If you want to increase your success rate, double your failure rate.

Sunday, January 16, 2011

Stories, Stories, Stories

I took the liberty of moving the new book to its own blog page.  This will give it a better chance to actually be readable.  If I keep it on here then it will get lost in all my other crap I yak about.
I sort of have an idea where the book is headed but not completely.  I might actually try on this one.  I love to write stories but it is easy to get bogged down in them and before you know it they get stale and you don't want to play anymore.  I like to save shortcuts on my desktop to the stories I've started and there are a few on there that need dusting to say the least.  There are a few tid bits on here that I have posted such as
Jap Juice and  Johnnies got Knuckles .   
Jap Juice is a complete short story.  Johnnies Got Knuckles is just a couple pages posted and the rest are hiding on my desktop still waiting to get out.
I think my biggest problem with writing is I don't know where the story is usually heading and I'm too damn impatient to let it ride.  I want to find out myself and that usually ends up ruining it.  Damn writing anyways.  Of course nothing is edited and if I go back and reread I would make a million changes but I sort of like the virginity of the words.  Just let it spill out.  Generally speaking most works, of lets a say a thousand pages, usually make a 750 page book.  We can't control ourselves and that is why they have editors.  Someone to keep us in check and make our stories publishable. 
So with that said here is another clip from a story I started about a year ago.  Enjoy!

The Station

Chapter 1
Carl’s demise

He was right. There was no way out. Even if the two lonely vehicles in the parking lot would start the pumps were dry and how far could they get on one tank of gas. He didn’t think far enough. Far enough to get out of their range that was. He gave the girl a sorrowful look. She was an optimist. He had to give her that but when things were done they were done. It didn’t matter that she had hope. Wasn’t that what was in Pandora’s Box anyways? Hope. His goose was cooked and he knew it. It didn’t matter what she thought.

The question was, how to go out in style. How to do it eloquently you might say. Even though there were only a four of them left he didn’t want them to see him as a snively, whiny coward. A yellow belly.

Besides if they didn’t leave or try to leave, their supplies would soon run out. They weren’t the only ones that had stopped here, and by the looks of things outside not the only ones to get caught here either. The cooler still held some soda and juice. The water and beer missing, probably the first thing to go.   Diet 7-up, orange juice, Cheetos, pretzels and granola bars are what they had been existing on for a few days now. The stale cheese puffs weren’t that bad if you had something to wash it down with. It was like a poker night gone wrong, horribly wrong.

The power had went out last night. Once the lights had died the thumping began. The probing and searching for a week spot. An entry. A meal ticket to the smorgasbord you might say. Sleep was all but impossible. Thankfully during the day the noises retreated. Although you could hear the muffled thuds and clangs coming from behind the station. It was still out there. He couldn’t help but feel trapped sort of like the people from the Stephen King novel about the cars that came to life. They had made that into a movie, with Emilio Estevez and a couple other famous people,  he couldn’t recall the name at the moment.

A funny though crossed his mind. If he had to choose, which would it be? Killer cars or something that he couldn’t quite describe but knew wanted to kill him and eat him.. Thinking it was deadly and knowing it was deadly were two different things.  You chose more on the conservative side when lives were at stake.
He knew especially after Carl had succumbed to the thing or things outside. It had moved so fast.

They had thought things were in the clear, Carl had made a run out to the gas pumps to see if they were working, when it hit. The sun was just setting and the shadows were at their longest before vanishing altogether when he went out. He had almost reached the pumps, in fact he remembered his outstretched arm reaching for the handle when it hit and it was so fast. Surprisingly fast. He was drug into the shadows and out of sight before the brain could register he was gone. It was like blinking, there one second gone the next. Had he not seen the toe of Carl’s sneaker disappear around the corner he would’ve thought he had vanished. They could hear the unmistakable sounds of bones breaking and his screaming went on for what seemed like an hour but in reality was only seconds. The sick ripping sound was more than the girl could take and she fell to her knees retching up her lunch of orange juice and pretzels.   They quickly locked the door and retreated to the back of the station. Trapped, scared and horrified they huddled in the back of the station.  No one said a word, the smell of vomit lingered in the air and they waited.

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