Progress Report - Motives

As writers, we all have motives for what we write. We have memories to re-live and issues to work out through stories, memoirs, essays, and so on. A very famous author once quoted "Tears are meant to be written down." With that I once went sort of mad trying to take on way too much in such a short amount of time. Years ago, I felt that I might've taken it too far, too deep and way too personal. Although, that can be argued as the best way to stick with a project, for me it felt like I wasn't ready. Like Ian Malcolm from Jurassic Park said, "You willed it like a kid that found his dad's gun," Moving forward, I have learned (the hard way) to write responsibly.

Originally my motive was to get the story drafted, edited, queried, represented and mass distributed all within six months from start to finish already on the shelves of every bookstore out there...yeah that didn't work for painfully obvious reasons. On top of that I also had this looming fear that I could die at any given moment without finishing my story and that the world would never know of it's existence. Pretty dramatic right? Writing can be difficult, it demands honest effort, time and most importantly, it's supposed to be fun. That was the main thing that I was lacking at the trailhead of the journey. And because of that, it was excruciating. My work ethic was strict, but my inspiration was plugged up.

However, due to life and the busy demands that come with it, I have been forced to delay many opportunities to dive into it and smooth it out. Because of that, I have been able to mature as a writer and gain perspective and go back to correct the many mistakes that I overlooked. I had learned that I was running faster than I had strength and that writing can be very subtle almost unnoticeable but that it requires consistency. To this day, I fight to remember moderation in all things and as I have been told by a wise old friend, "just be cool."

Have you ever experienced that anxiety of giving yourself deadlines? What are some of your thoughts? How do you keep yourself in check of not flying off the handle? Go ahead, I'm listening.




 

Hold on, Time Out for a Second

Hello everyone, fans and friends alike! So for this post I decided I wanted to do something a little different than from the usual shorts that I post. As some of you may know, my ultimate goal someday (in a galaxy far far away) is to become a well-known writer. Not sure how well-known, most likely within the secret confines of the indie world of literature, but well-known.

And because of that goal I created this blog nearly three years ago to create a name for myself. My genre is still undetermined but teetering between young adult fiction to commercial fiction. The intent for all my stories would be to help move people to action. In other words, inspirational.

With that said, I am currently working on a project that I started almost four years ago (still in production). It is a three-piece self-help book illustrated as a fictional story with fictional characters in a unique setting. I have relayed this story countless times to my good friends and family (bless their hearts and tolerance). For that, I have experienced the leaps and bounds that all writers go through when embarking on such projects. True, we all have our own ways on how to write from point A to point B, but this does not exclude the wailing and gnashing of teeth when jumping back and forth with plots and conflicts, deciding the storyboard – staying fresh with the ideas, or scrapping THEN reviving old ideas into the story.

Even just sitting there at the desk with that lonely lamp illuminating the blank word doc, paper, typewriter, or whatever your choice of weapon to write with is while grinding out every possible idea and motivation that remains – I’ve been there and continue to be there. That is the glory of what this craft requires…PERSISTENCE! Staying with it.

My point is, I would like to share from time to time the progress of my work. I won’t necessarily bore you with all the nitty gritty details…or maybe I will? However, I would like to keep you involved with this process and share with you the breakthroughs and disappointments that this all entails.

As for you all, how can I thank you for being so diligent as readers and followers of my work? Without you as online readers, I wouldn't be so driven to keep writing. After all, you are the sole reason I am even doing this, really. Also for these “progress posts”, I would like to open it up for discussion and would love to hear from you on suggestions and ideas that have worked for you in the past as fellow writers. Please feel free to drop a line anytime and share any ideas, comments, or suggestions you may have.

Be sure to check in since I will have more shorts, features and many other cool things coming to you in the not-too-distant future. TTFN (that’s a Tigger reference for saying goodbye :))

   

iSuck

Mar-Queso Feature: ANTONIO POZO

It is with great honor to be featuring Antonio Pozo, an artist and creator of vibrant works. He was born and raised in Malaga, Spain and grew up already acquainted with the language of  expressive drawing and painting. Since he was an adolescent he has honed his craft and has had his work featured in several exhibits including the Lyceo Frances in Malaga, the Nautical Club El Candado, and the Cultural Centre for Contemporary Art.  He currently resides in London where he has his own studio and has been recognized and selected as one of the top artists by the Huffington Post at the Untitled Artists Fair in London 2014. 

