Something Different

Okay, so this week I wanted to do things a little bit differently. Usually I post things according to what I'm doing, what I've done, or I make some leap at being "deep" or otherwise. I don't know if I want to do that this week, but I still want to keep up with posts for once. Instead, I want to share something I've written outside of my blogs. If you remember in my post "Why I Write" I said

"It's more than just this blog too, sometimes I'll jot down fiction ideas that I manage to scrounge up. I play those a little close to the chest, though, I feel a bit awkward when people read things that I've created from nothing... I write them for myself, really. They get my imagination going, allow me to escape for a little while."

I want to take a leap here, and put this out there. It isn't much, and I'm still learning exactly how to write things that can hook in an audience while still flowing and having just that right amount of detail. I'm not necessarily looking for feedback, but if anyone leaves some it's most certainly welcome.

However, before I post that I'm still going to do exactly what I said I didn't want to do this week. That is, posting about my life. This'll be brief, I promise.

• I got a job! It's seasonal work for Stride Rite, and I start in July. Thanks to my friend Leah for helping me get this!
• Starting on Monday, I'm going to be holding down the fort while the rest of the family travels. In the meantime, I'll be doing some odd jobs, I think, for my neighbor at their laundromat. It's not bad work, and it keeps me busy. I'm really just looking forward to marathon-ing Breaking Bad, and whatever movies I can scrounge up on Netflix. Also swimming, a lot. 

That's about as brief as I can get it. Two, strangely lengthy, bullet points.

And so, with a nervous pit in my stomach as I post this, a little fiction I was playing around with today. For now the only title it has is:

 Alard De Clercq

The street lamps slowly flickered to life in the growing darkness. Mist crept its way from the canals, twisting its way through the cobblestone streets making the stones glisten with dampness. The lamps in the mist served as beacons, guiding anyone left on the streets back to their homes or otherwise. It was a cool, quiet night, the only sound coming from a mournful violin played on the balcony of a distant home. The music invaded the night streets, joining the veins of mist in their binding of the city. The soft strings of the violin found its way into the dimly lit window of one Alard De Clercq. He sat at his desk, scribbling away at one sheet or another before closing down for the night.  A cigarette still smoldered in the ashtray by the lamp, its smoke curling in the light as though it were alive. Alard’s spectacles dangled from his nose, he could see well enough to write and failed to see the sense of completely taking them off when he’d need them for the walk home. As the music rose to his ears, he took a moment to sit back and appreciate the sorrowful strings. He sighed, taking off his spectacles to clean off some unidentified smudge. He had heard the distant man play his violin before many nights ago. Alard didn’t mind the music in the least; the man had a certain talent. Tonight, however, he didn’t have the ear for Vieuxtemps. He shut the window, keeping the night at bay.

                His work seemed to never be finished. When one case was closed, reported, and filed, it seemed ten more were always in waiting. The banal reports always seemed to take the longest. His most recent, regarding a woman searching for a lost pet, seemed to drag on. Often Alard dreamt of making the prerequisites for even taking a case more restrictive, but money was money after all and Alard couldn't afford to turn any of them down. His favorite case had been for a quite wealthy family, the Lemmens, robbed of expensive family heirlooms. At first, Alard had written it off as another search and find case, but it soon became more than that. As he had investigated, hunting down leads, tailing suspects, he came to find that the heirlooms didn’t belong to the family in the first place. They were just typical valuables, silver dinnerware that were merely pawns in an ages old family feud long since forgotten. One spiteful soul thought it was high time the families got back to feuding, and took back what had once belonged to him. Alard could remember the dumbstruck look on Madame Lemmens’ face when he informed her of what he had found, and the look of fury on her husband's. With some tact, he had managed to talk her husband down from gunning down the poor thief, and left the rest to the police. Alard smiled as he sat back in his chair, remembering the near exorbitant amount they had paid him. 

                Suddenly his thoughts were interrupted by a fit of coughing. He had been plagued recently by these fits coughing, hacking, spitting nonsense. Alard found this unpleasant at most, and didn’t see the need to bother the doctor with his troubles. During the fit, he heard a light knocking on the door. In between coughs, he called for the guest to give him one moment. Quite winded, he pulled himself up from the desk, and opened the door to an official looking Frenchman.

                “Monsieur De Clercq?”

                “Yes,” Alard answered, still winded from the coughing.

                “I have a message for you from Paris,” the Frenchman paused, grabbing for a letter inside a small travel bag at his feet, “from a---Monsieur Martens.”

                Alard was confused, “Martens? I’m not sure I know any Martens, Monsieur.”

                “That matters little to me, Monsieur De Clercq. What matters to me is that I was asked to deliver this message, and that is done,” the Frenchman replied curtly.

                “Very well, will there be anything else Monsieur—?”

