Back Finally

So training is finally over and I can honestly say I've done less than half a page of writing since my last post. The writing competition is at a halt but i still plan on writing my novel and posting bits and pieces up here. That being said, now that training is done, I'll be working on college courses again. I'm looking to put more work in to short stories I can put out periodically over the weeks. Also, If anyone reads this, I would like some help with doing some short story writing exercises. Just post a topic for me to write about under my comments and I'll try my best to put out a 500 word or so piece on the topic. I like random writing like this, helps me better myself.

Thanks in advanced to anyone who comments. Hope to have some more pieces up soon.

-Kenny

I weighed the pros and cons of tattoos today. It doesn't matter what the pros are because I found disguise compromise as one of the cons. Not getting a tattoo.

Not much since my last post, but I felt I had to get something more out before my early bed check tonight. I managed to get a few paragraphs out and to be honest; I wish I wasn't going to bed early because I have plenty more I wanted to add. Anyway, here's a very small part for the sake of posting. I'll be hitting it hard this weekend for sure.

1,636/30,000
5% complete

In the days since he had began his publication, most officers had come to leave The Blackened Journal in the hands of the people. They felt the people needed to know what was going on around them rather than remain oblivious to dangers that surround them. Others praised the Journal for its assistance in closing over 40 cases to date. Still there existed the few that, if they knew Marek had been the one putting it out, would have him strung up for exposing the people to the gruesome face of Plymouth they hadn’t before seen unmasked. It may have been a little selfish on his part, but Marek couldn’t stand to see his writings hidden from anyone, even an officer just trying to protect the innocence of his city.

Like a said, just a tiny piece this time. Be sure to keep an eye on Robert's story as well.

 

The Great Writing Race

So its been decided, Robert and myself have decided to begin a race to write a novel. The deadline is May 1st and we will be publishing them as e-books. The goal is 30k< words by then. We'll be posting updates on how far we are along with little tidbits of the stories as we progress. On a side note, if anyone else cares to join in on the race, feel free. We love meeting new writers and such. Well, I suppose I'll start with my first update and tidbit on my story.

If you've read my past posts, this is the beginning of the piece titled "The Blackened Journal." The piece I wrote before is a lot further into the story. So far my word count is up to:

01,106/30,000  3% of the way there.

Well, without further delay, here's a tiny piece of the intro to hopefully capture your interest.

Marek fixed his lens on the scene below. His camera snapped shot after shot from atop one of the girders in the rundown construction site. The Men conducting the transaction were oblivious to their stalkers presence. The bigger of the two men opened the trunk to his old sedan and pulled another man who was tied and gagged from within. The bound man was dressed in an expensive looking royal blue suit which was torn up and covered in stains of his own blood. The camera continued to capture the events as they unfolded. The man shut his trunk and climbed into the driver’s seat of his vehicle. He quietly drove off with all of his lights off to not draw attention. The other man started in on the one that was bound. “You think you can just put our boss up, just like that? You got a lot of nerve taking that case,” he kicked the man on the ground who let out a yell and whimpered a bit, “lemme show you what happens to you lawyers who go up against the boss.” The man dragged the beaten lawyer to his van and tossed him in the back, slamming the door on him in the process. The man slicked his grease filled hair back and then kicked dirt up over the bloodstained ground. When the scene was covered, he hopped in the van and drove off. Marek zoomed into the back of the van and snapped his last photo. As the van drove out of site, Marek slid his camera back into its pouch and slid back into the darkness. 

Summer of '10

This is just a little "ode to my last summer home." As I say in the writing, its more for me than anything else, but feel free to enjoy it as well. Gotta say thanks to my cousins for having such a great time before I had to leave home for the Army. Anyways, it's not much, but enjoy...

Word Count: 889; not bad for an afternoons work.

Summer ‘10

In the months before my latest endeavor, I spent most of my time with my two cousins; Alex and Michael. We have been close since as long as I can remember; the three of us are more like brothers than anything. The last two months of summer of ’10 couldn’t have been any better than we made them.

                It’s not far off to say that I’ve spent many a day sitting in one place from the moment I woke up in the morning until the time I fell back asleep. (‘Tis the way of a gamer) Probably ninety percent of our time was spent in this manner, but it couldn’t have been spent a better way. We had taken over my aunt’s basement and turned it into “The Batcave.” Most of our time was spent Gaming and watching movies at the same time. It is true that there are probably better things to be done during the summer, but when you’re moving to an environment where you’re going to spend every moment outdoors and running around, this lifestyle is the perfect form of rest and relaxation. Besides, I’d have more fun doing absolutely nothing but sitting around with them than going out and partying with others any day. There wasn’t a dull moment in the batcave, we made sure of that.

