craytor, why don’t we take a test drive?”
The Varluian glared at Aladar, wondering what kind of rebellion he was leading. “All of you are not ready to get behind that command module without first becoming acquainted with its structure. Once we do, then I can let each of you drive that engine.”
The sounds of multiple groans fueled something inside of Aladar, a spark of determination ignited a sense of necessity to change the course of his boredom. “Can I be dismissed for a few?”
Craytor shrugged. “Can you?”
Aladar left the room and directed himself toward the garage. Different models of Hyper-Drifters were lined against the wall, ready to action. Aladar knew exactly what he was getting into when he activated one dressed in black matte paint and blue decals, but he could care less what got in the way of desire to race.

“So as I said, the tires on a Hyper Racer automatically inflate when you pull on the trigger situated on the left and right side of the steering handles, increasing sidewall rigidity. The left one will always be for the back wheels and, well you know the other. Both can be activated at the same time which will be important to know when you take those steep turns, just don’t punch the gas too early or you’ll be Hyper-Drifting yourself off into the depths of the ground below.” Craytor said while flipping through the slideshow of diagrams and scaled photos. “I’ve seen it happen and it’s not-”
Craytor paused and waited for the distant sound to re-emit. The engine of an HR roared on the track, alerting everyone in the building. “Marnray.” Craytor said through gritted teeth, then ran outside to intercept Aladar’s rebellious activity.

The Beginning of Global Contingency

“It has always been my practice to cast a long paragraph in a single mould, to try it by my ear, to deposit it in my memory, but to suspend the action of the pen till I had given the last polish to my work.”
   -Edward Gibbon

The Official Logo

Thanks to a good friend of mine (who just happens to be a graphic designer) BWaP was given a new face, a nice little logo that has found a home on its Facebook page. Surprisingly, this blog has become a center of all my productivity and has reached more publicity than my first novel.

Of course, I never really told anyone about it…

Besides the point, I have taken quite a fancy to writing as I appear to be more dedicated to the art than before and my friends have noticed that my skill with a ball-point pen (and fancy keyboard) has become increasingly better. I feel it’s only a matter of time before the blog will launch from WordPress and find its own domain on the web (if my bank account allows.)

When the Pen is at Hand, Expect Stationary Motivation

I stare at a blank page more often than I actually write sometimes, I sit bored waiting for some random thought to form into something great. It happens in rare circumstances however and it only worked successfully three times. Make if four times now.

After serious contemplating I have noticed that most of my views come from people who read stuff that relate to my life or writing, not gaming; so I decided to create a whole new blog specifically dedicated to gaming. In general I might write reviews about new releases and other games, iPhone/iPod/iPod games (Couldn’t you have just said Apple App Store?), and other mobile platformers. I decided to separate content based on the popularity of my posts about gaming and digital media, as the posts I released didn’t fit the audience I established.

Perhaps now everyone can read more about my heteromorphic life and how I traverse this world one flat bike tire at a time. Oh, and movies too. Can’t forget movies.

The Woes of Moving-Out

I’ll be living on my own.

The very sound of that terrified me. I said it, I wanted it, and now I have it, but what it took was more than having the funds of a young Tony Stark. I had…connections. (*Spoken in italian accent*)

Before then, I was contemplating the possibility of a studio apartment, since my film production company is in it’s infancy I needed all the room I could get, but time was against me. Days passed and I wasn’t sure what I was to do, apartments were denying my application due to the lack of credit history, regardless of my $25,000 a year salary. I was subjected to begin thinking about creating a comfy abode under a bridge, until my friends helped me get on my feet and find a small, two-bedroom residence in the other half of his duplex.

It was excited to say at the least. I wouldn’t have to do chores everyday, I could live like I was my own boss without rules or the prosecution of laziness, I would be able to play Halo in 15 hour stretches and not get my butt lit on fire.

Until I actually got it.

I realized time was getting shorter and less available to fit in recreational  activities. Not only that but the process of getting furniture was the equivalent of catching Legendary Pokemon. I was calling in multiple days at a time to get situated (like I minded), my Evernote account was on grocery-list overdrive, and my mind was overwhelmed on how much it would take to even live comfortably. My days consisted of:

I need soap.
Why did I forget soap?
Dang, towels too.
No toilet paper? Wish I had a towel.
Guess I could use my hand–wait, no soap.
Beans for breakfast…okay.
Beans for lunch…
Beans and veggies for dinner…
No can opener?
Just beans then.
I would get ice-cream, but no ramen.
No microwave, gotta’ put that on the list.
Cleaning utensils! Can’t forget that…
I wish I had a sofa…
I could use my bed…
I FORGOT BEDDING!
Where the heck am I going to put all this trash?
My place smells like old man. Fabreeze would be handy…
I need a bath.
Right…no soap.
At least I have a toothbrush.
…Where’s the toothpaste?

I don’t know what I would’ve done without Evernote and Google Docs. The whole experience taught me a valuable lesson: even though you’re living on your own, doesn’t exactly mean you’ll be living any easier. It takes work and maturity to effectively manage everything from bills to preventing starvation.   And not to forget soap.

[The] Winter(s) Code

This is a segment from my next short story (that may in-fact become a full length novel within development). That would make this the 3rd project I have under my belt…for the curious.

