The Ink Road

"The Deadliest Sin" To-Do List 9/30/11

2011-09-30T15:37:00.000-07:00

I'm keeping a list of questions that are coming up as I write, so that I can go and research them later. Obviously, some of the more telling details I might leave off.

To Research

How states/counties deal with heat waves
Who would ensure a city lake is safe to skate on in the winter?
Best way to skip rocks.
Raccoons --> do they live in Virginia? How do rabid raccoons act?
Oval communities -- characteristics
Dental assistant role
Dentist office staff
Dentist registry
Dental operating room..?
Massage techniques
Process of pressing charges for third-degree murder

I need to sit down and create a timeline. I have the first few/several chapters outlined, but since I'm following multiple families in Pens with different conflicts, I need to know exactly when everything happens relative to everything else. It should be helpful to get on a whiteboard and just list out the days following the 'big event' at the beginning of the story, and then match them with subsequent events.

I need a new name. 'The Deadliest Sin' isn't going to turn any heads.

I need to finish outlining the first half of the book. The first half of the book is going to have a slightly (read: significantly) different structure than the first, so it's important to get that first half down.

Gordon Ferrell - Lunatic of Pens

2011-09-28T00:40:00.000-07:00

Gordon was born on June 6, 1955 in Pens, Virginia. His father, Edward Ferrell, had fought in World War II. Ed never talked about his experience, but Gordon's mother said he was a changed man when he got back. There was a fire burning in him that spared the need to sew his seed, and Gordon was the third of eight children over 10 years. For most of his life Gordon remembered his father as a drunk, and sometimes a mean-tempered drunk. Gordon managed to slip under his father's radar, unnoticed and untouched by his rage. Gordon learned how to be conniving when he needed to, and soon became used to throwing one of his siblings under the bus to save himself.

Gordon grew up in the church under the spiritual guidance of his mother. The memories he did have of his father were short, as he spent most of the time at the church. He joined the choir when he was eleven, although he couldn't sing. When that didn't work out, he floated around different positions in the church, until he became the treasurer when he turned eighteen.

It wasn't until Gordon was thirty that he began to embezzle money from the church. His mother had just died of cancer (his father had died by the bottle years before, but that hardly had an affect on Gordon) and Gordon began to see religion in a different light. It hadn't done much to help him, so he'd have to fix that.

But Gordon wasn't the only liar at Holy Pens. As a long-time church member, he noticed things others didn't. And he became quite sure that Pastor Leroy Cummings was taking more from the congregation than offerings. He 'accidentally' walked in on the pastor taking one of these offerings from Patricia Hawthorne in his office one Thursday evening after Bible Study developed a drug addiction from his newfound money. Pastor Cummings knew about Gordon's habits and threatened that he would have him arrested for embezzlement if he spoke any word of what he saw. The church was all he knew, and Gordon wasn't ready to give that up, so he obliged. Still, the Pastor was paranoid and eventually forced Gordon to leave. Gordon later heard whispers of his crimes amongst the congregation and he became ashamed, and furious. There was nothing he could do. Pastor Cummings had gotten in the first word, and anything he told now would merely look like the ramblings of a desperate sinner.

Gordon turned to drugs, though he continued to read the Bible everyday. Sometimes he would get them confused, the feeling of the Spirit when he prayed and the high when he injected.

When the infamous heatwave hit Pens, Gordon had been addicted for five years. His mind had become fried, and he obsessed over getting back at Pastor Cummings. He ended up hiring a HIV-positive prostitute to seduce the pastor. The pastor died during sex and became one of the many victims the day of the heatwave. Gordon didn't care either way. People now new the truth of Leroy Cummings. His sins had been paid for.

Gordon went through a change that day of the heatwave. He saw 'the light,' as they say, and it was good. He stopped drug abuse and studied the Bible even harder. Because now the Lord was speaking to him in a whole new way. The Lord had a purpose for Gordon. He had never felt that before. The Lord needed someone to bring the sinners of Pens to justice. Gordon's seen these sinners in his dreams, and has been making a list. And he would do anything for the Lord...

Gordon Ferrell may just turn out to be the most interesting character in this book. Is he doing good, or conducting evil? Is he a soldier for the Lord, or is he merely the Devil's pawn? As Pens goes to hell, how will his role be refined, intensified?