Michael especially kept things interesting. That kid always has something to say about everything. He definitely made a lot of situations funny. (Good thing I taught him everything I know) Together we all out-talked and shut up plenty of people when we played games online. He also loved to attack Alex and myself for no reason or if they were going up the stairs or sleeping. Hell we all fought, it was all in fun though; kept us on our toes.

                This was probably also the unhealthiest time in my life when it came to food, but what we ate was delicious, so it doesn’t matter. Buffalo Wild Wings probably made a mint off of us. It was the one place we went other than the occasional trip to the gas station to restock our Arnold Palmer and slurpee rations or the gaming store for new adventures. Those wings are, to this day, my favorite thing when it comes to food. Sure, like I said, unhealthy; but when you’re about to be stuck not eating real food until further notice, you have to enjoy what you eat; if that’s the same thing every day, more power to you I say.

                My cousin Alex was all about going places with me. He told me that whenever I was around all the cute girls were too. Probably a coincidence but hey, I’m not going to complain about that one. Who knows, maybe he was right. Perhaps my awesome Bruce Campbell-esque floral pattern shirts drew them to us when we went out. Oh well, I’ll probably never know.

                Anyways, though we spent most of our time in the darkness of the basement living under the Christmas lights that were hung in the ceiling, we did get outside occasionally as well. I couldn’t possibly spend ALL my time sitting inside when I had to be fit to train at the end of the summer, could I? (Yes I could have, but I didn’t) We went on runs ranging from one to five miles. Generally we stuck with just going a mile. (What can I say, I was pretty fat, running just wasn’t my thing) Running with my cousin Michael worked out well, we stayed together the entire time and paced one another. On the other hand, running with Alex wasn’t actually running with Alex; I called it running behind Alex. That kid could leave me in the dust. (That’s changed now though, I’ll show him next time we get together) The run I remember above all the others is when we went up to the school my dad worked at. The run there was fine, (I got left behind of course) but they way back is what I remember. We decided it would be a great idea to run back barefoot, who knows why. This would have been no problem if the road hadn’t been dirt and gravel. My feet were killing me after that one.

                The summer is long gone now and there’s not a chance of spending time like that again until my military career is over. I did get another taste of it though; when I headed home for Christmas. I found myself back at my aunt’s almost every single day. It’s safe to say I didn’t see half of my friends while I was home because of spending time with family, and that’s alright with me.

                I’m sure most people have absolutely no interest in what I’ve just written. Most probably can’t understand why this time was so great. Hell most people might feel like this was a waste of time, and that’s alright. This was more for me than anyone else; a miniature documentation or journal entry per se making note of a good time I had. If you do understand why something so simple deserved note, then you understand what it’s like to spend your time with people you care about, and what it means to find joy in everything you do with them.

New Army

Finally, some time AND motivation to write! Though it has cut my sleep time for the night to just over 5 hours, I got to get some needed venting out on paper. (well computer screen..) Thought I'd shed some light on my feelings toward a number of people I'm forced to spend the better part of 7 days a week, 24 hours a day with. I'm also hoping that getting this out of my system has helped me get passed the writers block I've been suffering from this week. Well, off to bed for me now, enjoy.

1,338 words, not half-bad for a night's work.

The New Army

It’s come to my attention that our Army, though said to be overpopulated right now, is letting anyone into its ranks. Don’t get me wrong, I believe in everyone having their opportunity to serve their country alongside their brothers-in-arms, but that’s as far as it should go. Being in training for only five months so far, I’ve come across so many people that I believe shouldn’t be here; People who managed to slip through the cracks of natural selection in the military. There are far too many “soldiers” that I pray I never have to stand beside on the battlefield. Perhaps it sounds like I’m just complaining because I simply don’t like certain people that I’m stuck around on a day to day basis. Though this may be mostly true (Yes, though out of character for me, I hate most of the people here for one reason of another… This career is making me lose faith in the human race) I believe that in at least 90% of these cases, I have legitimate reasons.

Let’s start back at basic training. This is where the survival of the fit and disciplined is supposed to occur. People come here as weak, pathetic, meager civilians and make the transformation to the highly skilled warriors that defend our country. At least that’s what I thought it was supposed to be. Instead, it is a 9 week hazing session to welcome anyone who shows up into the army’s ranks. Don’t get me wrong, I have more respect for most drill sergeants and some of the people that came through with me, this is just directed to those others who were never up to standard. Basically there are three different types of soldier who make it through basic training.

The first type of soldier is the only one that should truly be able to don the black beret. This is the guy that comes in and pushes himself to the limit; from the day zero “shark attack” all the way until he marches across the parade field nine weeks later. This is the guy that truly wants to be the best he can. He doesn’t take the easy way out and always does the right thing. I like to think that my close battle buddies and myself fit this soldier’s description. This is the only kind of soldier I really have any respect for.