MQ: Was art something you discovered in your younger years, or did you always know you liked it?

AR: As far as I can remember, I was always drawing, painting and creating. My imagination was always supported by my family, they enrolled me in an art academy when I was ten to develop my skills six days a week for almost eleven years, and I loved it. It was my element indeed.

MQ: I noticed on your bio that you went to University to study Industrial Engineering. What a contrast. What was your reason for that field of study?

AR: My family always supported me in the arts, but I was quite a gullible person when I was younger and I thought it would be impossible to make a living of my art as my friends used to tell me. So because I was a very good student, I decided to study engineering.

MQ: Following that question, how did you find the time to paint given your demanding schedule and managed to keep up with your daily studies and an aggressive career?

AR: At Uni, I barely painted – basically I quit. I did some commissions but it was really hard and I was working to make my style more commercial and popular anyways. At the end, I think I made it. People started to ask me for my own creations afterwards.

MQ: Do you go off of current emotion, or do you clear your head prior to painting? Any routines?

AR: I can’t paint if I’m not inspired, that’s really true. I’m quite compulsive and many of the ideas come to me when I least expect it whether I’m dreaming, travelling, in great situations whether sad or happy ones – and I always have my notebook to draw them. I try to work on my message in my own style of positivity. Be good – be in peace with yourself. Routines for my daily painting session are classic music, coffee, litters of tea and one home-made vegetable smoothie to purify my body.

MQ: What pushes you past failures, what keeps you driven – on track?

AR: I’m living in the present, enjoying it to make a better future and I’m already trying hard. Living in the city of London and painting here is already a dream come true. Any past failure is in the past. I couldn’t care less. In fact, I think I haven’t really failed at all because I’m here now and that’s what I always wanted since I was a child, something I did apparently worked!

MQ: Tell me about London and the art scene there.

AR: London is a great place to be if you are an artist, that’s obvious. So many great artists around here. On top of several of the world’s best galleries and museums. You have to be competitive, you have to learn non-stop and try to stand out from the crowd, which is almost impossible.

MQ: What is the most rewarding thing about craft and the most challenging?

AR: The most rewarding things is the fact that I’m creating a piece of art from my imagination and that one day someone will own it and this artwork will last for years even when I’m no longer here. It feels really amazing, and sad at the same time, but I’m quite sensible about that – I’m such a weeper! The most challenging thing about being an artist is already trying to make a living with art, it’s very difficult.

For more information on Antonio Pozo's latest work, go to antoniopozo.com.  

The Diner Date

Her name was the headline to several films of that genre. Nathan's story was the other end of all this. Nathan, the one who was guiled into the scene of this ungodly world, ever chained to the confinements of his “self-made prison”. Was this supposed to be closure for him - becoming an accomplice to doing something that could bring all of it to its rightfully-timed-destruction? He exited down the cold staircase, passing the mailboxes, through the storefront doors, and onto the extra wide sidewalks in the shadows of the tall hi-rises of mid-town. The coffee shop was in view from where he was standing. It was a dark early Thursday morning, around 5:32 at Joe’s. 

Nathan entered in the quiet café only to spot the scattered stragglers from both the closing graveyard and early bird shifts.

“So . . .” Her eyes look into his, locked and eager to start on this rendezvous. “…where are you from?” The nervousness fades quickly as the conversation gets going.  He takes his seat across from her. “Me? Seattle, Washington.” He barely got all that out there trying to not let his voice crack like some pre-teen rookie not sure of himself.

Her hands surround her cup of coffee as if it were a hand warmer. “Aw, that’s nice. I’m well. I was born in Easton, PA. I was raised with four older brothers.” He removed his coat while she continued talking. After more conversation, it was apparent to Nathan how this woman led a legacy of torment masked by the glitter and cameras. In her countenance, it was noted the absence of inner rest and that she was forever tired from it. 

"You know this could be really dangerous, especially if you get caught even attempting this. Where would you begin? There are so many avenues to how people make these - all over the web! I mean, we're talking a multi-billion dollar industry here. They probably could pay off the nation's debt in a couple year's revenue." He said to her almost scared for her, but knew that she was a big girl and could take care of herself far better than anyone could.

"I have my ways of doing things. I have several contacts and connections that can aid this cause wherever in the world. When I say I'm bringing this down - I mean it. And this time, I'm not going to let them up for air. They are going to pay for what they've done."