The night was dark and the street lights glowed an eerie orange. The wind howled the spirit of fall as leaves sailed across the sky. Adrian walked these same streets every night coming back from his designated therapist; his parents worked two different jobs to continuate the payment on their debits, they worked hard–harder than his past parents who spent most of their time in front of the television and turning him into their own personal slave, but Adrian didn’t want to think about that.
Not today.
Not ever.

Today was a special day for Adrian. His heart was pumping fast and his patience was fading away; he was turning fourteen in thirty minutes. His parents were planning on throwing a big party, something Adrian was far from used to. Adrian shook his head to remove the memorys that were surfacing  and changed his attention to the surrounding area.
By the landmarks he placed in his mental map he was still around a mile-and-a-half away or even two if he took the route that avoided traffic.
Adrian was an indecisive being–also impatient–and it over came the best of him, leading Adrian to a path that he never thought of taking before in the past, but could potentially be faster. It cut through the field of trees, the path resting silently under the roof of branches and faded leaves , reminding Adrian of something close to a cave. He took a deep breath and walked into the unlit road.

Noises that stirred fear were prominent  in this particular forest, urban legends spoke of a beast called a Hurrok that reportedly snatched isolated individuals who dared to step onto this very path, but Adrian knew better that only the foolish would believe such a thing. It was hard to scare Adrian and everyone would agree, not even the best proclaimed-as-terrifying movies would make him flinch in then slightest.
If this “Hurrok” did in-fact exist, it had another thing coming to it if any attempt to kill him was put into action.

Adrian read the time on his watch. “Ten-ten.” He said to himself in dismay, he only had seventeen minutes till he had the authority to open boxes wrapped in shiny paper and to devour a rectangular pastry. For Adrian it felt odd to be so excited for such a childish celebration of growing one year closer to the end of your life . He turned his head toward loud rustling in alarm, he refrained from assuming the worst and continued his trek. The noise was heard again only this time a figure emerged from the rustling bushes. Adrian tucked his water bottle under his arm and walked faster.The figure advanced as well and closed in on the boy who was now running, unfortunately Adrian was not fast enough to outmatch the perpetrator’s speed.
The figure grabbed the boy’s hoodie and tried to subdue his squirming, Adrian gave all his strength in fear of his wallet getting stolen. The struggle lasted till Adrian began to shake and the air around the two became increasingly colder, the boy then placed his hand on the perpetrator’s chest and a blast of energy knocked him back into the bushes with a flash of blue light.

                                        ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A well-rounded police officer slammed a man against the cement wall and commenced with a pat-down.
“What were you thinking? Trying to rob a fourteen year-old…” The officer helped him to a seat and latched the other handcuff to the steel table. “Mind telling me why?”
The man shook his head. “That kid was-is lying! All I did was jog right by him and he…did something, he assaulted me! He shot ice, he’s like a mutant or sumthin’–I tell ya’!” The man said in an authentic Brooklyn accent.
“Oh really?” The officer chuckled. “I bet he did. Look here mister…Wituck, you’re being charged with Attempted Robbery, not a  misdemeanor. Do not make us contact the loony bin too.”
“Im not crazy, I saw it. Look at my shirt!” The man opened up his jacket and peeled a few ice crystals from the fabric, then handed it to the officer.
“Get that out of my face.” He said, smacking the man’s hand away.
Someone outside of the room tapped on the small window and gestured for the officer to depart from the interrogation.
“Hold on…” The officer said as he stood up and left.

The man was left alone in the cold room to ponder what and how the kid did what he did. His own eyes witnessed an icy flash of light blue that hurt as bad as a grown man’s kick. No matter how much he could proclaim to others the truth of the event, it would pass their belief and comprehension. It was then that a strange feeling of being alone in the world came over him. The officer returned with a few papers in hand and slid them toward the man. “lucky day mister Wituck, that kid–Adrian Hozubin–just dropped all charges. Looks like you’re a free man…for now.”

                                         ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ringing of a doorbell echoed throughout a spacious house. Adrian paused his video game session and answered the door, revealing a man standing on the porch wearing torn jeans, work boots, and a flannel shirt underneath a dark jacket. It took only seconds for the recognition to set in.
“What are you doing here? Don’t you know most people are asleep at this time of the morning?”
“we need to talk.” The man said in urgency.
“Why? I assure there’s nothing to talk about.”
“You shot me. With ice nonetheless!”
“No I did not, I am afraid you must have been drunk or something as neurologically impairing by what I know about you.”
“You don’t know me.”
Adrian sighed. “Your name is Philibert Wituck-”
“It’s just Phil or Philly.” He interrupted.
“…Phil Wituck.” Adrian said with a roll of his eyes. “You were born in late November during ninteen-eighty-one, you were arrested for the first time at age sixteen for breaking the front windshield of someone’s car–while they were still in it–and was charged with Aggravated Assault; you also punched your high school principal and was not only expelled for
eternity, but was sent to a boot-camp where you eventually escaped from after crashing through the fence in a Humvee.”
Phil’s shock compelled him into silence. “That principal had it coming.”
“And now in the present time you had the audacity to rob me. Didn’t the years behind bars teach you anything?”
“That was different.”
“In what way?”
“Look kid, all I want is to know how you shot ice out of your hand.  If you’re one of the X-Men, just tell me.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about.”
“Yeah, ya’ do.” Phil said loud enough to attract neighbors.
Adrian stepped onto the porch and closed the door behind him.
“If you really didn’t know you would’ve let me rot in jail. You had a secret and now that I know about it, you have to do everything you can to protect it.”

Adrian crossed his arms. “You’re smarter than you look.”

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