Untitled. So far.

I know I have been AWOL for over a month. I am trying to find a balance between School, Work, and what type of writing I actually want to do. I feel like journalism is what I want to do, because I love reporting. At the same time, I really want to become an author. I like creating my own stories as well. I think I will try to balance both, on top of all of the research papers, discussions, and essays required in in my Journalism major. This is something I started writing today that I really feel could become a great story. I will be posting this rough draft so far on here, but I will be maintaining a second page coming in Late October that will be exclusively for excerpts from books I want to write. I would like to start selling them on Amazon shortly. I tend to keep things short when I write stories, but I wouldn’t mind feedback on if you feel that this story could have more package to it.

Alright, here is the beginning of the story. Do not hesitate to express your opinions in a comment below. I would be more than happy to respond.

“I could go on to create some elaborate delusion about how my Father is the president of a finance company and my mother is an accomplished lawyer, but my family is too well known in this city. Instead, I’ll just tell you the truth before someone else does.

My father is an abusive drunk who we rarely see. If he isn’t out with one of the crack whores up and down the avenue, he’s out swindling some poor passerby for booze money. I don’t know why my mother stays with the bastard, but she won’t leave no matter how many ideas I come up with. I plan to change that very soon.

My mother was adopted by some old German family back when she was like 9 years old. She didn’t know her biological parents, and some days I envy that. Her dad died when she was 16, and her mom died when she turned 17. That’s when she met my dad.

From what I’ve heard, my dad was a great man in the beginning. He was in college for Business, had his own house and his own car. He met my mother when she was 19 and working at a Burger King and offered to treat her for dinner. Of course, like any 19 year old girl who has become an outcast, she falls in love with him out of what I assume is pure desperation. They get married and here I come out a year later.

A part of me believes I am the reason dad turned to drinking and prostitutes. My mom felt that she had to “give me the love her mother didn’t give her” or something like that. I completely engulfed my mom’s life, and the two rarely spent time together. It’s sad, honestly. By the time I was 4 years old I knew I hated him. That was time when I realized he treated mom badly.

13 years have passed, and the feelings remain the same. I can’t wait to get out of this house. I’m taking mom and my little sister with me.”

What happens when…

When it stops being about one person and it starts being about everyone?

When it no longer matters what color you are, and your actions speak loud enough to judge your person?

When looking over your shoulder is no longer necessary?

When it’s no longer a gamble to trust?

When risk is only reward?

When nightmares no longer tell stories of stress and worry, but are only dreams of what once was but will never be again?

You are no longer a number?

Life becomes fair.

Writing Origins

When I began writing as student in middle school, there were no signs in sight that told me I would be writing later on in life for fun. Well, except for the poetry I loved to write, the daily journal entries, and my obvious excitement for creative writing. (That did not happen until 9th grade, and I had a pretty amazing creative writing teacher in my defense.) I am pretty sure most of us did not simply start writing because we were bored. I started writing because I loved the stories I read. I am a huge fan of the Lord of The Rings,  Lord of The Flies, and my all- time favorite, A Tale of Two Cities. The visuals these tales create are so powerful, you are pretty much forced to just paint the picture in your mind. When I started writing, my strength in writing was descriptive scenery. Taking something like, “The fog was thick outside.” and turning it into “A blanket of fog so thick only gave way to the outlines of the bare-boned tree branches.” I was the guy to take the long way in writing. I found more appeal in what’s really there, and imagining myself as the character I’m attempting to create. What does he see? What does he feel? What sounds are around him? I always asked myself those types of questions when I would write.

In my writings today I focus more on creating a story based on a character people can relate to. I typically write a story based on the typical teenager going through typical things. I’m building myself up to work on more adult-related content. It’s less about the scenery and more about the personal battle with what would be the “scenery” (I.E, peers, family, teachers, etc.) to give each reader a different picture of what the character is going through. I don’t read too many novels these days. I am more inclined now to read blog posts of a persons successes and struggles or a personal review on things. I would like to break into a good novel. Any personal recommendations are greatly appreciated.

So how exactly does one stay committed to writing? Well, I am sure I speak for all writers when I say it is not an easy task. But it’s a rewarding feeling and a well deserved accomplishment when you finish  a piece of writing. Writing Novels, Short Stories with a continuation, and even how-to guides takes time and effort. There will always be some stories you start but do not finish, some you start and finish, and some you want to start but you have difficulty getting all of your ideas together. The one way I learned to get through times like that is to walk as your character. Fill in the details step by step. Take yourself out of the writer’s chair, and into the characters’ shoes. Ask yourself, “what would I be doing now if I were (character name here)? It works for me whenever I write my short stories, especially because I am focused on actual conditions. So say you have a character named Ron, and he had Diabetes as a child. What would you do if you had diabetes as a child? I won’t say the method will work for everyone, but it will for sure open some emotional doors as you really think about the story of your character. Another method is just drawing yourself a bubble map of your character or subject and then just going wild with possible key ideas for the story. My goal is to always have at least one key idea and no more than three.

So for anyone wanting to pick up writing, it is definitely a skill that will take you places, but it also takes time to get there. One bad story doesn’t make you a terrible writer. Without that one failure none of us in any of our talents would truly grow in them.