After she spoke, Nathan pushes out a small silver tape recorder to the center of the table, "You sure you want to do this?" He asked her while clicking on the record button. She tears up looking at him with fiery indignation swelling up from within as if holding back for a question like this,

"If that means that I am here to pay back the deeds that have been done on me and to overthrow that unholy empire for the tens of millions of casualties who have gone before me and who will after me for the lucrative offers that enslave the gullible, then yes, I am so ready. Play that damn tape."     

"Go ahead and state your name and what you're planning to do," Nathan said after leaning into the recorder.

"My name is Lisa and I am overthrowing the industry. Here is how..."

Too Cool for Stalls

Reading the scratched out death threats on the stained tile wall, while hoping no one who actually needs the handicap stall will come by is not my idea of a good time out. Somebody must’ve slipped something in my drink, I’m not up to par with the night life right at the moment. Thanks girls – tonight has been riveting so far. 

The front door of the tiny restroom swings open with the door smashing against more stained tile. The steps are mismatched – sliding across the floor. The pair of boots come to a halt against a porcelain wall. It is here that I realized that I am so messed up, that in a blurred rush, I must’ve stumbled into the men’s.

               “If you’re a zombie – GET OUT NOW!” 

Yeah that was definitely a man, unless I’m now hearing things too. Since we are the only ones in here, I’m assuming that was for me.

His boots turn around and slump out a couple yards to the sink from what I can make out being stuck here in the stall. Now I have to stay here due to more people coming in. Not that anyone would probably care.

               “Listen you! If you don’t have the goods by tomorrow, I will shoot Ricky – in the face! DO YOU HEAR ME?”

I see four pairs of shoes. The two pairs are facing each other with the ones closest to the wall slowly levitating against their will as they wiggle in fright.

               “I swear to you, Johnny said there would be enough for everyone. Don’t take it from me, ask Phil! He knows!”

               “Looks like those college days aren’t paying off after all, huh buddy? You see what happens when you forget to carry the two over and move the decimal? Huh? Do ya?”

The door swings open again with more determined footsteps marching up to the pairs of shoes.

               “Let him go, it turns out he was right all along. C’mon, let’s get back out there and enjoy the party.” The levitated pair of shoes comes back to earth as now all three of them exit out the door. At that point in time I decided to make my getaway that was until the door flied open again.

               “TELL ME WHERE THE ZOMBIES ARE!!”

               “THERE!! IT’S IN THERE!!”

My stall door is being tampered with and these people sound very very very and oh yes, very drunk and could mean harmful intentions unless I kick out the door hard enough to make my escape. The door smacks them both on the ground. They fall flat on the floor unconscious. One of them even starts to snore. I take a wide step over the two while reminding myself never to come to this place ever again.  

iPressure

The Great Wall of Static

Link

A man is seen running through the frozen tundra encircled by swirling winds and ice. What would be a normal summer day in other parts of the world is actually a dark hellish blizzard in the great Antarctic. The man pants and chokes on his own breath evading his unwanted followers,

“Audio journal, Day 134: June 20, 2043 – Saturday. Location, just a few kilometers outside of Byrd Camp, one of the last Antarctic bases before getting to the Wall. I have been traveling for over a third of the year trying to find this place. My expedition has not been the most enjoyable seeing that I have faced great tribulations, hunger, thirst, and fatigue. Regardless, I am driven to find the truth about our world. The public would never outright admit this, but they don’t want you to know – what’s really going on here. I have been stabbed at, beat up, shot at, stalked, chased – everything! This journey is on the brink of coming to a close as I have used the last of my rations and precious metals at the boat drop off from Chile…”

He stops at a summit of a couple hundred meters and stands at a small lookout point – enough to see in the near distance a bead of awesome white light stretching infinitely from the east to the west. Beyond the beam of light is a void of darkness, no trailing blizzards, no cloud cover, no stars – nothing. He starts to cheer and jump up with his arms in the air. Immediately searchlights sweep through behind him with motors and engines that can be still heard through the winter storms.

“I have done it! My theory has been true all along. To whom it may concern, I am minutes away from exposing them for who they all are…liars. For those who do not know, I spent my entire life covering up for these ‘Iron Giants’. The ones that would silence the naysayers, the quote on quote RADICALS. They have their agendas that are passed overnight and would rather leave you distracted from learning more about what is really going on. To them and the conditioned society, I am a loon who has lost his mind and am a threat to the public. Lies have been spread about me and for that I have been cut off from any support and have been chased and threatened for attempting such an expedition as this. My name has been tainted by their posts and propaganda, but no matter what, I am driven to video document and link up to the Net the truth for everyone to see. Even if it kills me.”