And, most importantly, who's on his list of sinners, and how will be prepare them for judgment?

'The Deadliest Sin' - My Novel in Progress

2011-09-25T20:42:00.000-07:00

I'm writing a book tentatively entitled The Deadliest Sin. I don't want to give too much away, but it's about a small Virginia town which is slowly going to hell...literally. There will be (and are already many) characters in this tale, but the main one is Michael Barboza, a thirteen year old latino boy. He ultimate task is to discover what's happening to the town of Pens and save the people in it before.....that's right, before it's too late! Got to love the cliche.

There are a lot of journeys I'm currently conquering right now in my life. I'll be a married man in less than three months, I'll be in medical school (hopefully) in less than two years, and I'm still trying to find my own personal relationship with God. This book represents that last journey a lot, but also allows me to continue with my passion for writing horror. I don't envision for this to be a book that any pastor would put on the Christian reading list, but at the end I want it to reflect some of my own thoughts about existence and God.

What I really like about this project is the prospect of building a whole town. It's a little intimidating and, honestly, might be outside of my current skill level. Hopefully that proves not to be the case, and even if it is, the only thing I've lost is time and bad writing habits. It's loosely based off of my family's hometown, Martinsville, Virginia. A little southern blip on the map which has been going through a lot of changes over the decades economically and culturally. What's the history of the town? Is it divided by socioeconomic status? Race? If so, in what ways? Is the biggest employer Walmart? Is most of the population Republican? Democrat? Christian? How would the city handle a natural disaster? Does everyone know everyone else or do you meet someone new everyday.

These are the questions I have to answer. The first part of the book is spent getting to know all of the different players, both big and small, as the town goes through its 'changes.' I like to think of these almost as a series of short stories that interconnect. Later in the book the focus will be on Michael and his specific journey.

The plan is to keep blog posts as I go through the writing process, talk about the progress I've made, the obstacles I come across. I have to research a little bit the best way to do this. I.E., what's TOO much information to post on the Internet? I'm thinking of doing character profiles and tell about some of the residents of Pens, one by one, but should I keep that to myself?

I'll look around and see. But, for now, back to writing....

No time to write....or do much of anything

2011-09-18T00:01:00.000-07:00

I have two tests coming up this week, one in Cell Bio and the other in Organic Chemistry. Surprisingly, I'm more worried about the Cell Bio test, but I'm studying more for OChem because...well, because' it's freaking OChem.

The sucky thing is (well, besides having a test one day and then a test the next...) is that I haven't had much time to write this past week. I've gotten literally sick sleep-depriving myself and still couldn't find the time to do the thing I love the most. And, of course, the last few days any free time I might have maybe could have possibly obtained was spent getting rest because....well, because I'm freaking sick!!

Excuses, I know, but hopefully things will get better this upcoming week. Although I do have a problem set due Wednesday in Physics (the day after my second exam). It shouldn't be a problem, as Physics is one of those subjects that comes easily, but it simply means I will either be up late Tuesday night or rushing to get it done.

When I decided to start taking classes again I was afraid I would hit this road: choosing between studying and writing. My classmates study a lot more than I do...I can hear them talking about it all the time. Even though I've been sleep-deprived this past week, I've spent some of my time doing things like reading novels (because a writer has to read!), going to my writing group, and trying to get my Twitter game going. Oh, and I've found this awesome podcast, Writing Excuses, and you should definitely check it out.

Don't get me wrong, I've been fairly on top of my assignments. Homework turned in on time, online quizzes mastered, pre-labs done, and I've been to every single class. Even an office hour or two! But I can't help but feel I am less prepared for Monday and Tuesday than everyone else, and I hope I can make this happen. To be honest, the biggest thing that bothers me is that writing has no logical weight in my priorities now. As in, if I chose to spend 2 hours right now writing instead of studying, that doesn't make any sense (assuming I need those 2 hours).

Still, that's what I'm about to do. And hopefully my plan to pull a pseudo allnighter doesn't backfire. I seem to be getting over my sickness. I once heard that once you get over a cold, you won't get one for at least another 6 weeks because of the body's immune system. It's probably a crock of shit, but sometimes shit is all us writers can depend on.

'Creative Writing Can't Be Taught'....