The next kind of soldier is the brawn above brains and discipline type. These are the guys that are physically fit before they come to the army and therefore feel they can do whatever they want because they’re “better than everyone else.” These are the guys that never listen and talk down to or disrespect everyone. What do they have to worry about, a few push-ups? If you’re fit enough to handle nine weeks of getting smoked, it doesn’t matter if you have showed an ounce of decency or progress, you’re in. The soldiers that come in this way are great at tearing teams apart and causing problems due to lack of ability to follow directions. They’re the kind that are going to get many killed if they make it down range.

Finally we have my personal least favorite. They’ve earned the title “Sick Call Rangers” because of their actions. These are the guys who use the system against itself. Any time we knew there was a physically demanding task ahead; you could guarantee the sick call rangers would be up at the medical center for a fresh new no physical activity profile. These guys are good at what they do. I couldn’t believe that you can complete basic training even if you spend over half of it on crutches sitting at a desk. These rangers knew how to sell it too. One from my platoon would struggle to walk around even with his crutches, but when the drill sergeant wasn’t around, he would suddenly be healed of his ailments until the Sergeant returned. I have absolutely no respect for these people and really think they need to be put out as soon as possible. (If only the Sergeants caught on to what was happening)

As I stated before, I have more respect for most of the drill sergeants I’ve met than anyone else in the army. On that note, I have to point out that some of them have this problem where they’re more worried about making private’s lives miserable just to get a laugh than actually train them. There was one from my company that even went as far as to admit that he hated everyone there and couldn’t wait to get out of the Drill Sergeant gig. The entire time we were there, he basically smoked his platoon along with the rest of us at some points because he thought it was funny. He was the one drill sergeant I can honestly say I learned nothing from. During periods of instruction, he always looked and acted as if he was bored and just wanted to get it over with. Drill sergeants like this completely overlook flaws in their trainees to simply push them through and get rid of them.

Though I know it’s the complete opposite side of the point I’m trying to make, but I feel I should stop and express my gratitude for the Drill Sergeants that put their hearts into the job. I had the best platoon drill sergeants you could ask for. They set a standard and pushed us to reach said standard. They went above and beyond to bring us together as a team and even teach us things they didn’t have to. It’s their extra effort that gives me some faith in the future of this army. Hopefully someday I’ll have the opportunity to thank them for that, but that’s beside the point.

                I thought things would be better once I reached my combat medic training, but I was far from right about that. Turns out the basic training I had come from was considered the best site for putting out “squared away soldiers.” For the most part, the ones that slipped though the cracked back at my basic were nothing compared to the ones from other bases. Again I have to point out that though this is mostly true; many of the other soldiers that came through still fit the profile of the first soldier I explained prior. Considering the combat medic is one of the most important jobs in the army, you’d think the standards would be higher. I can honestly say that if I’m injured on the battlefield and one of these future medics comes up to help me, I will tell them to keep moving in hopes that a medic I can trust comes along.

                Some of these “Soldier Medics” (as we’re called) honestly have no redeeming qualities to them. It feels like we’re living with people who are (if not actually here to do the job they’ve accepted) cheating to get through the training, sleeping through instruction, or doing everything they can to get themselves kicked out but are stuck here because the army wants to keep them around for one reason or another. I can only hope that these soldiers either get out or start taking their career seriously before they end up coming face to face with a fellow human that’s dying and screaming for their help but they cannot do anything about it because they couldn’t do the right thing during training.

                The vast number of people who honestly should not be here is astonishing. Hell I didn’t even mention the people that I wouldn’t trust armed with anything that could cause harm to themselves or another human being, I’ll save that topic for another day. This “new army” as everyone calls it is slowly being overwhelmed with this cancerous growth of (for lack of better words) ignorant assholes. With the army cutting over 49,000 soldiers, maybe the focus should be on weeding out those who really don’t deserve to wear the uniform.

Ugh

Bah no motivation tonight, for writing anyways. I have to actually focus on reading up on the training I got coming up in the next few days so I'll end up doing that instead. This weekend I'll hopefully have a more time to get some work done.

The Blackened Journal

Unfortunately I have to head to bed early tonight, so I can't get anything written; Whiskey phase of training starts tomorrow so I need my rest. I still wanted to put something up here, so I'm posting an excerpt from a story I'm working on titled "The Blackened Journal." Enjoy!