The man barrels down the summit towards the wall of light as several vehicles trail behind him plowing through the mounds of harsh snow. The light of the wall gets brighter as he is now merely half a kilometer away.

“If this is correct, that would mean that the earth is…”

The man is shot at. He quickly digs a pit to crawl into and hides.

“I will now start the transmission and start recording on several different frequencies. They may try to cut me off, but at least one signal will get through.”

Black aircrafts come in through the blizzard night. One loses control and flies out past the static wall but crashes immediately into what appears to be nothing but something imaginary. Aqua rings ripple from the impact against the voided face above the static wall. The man in his improvised snow cave resumes recording,

“There really is a dome barrier!”  

A Drive-Thru Romance

“Hi welcome to All Burger, how may I take your order?”

Sheila rolls down her window while in tears and proceeds to lean over to speak into the mic. However, nothing comes out and she trembles with her lips quivering.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

“JAKE IS A GIANT PIECE OF ….” Sheila screams into the intercom while incessantly honking her horn, drowning out her own voice. A pause goes by as he is trying to figure out how to react to all of this.

“Umm…well uh…”

“Oh nevermind! You wouldn’t understand what this feels like – no one does. It’s just that I gave him two years of my life and for what? So that he could just dump me and chase after Vanessa? Really? Vanessa!! WHO DOES SHE THINK SHE IS? SHE DOESN’T EVEN GO TO OUR SCHOOL!” Sheila now resumes crying into the intercom. Luckily no cars are behind her.

“Look, I’m terribly sorry and trust me when I say this, but we suck. In fact, I apologize on behalf of the Male gender. We can be real dogs sometimes.”

“I know! More like all the time!” Sheila shouts before going into more tears.

A couple of cars pull into the parking lot, still none behind her in the drive thru. After several more episodes of Sheila’s wailing and gnashing of teeth, the man on the intercom manages to respond.

“Tell me about yourself,” Asks the man’s voice on the intercom. Her tone changes as she is thrown off guard.

“Oh umm, well, I graduate next year and am looking into Brown.”

“Nice! That sounds great! What do you hope to study there?”

“I was looking into Oncology, I lost my Aunt to it and I want to help others.” Sheila answers now with more fervency in her voice as she calms down. She now turns her car off to conserve gas seeing that it is currently 12:36 at night and there was for sure no sign of any cars coming to give orders.

“What about you?” Sheila asks the man on the intercom.

“Me?”

“Well yeah, I told you a little about me. So, now its your turn.”

“I graduated last year from Mount Pleasant, and I was saving up for California, but yeah that’s not going to happen.”

Sheila now gets out of her car and sits on the hood, “Yeah, I am at Hope,”

“Oh, you’re one of those people.” The intercom’s voice changes as if he were smiling on the other side.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Well its just that the College Hill and Blackstone crowd tend to just get their way with anything in life.”

Sheila starts to laugh to herself, “Ok, don’t get it twisted. I know people think that that area is really rich and all, but I’m from the rougher part.”

“Rougher part? We live in Rhode Island. Name me one rough part.” The intercom laughs.

“Ok, ok. I thought I could keep it real, but you got me.” Sheila sighs while looking up. The intercom buzzes from the back feed static.

“So what about California, why isn’t it ‘going to happen’ for you?” Sheila asks while turning her head toward the intercom.

“I’d like to get into film, but I’m far from ready on trying to chase that dream.” The intercom replies.

“Have you made some stuff already?”

“Yeah, I’ve released some online and there is actually a piece I submitted for a festival down in Cranston.”

“Well it sounds like you are already on your way. Don’t quit on yourself.” Sheila answers soberly. There is another pause with the distant crickets and the still midnight air.

“Well, hey umm…this might sound really lame, but would you like to go with me? It’s this Friday.”

Sheila sits up – completely off guard.

“Umm...Are you asking me out?”

“Well, I figured it was fate that you came here out of all the All Burgers in Providence and just so happen to –“

“Sure…I’d love to. Oh and uh, can I get a number 3? No pickles, please?” Sheila starts to laugh.