2011-09-11T22:34:00.000-07:00

Interesting commentary by Stephen King. Can Creative Writing be taught? He's mostly focusing here on that the reason writers pursue a career in teaching is to make ends meet while they are trying to become successful as writers, but there is something else implied: taking creative writing classes is a waste of time. The only way to become good/better at writing is to read a lot and write a lot.

Hmm....let me cogitate on it for a while.

When the Air Hits Your Brain - My Thoughts

2011-09-11T17:30:00.000-07:00

When I was walking back to my car after one of my shifts this past summer at UC Davis Medical Center, I had brief small-talk with a surgery resident. He asked me what services I had been on and what I was interested in the most. When I mentioned neurosurgery, he suggested I look When the Air Hits Your Brain by Frank Vertosick, Jr., M.D. He was a surgeon, and I a lowly pre-med student, so of course I wrote down his advice as if he were God and I was Noah and the ran showers were starting. I started reading it a couple weeks ago, and finished within a few days. Here are my impressions.

Dr. Vertosick begins at the beginning of his medical career: medical school and how he became interested in neurosurgery. His reasoning was more than a little odd to me. Neursurgery was his first rotation in his third year of medical school. At the time he saw the specialty and the work involved in it as boring and tedious, and there was no strong consideration during to pursue it as a post-graduate option. Still, there are stories he remembers from the rotation, one of which had significant importance. One day he was doing a physical on a patient who had been admitted for the removal `of a herniated cervical disk in his neck. Frank noticed that the man's pupils were aymmetrical. That, coupled with some other key symptoms, led Frank to believe the patient didn't have a herniated disk at all, but a tumor. He reported his finding to the resident physician and was able to save the man from an unnecessary and potentially harmful procedure. Some months later, the director of neurosurgery called Frank the Med Student in for a meeting and offered him one of the two neurosurgery intern positions after graduation for his 'good eye.' Frank said he had to think about it. Later, while working in the immunology lab for a side research project, Frank was moving materials under a microscope, where the slight tremors in his hands were exacerbated. The lab technician teased him about it and flippantly commented 'I hope you aren't going in to neurosurgery.' Frank was so offended by the jab that he called the neurosurgery department that night and told him he accepted.

When I read this I literally took a second to scratch my head. Huh? He became a neurosurgeon to prove something to himself? It's certainly not a reason you would bring up in an interview (which it sounds like he didn't have to have). As a pre-med student, I'm starting to get various strings of advice, and some of them have to do with interviewing. We are constantly presented with the question: why do you want to be a doctor? There are the good reasons and then there are the not-so-good reasons. 'Because someone told me I can't' doesn't sound like it would impress anyone.

At the same time, the real world is different from what people say in interview settings. So while it bothered me a little why Frank originally went into neurosurgery, in the grand scheme of things, I don't think it mattered much. He was honest with us, and from the rest of the book it is clear that he cared for his patients and his profession at the level we would all hope from someone with such responsibility.

Dr. Vertosick goes into great detail on some of the surgical procedures he was apart of. Having recently observed a few neurosurgeries myself, I especially enjoyed these pieces. One of them I'd even seen in person. With just about all of the procedures he described, he also told the backstory of the patient. He used these as examples of the many lessons he learned throughout his residency, such as being a surgical psychopath, not being too confident, and that no matter how bad a patient is, you can always make him or her worse.

I really clicked with the commentary on surgical psychopathy. It's an aspect of being a physician I am both apprehensive and understanding of. On the one hand, I never want to become the type of person who is unaffected by death, or who looks at the patients as just numbers on a chart or another procedure. If I make a decision that ends a person's life, I don't want to be able to shrug it off, go have a beer, and forget about it the next day. On the other hand, I don't take death well (at all) and I realize it will be extremely taxing on me as an individual if I let each mortality hit home. Will I be able to strike a balance? Can I gain some of the psychopathy without crossing totally over to the other side?