Marek ducked behind the old soda machine as the man he had been tailing stopped at a rundown town house and sunk himself into his sweat jacket before knocking at the door. Marek peeked out from his concealed location and snapped a few photos of the man as someone answered the door. From his location, Marek couldn’t make out what the two men were talking about, but he could see the man at the door pull out a badge; he was an officer from the city. After some yelling the door was slammed in the officer’s face.  He scanned the area to be sure he was alone, then withdrew what appeared to be an M9 with a silencer attached from the pocket of his jacket. After scanning the area once more, he kicked in the door and stepped in. A flash could be seen, followed by a blood curdling scream, then another flash. The building fell silent. Marek quickly ran up to the side of the building, readied his camera, and peered in through a broken window. The officer from outside was rummaging through the pockets of his victim who was laying limp on the floor. Marek again began to photograph the gruesome scene. The officer threw his findings into a bag and began searching the area for anything else he could find. Suddenly he stopped dead in his tracks. He slowly began creeping towards the broken window where Marek was hiding. As he neared the window, suddenly the floor upstairs creaked. The officer quickly turned and ran up the stairs to the second floor. Marek pulled back from the window and looked to a fire escape to his right. After debating with himself for a moment, he quickly climbed the escape and hid himself beside the upstairs window.  Inside he could again see the officer, floating silently around the room, searching. He walked up to an old decaying closet door. Quiet whimpering could be heard within. The officer threw the door open revealing a man and woman huddled together on the ground. The woman was crying and praying quietly with the man holding her in his arms. The officer readied his weapon and fired three shots; two into the man and one into the woman. Marek photographed the scene. The man fell limp on the spot while the woman writhed and pleaded on the floor. As the officer again took aim, Marek snapped another photograph. His camera’s flash went off, filling the room with a blinding light. The officer turned quickly to the window. Marek stood, frozen with fear, locked into the killers eyes. Just as the weapon was raised, this time on Marek, he found himself able to move again. Snapping one final picture he retreated down the fire escape as rounds met the metal railings just behind him. As he reached the ground and ran back down the empty street, the officer emerged from the front door. He loaded another clip into his silenced weapon and quickly unloaded it at Marek who was too now too far for the man to get an accurate shot. Marek rounded the corner into an alleyway and secured the bicycle he had left before. He took off as quickly as he could, and never looked back.

Monster Hunter Writing Exercise

Marne pulled his tattered brown boots up over his trouser legs and draped a ragged cloak over his shoulders. He examined himself in the mirror, adjusting his tunic and pulling the front of the brown cloak up over his mouth. The outfit looked as if it had seen its best days centuries ago.  These were the clothes his father, Drakin, had worn when he was commanding his monster hunting clan.

Drakin was highly revered and honored across the country for his skills in tracking and defeating various “marks.” Though he spent most of his time away from home, he and Marne were very close. Marne wanted nothing more than to be like his father. The two of them trained together whenever they had an opportunity. Drakin suddenly fell deathly ill one day after taking down a very poisonous mark. He passed in his sleep that night. Before he went, he left everything he had to his son. His death was a heavy blow on Marne, but he pressed on and continued to train to become a monster hunter. He took great pride in following in his father’s footsteps, though unlike his father, he decided he would work alone.

Marne made a few final adjustments to his clothing before turning to a large chest cluttered with different weapons beside the mirror. He proceeded to pull a crumpled paper out of his pocket and flatten it out. On the paper is an illustration of a massive condor-like creature. Below the creature, the paper read: “Last seen in Eliath Forest: Reward: $2,000.” Marne stuffed the paper back down into his tunic and began sifting through the mess of weapons, looking for the perfect tool for the job. Before finding anything that caught his eye, or even looked battle ready, the chest was already empty. Standing up, he scratched the tuft of hair on his chin and scanned the room. A large dusty cabinet bolted shut across the room caught his eye. Marne grabbed a hammer from the pile of weapons he had made on the ground and walked over to the cabinet. He began driving the hammer into the lock. After a few good strikes, the lock came loose and slunk to the floor. Marne opened the doors revealing a dusty display containing a beautiful matching sword and dagger. He brushed the dust off of the weapons and pulled them from the case. Unsheathing the sword revealed an engraving at the bottom of the blade; “Amplus Drakin.” It was the weapons his father had carried into battle for all his years of hunting. Marne sheathed the sword and proceeded to attach it and the dagger to his belt.

After a final look in the mirror, Marne closed his eyes and took a deep breath. It was time for him to go after his first real mark. As he stepped out the door, he turned and scanned the room to ensure he had everything he needed. After ensuring everything was accounted for, Marne shut the door and stepped off towards Eliath Forest...

~Check out my buddies writing exercise and other things here!

Starting Up

Along with my friend Robert I've been writing since probably back in 7th grade. Unfortunately til now I have nothing to show for it aside from memories of the tons of projects that I've worked on over the years. I'm now 22 and serving in the army. I've decided to devote my free time to writing anything and everything that I think of. My goal for now is to constantly update this, assuming I maintain the amount of free time I have. Even if time runs short I'll come up with something on here at least a couple times a week. Feel free to give you're opinion and don't be afraid to critique anything i write either, I'd love to hear what people think, good or bad.