Posts Tagged ‘ writing ’

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.)

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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.

How to Pick Your Nose in Public

Nose Picker

You wake up in the morning from a comfortable night’s rest and after a yawn your nose starts to itch. You take one of your digits and shove it in the nasal cavity without second thought, retract it back, and flick the green substance in the air like a tiny cannonball.

We pick our noses (defined by “the insertion of a finger (or other object) into the nose with the intention of removing dried nasal secretions” from our good friend Wikipedia), it’s only a natural habit that was adopted at birth and largely taboo. As much as we hate to admit it we do it whenever and wherever we find the need to, regardless of how gross, disgusting, or pleasantly entertaining it is. Due to harsh criticism by pompous aristocrats, society frowns upon the infamous activity, restricting us from acquiring clean nostrils in public.

So how can we successfully pick our schnoz in around others without compromising our reputations?
There are many ways and among them are:

  • The Sleeper– You fake a few eye drifters and adjust yourself in a more comfortable position. Moments later you lay your head down on top of your arms and slide one of your hands underneath, giving you a discrete, effective way of extracting the dried mucus.
  • The Ninja– You’re touring your favorite department store and all of a sudden your sniffer begins to twitch. People are more present than 12-o’-clock at McDonald’s and the goal is mandatory; without hesitation you walk to the clothing department and cautiously slip into one of the racks, where everything can be achieved in one go. Beware of cameras.
  • The Chronic Cougher– Better practiced with a hoodie or jacket, when duty calls begin with a quiet little cough, followed by a more profound hack with a few chest beatings. Then start the heavy coughing and hide your head behind jacket/hoodie, continuing the cough while loosening the abominable boogers.
  • The Cover-Upper- Hospitals or doctor offices are as busy as subways most of the time and nose-picking witnesses with a possible staph infection are prone to puking, initiating a chain reaction of undigested lunches being spilled. Prevent this by taking a magazine, immersing yourself in its pages, and tickling your olfactory nerves judiciously.
  •  The Rocketeer- This technique has an increased chance of nosebleeds (therefore definitely not recommended for those who have long fingernails) which involves attentively scanning the area for individuals looking in your immediate direction–when the coast is clear–quickly shove your finger or thumb up your nose, perform a twisting scoop, then remove it and drive it into your pocket before they anyone could blink.
  • The Aristocrat- The most uncommon of ways involve expending patience as you wait for the opportunity to enter a private room and use a tissue to blow the slime out without sacrificing the cleanliness of your hand. Something to consider if you plan on shaking hands.

Weither you flick-it or wipe-it, these techniques will save lots of blushing, ridicule, disgusted looks, eyebrow raises, and shame. As a relation to the content of this post, remember…

“You can pick your friends, and you can pick your nose, but you can’t pick your friend’s nose”.

[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.”

Hold On To Your Trousers, NaNoWriMo is Coming

I am a Writer. Saying that is no longer followed by uncertainty or doubt, It’s who I am and I cannot deny it. I am the guy at work that always has a pen on him even though the utencil is restricted in the work atmosphere, it becomes a part of your body the longer you use it and each time it runs out of ink it feels as if you’re going through an organ transplant.

NaNoWriMo Logo

To increase my skill in the craft I have joined NaNoWriMo, a site that hosts an annual writing contest in which you are projected to create a 50,000 word novel (or novella) within the entire month of November.
Now as an avid gamer, who plays Halo like it’s being banned, I would either have to sacrifice some of my Xbox time (What time?) to write as much as I humanly can, or start early. (Would that be cheating?)

 I look forward to completing this mundane task, triumphantly raising my pen in the air–proudly shouting “Hoo-rah”–with a story that would make my father proud…maybe.

*Logo owned by NaNoWriMo.com

Update Of Unrivaled Precedence

“Because things are the way they are, things will not stay the way they are. “
~Bertold Brecht

My blog has gone through several renditions throughout its existence, the format for Blogger was too loose for my taste, but allowed expressive creativity. The community that Blogger had was one that limited full publicity for a new-comer such as myself and the only way to get any kind was to advertise the living heck out of it. (It’s inanimate, I know…)

WordPress was the golden ticket into getting others to even take a slight glimpse of what I had to say. The community was rich, full of new to tenured Bloggers that would give their time to read the vast number of posts solely for the support they would want to have. The format was rich, smooth, and easy to use and by the time I was done with the registration I was too antsy to publish it.

The theme was cool, but it felt as if I was missing an important detail…

So I decided that perhaps it was time to clean-out the old layout and update the face of Better With A pen. I’m here to ask–which one of these snazzy themes would look best for my blog?

Time for Virtual Party Hats v3

It’s that time again; the time to slap on those party hats, burst open that confetti, and increase those chances of dying from a sugar overdose. Ever since our last celebration (in which we witnessed the spotlight of the most popular post ever, lots of applause, and empty promises) a lot has happened such as some more crazy posts (as usual), a fellow writer that joined the wonderful WordPress community, and a depressing move from an occupational department to another less interesting one.

Besides that there is one thing that is more paramount than anything else…

That means People from all over wasted took their time to read the contents of my blog 5,000 times! A milestone worthy of an achievement.

…Okay, perhaps not…

But what does deserves one is my short story “Steamship Billy” who won an Honorable Mention in the TDG Create a World Writing Contest. Now it may not seem like a big deal–“Oooo, you got a picture with some girly flowers on it.”–but it’s the first time my writing has received any kind of recognition, and even though I came close to third, it’s worth it all.

So, what will you see in the upcoming months?

  • More short stories
  • More GIF’s of supreme hilarity
  • Additional Blogroll victims friends
  • A new layout and theme
  • More postsYou Don't Say

Perhaps the next party will celebrate a Freshly Pressed or our next milestone of 10,000 views. Then again I would like to thank all my friends, followers, and guests that have given feedback and read what I had to say.

I wonder what could be the reason in so much popularity…

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