From reading When the Air Hits Your Brain, it seems that Dr. Vertosick has walked the line and has ended up somewhere on the caring side. There was a particularly heart-wrenching case of a newborn with a brain tumor. They worked on the infant but the tumor was so deep that the damage done to remove it was seemingly irreversible. That, and the cancer would almost certainly remit. The advice to the parents was to say their goodbye's and not come back, move on with their lives as soon as they could, as there was nothing that could be done for the child and the longer they lingered, the longer it would take to try again in starting a family. But the baby ended up living longer than expected, and had more cognitive development than expected. She was soon able to laugh and play, and Frank visited her often. As predicted, however, the cancer came back to take her. Before it did, though, Frank spent nearly a whole day with her. He says he will always remember how, in those moments, he was the most important person in the world to her.

What more fulfillment could you get in a profession?

There were other stories just as thought-provoking, but I don't want to spoil it all here. I have a few areas of critique, as is inevitable with any public piece of work.

For one, the narrative seemed a little rushed at points. For example, I think he went from his first days as an intern to his third year of residency at the turn of the chapter. Or, at least, I was temporarily confused about the progression. All of a sudden he seemed very comfortable in his environment, and the story quickly migrated from telling of his personal transition to focusing on the patients. I was wondering where his confidence had come from, and at what point he went from feeling like a clueless med student/new physician to a surgeon who could challenge the knowledge of other people.

I must admit that I felt a little disappointed by the amount of detail left out concerning the lifestyle of a surgeon. When I picked this book up, I was hoping to come away with a better understanding of how residency is for someone who chooses this profession. I'm getting married in December, and one of my main apprehensions about surgery (and especially neuro) is the demanding lifestyle, and if I can be successful in both my career and my family at the same time. Dr. Vertosick mentioned his girlfriend/eventual wife only a few times, and those were in passing. I was wondering how he maintained the relationship during, or what arguments and hardships might have come out of the lifestyle he chose? When did he get married and how did that affect his career? How did he deal with the long hours of being a surgeon, and was he able to balance work with other aspects of his life? None of that was in there. I can see why the decision was made to keep the focus on the patients and the procedures, as that is more exciting for the average reader, but I came away feeling like I only got one side of the life of a resident: in the hospital.

Still, Dr. Vertosick writes with care, detail, and a poignant grasp of humanity. He is a person who rips people apart and puts them back together, sometimes with dire results, and he knows it. It really is amazing the types of things he has done, and for that I recommend this book to anyone who can read. Sure, it's about being a doctor, but it's about being human more than anything else. And who can't relate to that?

Scraps

2011-09-09T14:52:00.000-07:00

I used these for a writing exercise for an editor back in February. Apparently, they were too 'violent.' I guess I am forced to agree. The prompt was:

This lesson is designed to test your ability to ‘set the scene’ and write effective imagery:
in one document/file, write a single narrative paragraph that describes in simple, clear imagery [= description of scene only, no dialog, no action, or thoughts/feelings/opinions], each of the following: a child alone in a rooma city in ruinsthree people at a conference table not meant to be the start to a ‘story’… just a scene that the reader will be able to ‘see’ as if there, thanks to your wording… and be sure to give it all a careful proofread/edit before sending...

The small room looked as if someone in a rush had cleaned it. The bed was made, but the superhero-themed blanket was tucked in on one side and hung just short of the floor on the other. The toy chest against the wall overflowed with monster trucks, action figures, and lego blocks. Except for an Elmo shirt and matching pajama pants in a heap at the foot of the bed, all clothes were in the hamper. And on the carpet, right in the middle, was a pink stain the size of a basketball. All of this was in shadow, and a bit of moonlight was the only thing that kept the room from complete darkness. It crept through the window and its glow barely reached the corner beside the door, where the small boy sat with the tip of his head touching the wall. Red welps started at his shoulders, crossed the deep indentations of his ribcage, and stopped at his buttocks. Around them, the skin had started to swell. His hair was wet and stuck to his face in thick lines. Beside him, on the floor, was a long piece of twig. It looked as if it had been painted red.

The fog was thick enough to block out the sun and what was left of New York’s skyline, but it did nothing to cover the bodies. Hundreds of people—from women, to children, to soldiers—were laid out on their backs, arms folded across their chests. Large sections of the street was raised, and between the corpses ran cracks wide enough to drive through. And yet there were no functional cars left, only twisted balls of metal sitting in pools of broken glass. Stop signs, lampposts, and mailboxes were all overturned, and paper littered what had once been the financial district. Huge slabs of concrete and broken buildings jutted up from piles of debris. Some were ablaze, while others only smoldering. The smoke from each disappeared in to the white mist. Everything was broken and in ruin, except for the bodies. Not one of them held even a scratch.