                “That will be all, I hope you have a pleasant night.”

                Alard closed the door as the Frenchman turned to leave. He looked at the letter, and sure enough, it was addressed to him.

Monsieur Alard De Clercq

42 Geerolfstraat

Bruges, Belgium

                He was positive that he did not know anybody with the surname Martens, and even more certain that he had never once been to Paris. His business was only known locally, so it was unlikely that it could be any privately commissioned case or job. He noticed that there was no sign of a return address. The letter struck him as odd, and as he went to open it he was surprised to feel a knot tightening in his stomach. As he read, he could only feel his confusion growing, and the knot kept his insides in a bind.

                Alard,

                I regret to inform you, that if you are reading this I am, or soon will be, dead. I have found myself being trailed, harassed, and otherwise beleaguered by men who mean to do my harm, for reasons I cannot begin to comprehend. I write this letter to you in a panic, hoping that you may use your expertise to bring whoever may be after me to justice. It is rare that I find sleep, but perhaps knowing that this letter is in your hands will give me some measure of peace. Please, I beg of you, come to Paris. My home is on the Rue Cardinet, I am sure finding it will be of little trouble to you. I cannot risk putting my full address, lest this letter finds its way into the wrong hands. For that, I am sorry. You and I have never met, Ala, but I know that you are the only person that I would entrust with this information. I hope this letter finds you in good health, and I wish you the best of luck.

                Your brother,

                Renauld

             Brother. The word stuck out to Alard as if it had been written on the walls of his office. Brother. The word was as foreign to him as the idea of a letter from Paris. Brother. He repeated the word to himself, in some vain attempt to make sense of it. He felt the color drain from his face, the knot in his stomach was now a vice. 

As long as Alard had lived, he had never had a brother.

....

So there you have it, an excerpt of what I have so far. It's not too much, and it's definitely due for some revision.  I hope whoever stopped to read enjoyed it at the very least. I'll go ahead and be honest, trying to find streets in Bruges and Paris to use as setting points was kind of a pain, as was finding suitable Belgian names. Maybe it's time for me to start traveling after all. 


Anywho, that's all for this week. Until next time...

The Favorites

I have been wracking my brain as to what to write since I got home. I had several drafts of ideas I could have written ranging anywhere from a "review" of sorts to my first year at college to a brief, yet vague, description of how my summer is going. The way I see it, writing a "year in review" would be not only a cliche, but just straight up redundant. If you've read this blog you know I had a good year at college. Hell, if you talk to me for five minutes and even mention the word "college" I could be talking for hours about the time I had.

Not to mention, I learned so much it would be nearly impossible to talk about everything I learned or get into all of the people I've met. And like I said, if you know me enough you already know all of this.

To quote myself:

"That's when the smile started. I can say that it hasn't faded since we left that ballpark. Though, I will admit there were several moments afterwards where I had some doubt. I mean, it's always going to creep back, doubting is what makes me, well, me. Here's the thing, one thing I'm learning is that I don't need to doubt. Life is good, I just have to take part."

And that's all I have to say about that.

So what to write, what to write? I actually had a mild stroke of inspiration on the way to my car, leaving a friend's graduation cook out. I'd set the scene, but I'll spare whatever audience I have and get right to it. I want to write about some of my favorite things. I've done an about me blog, yes, and it had some vague references to things I enjoy. I think so at least, I don't feel like going back to check at the moment. Plus, one self referential quote is more than enough for one posting.

Without further ado, here is my post: The Favorites 

The Road/On the Road: Two Novels, One Meaning

It surprised me how hard it was to take pictures of two books...

For a long time, I stopped reading. I don't know why, because when I was younger I would read all the time. When my dad used to put me to bed he would always tell me "No night reading." I did it anyway, but it was a testament to how much I actually did read. Night time was my favorite time to read too, but I digress.

I picked these books because both taught me about myself while also going beyond that to teach me something about people, society, and what it means to be in general. That sounds cheesy, I know, but hear me out. In The Road you have the Man and the Boy walking slowly through the damnation that is post-apocalyptic America. An innately depressing story, but in spite of the violence, the oppressive atmosphere, and the constant threat of death, the book showed me how to "carry the fire." That, no matter how hard things got, there was always that little bit worth fighting for. I read this book during, what I consider, a rough time for myself. I won't get into it, but Cormac McCarthy in a certain sense turned that around for me. In spite of inhumanity, there will always be humanity. I find myself looking back at passages from The Road every so often. It helps me keep things in perspective.

As for On the Road, well, I mean I kind of already posted a blog post based entirely on a single quote from Kerouac, so I'm sure you already have some sense of how I feel about this book. In short, it resonates with me because of my newfound love to just experience the world around me coupled with my already deep love and want to travel. To be like Kerouac and find that it that we all search for, that to me would be the adventure of a life time.