The Chronicles of Stanly Gudenuff

Hi All! So, in case you guys are wondering, it has been pretty busy for me lately. I’m picking and choosing which projects I want to work on right now, along with coming up with new ideas for some. For those of you who did not know me prior to my blog here, I was working on a short story titled, “The Chronicles of Stanly Gudenuff” which focuses on the lives of seven teenagers and their relationship with their parents and other relatives, along with the relationships between each of them. This Short story is one I had began working on for the main character, Stanly, and his adopted brother Thomas. Please let me know how you guys feel about this one, and if there is positive feedback, I will continue this short story.

Progress on Madeline: It’s still in the works. The full short story will still be released at the end of this month, so I haven’t forgot!

So here it is, folks. Part 1 of The Chronicles of Stanly Gudenuff.

Today is the big day. My family and I are going on a vacation my Mom had won from some scratch and sniff card she received from her job for her 37th birthday. Everything was going fine until, as usual, things weren’t going the way Dad had planned.

“Stanly! Thomas! Why haven’t you guys placed your luggage in the car yet?” Dad yells from down the hall.

“Give us a minute, Al! You only told us like 20 minutes ago!” Thomas yelled back.

Thomas can get away with things like that. He was adopted at years 2 of age. He’s 14 now. Our parents love him. If I did that, I can say goodbye to this trip, and goodbye to this summer.

“Nice try, Thomas. Your Mother told you guys last night. Now hurry up! We’ve got to be on the road to to the airport in 4 hours!”

“Alyx, it only takes 2 hours to get there. Even with traffic, that’s an additional 45 minutes. Relax.”

“Liv, you know how I am about last minute. If you’re on time, you’re late. That’s what we said in the Battalion.”

My Dad always likes to bring up his 3 months at the Norwegian Military Academy. He says, “Stanly, my time at the Academy is where I learned to become a man.”

I sarcastically comment back, “Dad, those 3 months must have been Hell for you. I sometimes don’t understand how you managed to survive.”

“Well Stan,” Dad replies, “You are 16 now. Sooner or later, you’re going to have your own battle. I can show and tell you my experiences, but you determine the man you want to become.”

Sometimes my Dad surprises me with responses like that. Where were we? Oh yeah, packing. Thomas is definitely more of the carefree one of the family. He can pack 3 t-shirts, 2 pairs of shorts, and be fine. The only thing he packs more of is his art supplies. At least if he ever runs out of clothes, he can paint on a new outfit, I guess. He rushes downstairs to throw his suitcase into the back of Dad’s truck.

“Whoa, Thom! Be careful! That’s a Ford, not a Chevy.” Dad exclaims.

“Yeah, then I probably just made it a little bit better!” Thomas snarks back.

Mom comes upstairs to check on me and my current situation with my packing. It’s not that I’m slower than Thomas, I’m just more attentive when it comes to packing. The only thing I need is my camcorder and an outfit for each day.

“Hurry Stan.” Mom says from the doorway. “You know how your Father is. Expect a big speech on how this relates to his time in the Battalion.”

“Almost finished, mom.” I assure her. “I just can’t find the T-shirt.”

“Oh.” Mom giggles. “You mean “The” T-shirt? The one signed Hank Stanovich?”

Hank Stanovich was local Footballer back in our home country of Norway. I promised him I’d carry a signed T-shirt of his whenever we were away from our new home in the US on a vacation. I don’t think it will mean much, seeing how he is only a Footballer during the Cup, but hey, keep hope alive right?

“Yes, mom. That one. I don’t think it’s in the laundry. I have never really worn it since we’ve been here. You know, I’m sure it can go one trip without being with us.”

Suitcases are packed, we are all in the truck, and we are ready to go. We are about 30 minutes into the drive, when my mother poses a question.

“This may be deemed an unnecessary question,”

“Then don’t ask.” Dad butts in.

The look Mom gave Dad said everything he needed to hear for the rest of that conversation.

“Like I was saying, did anyone happen to pick up the tickets and itineraries from the kitchen table?”

I looked at Thomas, and Dad looked in the rear view mirror at me. The men in this truck became a deer in front of a truck. In the most unsafe manner as possible on the highway, dad came to an abrupt stop. Oddly, with no traffic in sight, he floors it over to the opposite side of the highway to rush back home.

“Alyx, yeah, let’s not ever do that again.” Mom says.

“What? Forget the materials we need? good idea.” Dad says. Clearly confused.

“Besides that, what you just did on the highway was dangerous. Stanly is driving now. Be a good influence. And don’t you dare turn this into a Battalion story.”

“When I was in the Battalion…” Dad starts.

We all groan in agony. At least this trip isn’t like the trip we took to Toronto. Dad’s Battalion stories are what got us kicked out of The Molson Ampitheatre.

“When I was in the Battalion, one of the cadets had forgotten their navigation map. He stayed out there for three days.”

“Dear, that was you, and you were only lost for 3 hours,” mom abruptly corrects him.

So we make it back home. Mom runs into the house, grabs the tickets and itineraries, and we head to the airport. When we get there, we are graced by the smiling faces of our twin cousins Carly and Charly Von Eubensteuffer. Along with Aunt Heather and Uncle Michael. I say that with such enthusiasm.

So, this is the beginning of The Chronicles of Stanly Gudenuff. Still a few more families to be introduced. If you guys liked it, please press the like button and share! If you didn’t like it, feel free to comment and tell me what needs more work. Thanks!