Mrs. Maronee kept her classroom as colorful as her checkered dress. The walls were decorated with alphabet charts, photos of the American presidents, and posters of muppets characters. Small desks were arranged in clusters of four, and each cluster had a different color scheme of greens, blues, and yellows. The blinds on the windows were rolled all the way up and the sun seemed to hit everything in the room. At the center was a red, round table, which was barely big enough for today’s conference with Hank and his mother. The three sat in a small, tight triangle. Their sizes contrasted greatly. Mrs. Maronee wasn’t exactly skinny, but the other woman dwarfed her. The fat of Hank’s mother’s back hugged the top of her chair and thin strands of her gray hair was caught between wood and flesh. The child was tall for his age, and thin. He hung his head low and his face was wet with tears. In the middle of the table was exhibiting A: the body of a baby doll. On its leg, in scribbled ink, was the name ‘Amy.’ Next to it, eyes still open, was the baby doll’s head.

Tommyknockers - Good, but not King's best.

2011-09-05T10:29:00.000-07:00

Tommykockers, tommyknockers, knocking on your door....

I still don’t know what the tommyknockers had to do withthis story, but it made for a cool name. Actually, I do 'know.' Jim Gardener, the closest thing to a main character, was thinking about the Tommyknockers when all this started, and it stuck. In my opinion, it was incorporated a little weirdly. It seems like it was just a good, intriguing title for the book.

But on to the story. To me, Stephen King is the master of small-town tales.Salem’s Lot, IT, his latest Under the Dome. To some degree, I even consider TheStand as in the same category. It was far from small town, but it had the samelarge cast of characters that King developed throughout the book. And that's what I love about these stories. If you notice, all of the books listed about are more than 700 pages, three of them breaching the 1000 page mark. King spends ample time building a diverse ad interesting cast of characters and then plunge them into bizarre situations.

The Tommyknockers is definitely a smalltown novel. And, clocking in at just under 750 pages, it has the length. Ithoroughly enjoyed it for that. Still, it was my least favorite out of the onesI’ve mentioned.

Let’s look at IT. That book was as much about Derry as itwas about Pennywise the clown. Through a thousand pages, you got to know thetown, its people, and what made it special. And you had six main characterswhom each had their specific personalities, quirks, and downfalls. The story got a little bizarre (especially towards the end), but it didn't really matter but the characters were ucking fawesome.

With The Tommyknockers, I didn’t come out feeling like I hadgotten close to knowing that many people, and Haven didn’t taken on the samereality that Derry had. Some of the side stories were interesting, such as the kid who made his brother disappear (permanently) during a magic trick, or the police officer who gave her life to alert the outside world of what was happening in Haven. But I don't think it was focused enough. I wasn't sure that Jim Gardener was supposed to be the main character until more than halfway through. With his drinking problem, his resistance to the power of the ship, and his many internal conflicts, he was interesting enough. But his partner, Bobbi Anderson, was honestly a little boring. I kind of just wanted her to die.

And what about her sister? Sister Anne? Trying too hard, Stephen? He does those rough, malicious characters pretty well, but usually they are three dimensional. Anne Anderson was basically King saying, how vile can I make a female who isn't breaking the law? Even to the end of her life she was snarling like a rabid dog and it's like...really? Do people like this really exist?

The story got a little weird at times, but most of King's stories do. He's a great tale-weaver, but when you zoom away, some of his stories sound a little...off. But that's how the real world is, isn't it? He stays true to what could really happen in extraordinary situations, even if it leaves us wondering...what the fuck? In the end, he delivers the goods where it matters: character development and scaring the shit out of you with his wonderful tension. The Tommyknockers missed the mark on these elements at time, but then again I'm comparing it to other King works, so it had a tough grading rubric to begin with.