The Witcher

Nerd moment commencing.  The Wiedzmin series out of Poland is my Harry Potter. It's high fantasy at its darkest. Racism, prostitution, the dregs of society brought to the light through the stories of Geralt of Rivia. The story of a monster hunter, friends of elves, dwarves, or otherwise set against the backdrop of political machinations and war that is epic in scope.

It started as a collection of short stories (collected in the novel The Last Wish, which I own), that soon spawned a cult phenomenon in Poland. Since then two books of the series (with a third released this coming December) have been translated into English, while back in Poland it's spawned a movie and a TV show. Both were critically panned, but that's alright because the books are so good. That's not to mention the video game series I'm an avid fan of. The game is really fun to play, and the stories are so intricately constructed, littered with so many morally grey choices that drastically alter how everything plays out. It's an incredible story to dive into, and every time I enter it, whether it be book or game, it immerses me more than Harry Potter ever could. End nerd moment.

Okay, don't end nerd moment yet. Side note: I took that screen shot. Boom.

Guitar and Sleep: Leisure

Get it? The guitar is sleeping! It's funny, righ--- Oh, forget it.

 This is gonna be the last time I include something material in this post. It keeps this list from running wayyyyyyyy too long, but also keeps me from seeming like all of my favorite things are material. Yeah, that wouldn't be too good, would it?

But hey, this "last material thing" has a lot of value to me, beyond any material value it has. You know, thinking about that, I wonder if it can really be called a material favorite. Oh well. Anyways; a few years ago my mom bought me this incredible vintage Fender Stratocaster as a Christmas gift. It was funny, I had asked for a cheaper guitar, something that would just make do, and she and my family just blew me away with this. The wood finish, the silky smooth fret board, just everything about it is incredible to me. It was also the culmination of a journey of sorts. I had been playing my acoustic guitar for a while, and I was gaining some ground in learning the instrument. I mean, I'm still mediocre at best, but at the time I was picking up speed. The guitar meant a lot to me though, just playing it as a way to unwind, to get away from any problems I had. It kept me in balance. It makes me wonder if my parents knew that when they bought the guitar, if they knew that they were extending my interest in keeping myself balanced in body and mind. If someone ever asked me to sell that guitar, I would never say yes. This one is mine for life.

Sleep, well, that's self explanatory. Shutting down for a while, blissfully unaware of anything, and then waking up so completely refreshed. There's nothing like waking up at noon with the sun blinding you through the window. Laziness at its finest. Plus, dreams are totally crazy. I recently had one where I was sneaking into some government building through service tunnels and bathrooms in only my pajama pants. Yeah, I was a Pajama Spy. It was incredible.

People

Yes, even stock photography people suck. But I love them anyway.

People, as a species, suck. We destroy our environment, we hate each other, we screw each other (and just about everything else) over, and our own self created institutions just bind us all into one, big, unhappy planet. Also we're stupid. But I love them. All of the intricacies of culture, the differences in language, the completely bizarre ways we interact, I'm just so fascinated by all of that. Heck, just look at the vast differences between traditional Western culture, and that of the Middle East. There's a list of different customs longer than the Burj Dubai, and yet we're members of the exact same species. I love that we're so similar and so different at the same time. It separates us from any other species we're currently in contact with. It's just incredible.

I can be upset with someone, I can be happy with someone. It doesn't matter. When I was in sociology in high school, I remember learning about how we create our world to suit us and how we fit ourselves into society and just being enamored with the concepts. It's why I'm pulling a minor in Sociology coupled with German and a major in Political Economy. I'll get to explore these institutions, see different cultures, and experience every little thing humanity has to offer. I couldn't ask for a better species to study.

You could lump my friends in this category also. No, no, no, I don't study my friends, I just love them, being with them, and anything else in between. I'm too sentimental for my own good. But still, my love for people extends to the ones I surround myself with. I may be-- too much sometimes, but that's all part of my continued self-improvement. I've got friends here at home, and friends spread out to the different corners of the country, and they are some of the most important people in my life.

Above: The important people

So That's That

There you have it, a collection of a few of my favorite things. It's certainly not everything, that'd be far too long and boring, but here's the ones I consider to be most important. Plus, if you talk to me at all, there's not a doubt in my mind I'll rant about something or another that I just love at that current moment. Recently it's been Game of Thrones and Mass Effect. I wonder what it'll be next week.

Until next time...

Special Note: Just want to send a congratulations to my friend Jenna for graduating in the class of 2012 at Marcus High School. Yes, I know I've said it plenty of times, Jenna, but it bears repeating!

Images of people and The Witcher emblem courtesy of Google images. No copyright intended.
Screenshot courtesy of CDProjeckt Red and Steam's Screenshot function
...end nerd moment.