'I Remember' - A Poem for My Aunt

2011-09-02T21:50:00.000-07:00

I remember a woman who always smiled
I remember it vividly, back to when I was but a child
I remember the cards she sent on special occasions, always
I remember visiting in summer, and I begin to miss those days
I remember she'd call me to ask about wheat bread, white rice, and saturated fat
She knew her body as God's temple--she really cared about that
I remember how much she and my mom would commune
They were like soulmates, but separated too soon.
I remember crying when i heard she was ill
But when I came to visit, I remember her will
She did crossword puzzles to keep her mind bright
And when I lost hope, she had only God in her sight
I remember her strength as inspiration in time of personal spiritual doubt
The cancer took her body, but it couldn't take the praise from her mouth
I remember a broken heart, because that's what I have now
To express how much she will be missed, words cannot allow
But most of all I remember her love, her laugh, how she held us all dear
And though she is far, she will always be here (points to heart)

Scribophile Posts: "Is Stephen King a Good Writer?" and "Race in Writing."

2011-08-28T18:53:00.000-07:00

These here posts got a lot of comments over at Scribophile, so I thought I'd link to them from here:

Is Stephen King A Good Writer?
Race and Writing

"The Brain is Sexy"

2011-08-28T18:34:00.000-07:00

That's what one of my peers said to me as we were watching neurosurgeons take off the half the top of the neurocranium of some poor victim of a hit and run accident. I'm nowhere near far enough in my education to pretend like I knew exactly what was going on, but the patient had been operated on before and had since suffered sinus problems. The surgeons were going to go back into the skull and plug up the sinus. The procedure was described to me in writing as an "anterior fossa skill base repair in a child with traumatic brain injury and a fracture through the anterior skill base that extends into the frontal recess." Yeah, whatever that means. I only recognize a few words in that, and I think my definition for one of them is wrong (recess is that time you get to play on the swings, right?).

I've been interested in neurosurgery since I was a little kid, when I read Ben Carson's Gifted Hands. Smart black kid reads about another smart black kid growing up and becoming one of the best neurosurgeons in the world? C'mon, I ate that shit up! Since, I have strayed from the path of not only neurosurgery or even surgery for that matter, but medicine as a whole. That's another story, and the end result is I'm back on that path now. Being in the operating room with those surgeons was inspiring. But I was only there for a short period of their life. They are in the hospital at 5am to prepare for rounds, give updates on all the patients at 6am, and then go to see them at around 7. Surgeries start at 7:30 am, and in neurosurgery, the longest ones can go until midnight. I've heard the average surgery is 4 to 5 hours long.

There was another case where a 17-year old boy with bad epilepsy had been implanted with electrodes from his brain to a fMRI. They monitored his seizure activity, saw where it was located, and determined if the area of the brain was safe for excision. Unfortunately, they found that the seizures were coming from the locomotive and language area of the brain, and doing anything in that area would be too risky. I watched as they cracked open his already sawed-through skull and removed the electrodes. When they peeled back the dura--the thin layer of membrane covering the brain--it was the first time I'd seen a brain in person. It was beyond cool, to see in person the thing that controls our humanity. I wish they could have done more for the boy, but even the ability to identify the source of a problem, determine if it can be fixed, and if so, actually go in and fix it....that's crazy to me. And awesome.

The brain boggles my mind. That thought by itself is crazy. The brain...thinking about itself. Fully utilizing a process we don't understand to try and...well, to try and understand. Then I look over at my dog, Rambo, with his glowing eyes and propensity to pee five times a day whether I'm around to take him outside or not, and I think about how he'll never even come close to understanding himself the way I do. Or, at least, asking the questions that lead to understanding/the knowledge that you just can't, in fact, begin to understand. Yet his brain make those same connections (just less of them). But still, it's so limited. If you think about it, we're all kind of a prisoner of our brains. We perceive the outside world through a series of interpretations. Analogous to someone who has been blind his whole life, what else is there to perceive that we're missing out on? How much of the world is as we actually see it? Who knows.

If you're religious, I think it's fair to say that the brain is the closest connection to our soul. We often say 'with all your heart', but no...if you get a heart transplant, you're still you. Get your leg amputated, you're still you. If I take out a slice of your brain...well, then, you essentially become a little bit more like something else.

These are my random thoughts, transcribed over a series of a few days. The brain and my recent experiences in the hospital have definitely given me ideas for stories. We'll see what happens.

A Night in the Hospital

2011-08-15T15:34:00.000-07:00

I'm writing this from UC Davis Medical Center. No, I don't have my laptop out, or even here with me. That would be rude, not to mention hell to carry around. It's three a.m. and I'm shadowing a trauma surgeon on overnight service. She is currently putting in notes for all of her 25 patients, so she doesn't mind that I'm busying myself with other things. She's a surgery intern, meaning that this is her first year and she is still nice. Who knows, maybe she will continue to be nice as her career goes on, but I don't think it's a coincidence that all of the 1st years I've encountered have been bright eyed and helpful while the Chief Resident...well, it's best to just stay out of their way.

Trauma is interesting. It's the unexpected to the extreme. Most illnesses give the patient and the family (and, for that matter, the physician) time to accept and understand what's going on. Even the ailments that strike relatively fast will still allow some time for transition. Trauma strikes fast. One minute you're planning your vacation for summer and then the next you're being stripped of you clothes by an ER doctor and having needles poking all over you.

As you get past a certain age in life, there is an expectancy of getting ill. If you are obese, don't exercise, and eat Twinkies everyday, becoming diabetic isn't necessarily a shock. Nor is a heart attack. It's rattling, and life changing, and sad, and tragic, but inevitably we all have to go someway, somehow.

But traumatic accidents don't hold the same bias that common diseases do. We just came back from visiting a patient who was in a bike accident. He's a 41 year old male who looks 31. He had multiple broken rips and a tube in his chest to drain excess fluid from his lungs. "You have a biker's heart," the surgeon said as she listened with her stethoscope. He was inquisitive, and interested, and she explained how the hearts of athletes are used to pushing out large amounts of blood, and the sound is different. Overall, his prognosis looked good. He was a little beaten up, but he'd go home soon. At least, that was my impression.

Earlier tonight I saw a 23 year old get a neck scan because she was in a car accident. I remember looking at her information and noticing she was born in 1988, just a year after me. A 6 year old deformed child hit his head after falling 10 feet from the top of a slide. He came in with a Glasgow Coma Scale (GCS) of 7, which is pretty bad. They intubated him and did x-rays and CT scans. The mother was the calmest I've ever seen a parent in the ER. It was obvious that she was not new to rushing her son to the hospital. I don't know what happened to the kid.

Life hits fast here. And then sometimes it is depressing for other reasons. There was a a 15-year old stab wound victim. He was Latino, and had one hell of a mouth on him. He cursed out whoever he could, was uncooperative, and told his mother to 'get the fuck away from me' several times.

In case you didn't notice by my picture in the two right hand corner, I'm a black guy. Can you guess what race most of the gunshot and stab wound victims that come in are? Latino and African American. On one hand I feel that I can relate to these youth more than the white attendings, residents, and nurses who are administering care. I'm a minority, I grew up in DC, my cousin was gunned down in its streets. I can't totally relate to their lifestyle: I can't say I was on the edge of going down the wrong path, because honestly I never was. But I've been around people who were.

Yet at the same time I couldn't help but feel a little uncomfortable. And, yes, ashamed. Embarrassed. There were times when I wondered how many people in the room were thinking that me and the patient were cut from the same tree. I wondered if anyone held back a comment or a joke they would have normally said if there wasn't a minority around. There's just a big disconnect between patient and doctor in these situations. What makes it worse is the white, educated doctor taking care of the ignorant, foul-mouthed street thug who has little chances of ever amounting to anything. Or, at least, I'm sure that's how most would perceive it to be. It makes me think that maybe, one day, I'd be able to make a difference in such a patient's life. Perhaps that's naive, to think they would listen to me any better just because I'm black.

There was this one patient who had been hit by a car while biking. He'd recently had a tracheostomy, so he couldn't talk. He had been bedridden for some time and had developed a bad sore on his buttocks. Over time, laying in one spot can put more pressure on the capillaries than they are designed to handle and it causes the skin to die really slowly. Apparently, even when we sleep normally and think we are perfectly still, we wiggle around enough to keep this from happening. Not this patient. There was a hole above his anus large enough to stick two fists through. It looked painful. His entire back was tattooed, and he was missing rows of teeth. He was skinny and his skin hung off like rags. After the surgeon checked his wound, I asked her how old the patient was while taking a guess of my own: 87.

He was 52. When we went back later to change the dressing, he had shat himself. He couldn't talk, he couldn't get out of bed, and he didn't have control over his own bowels. He had effectively been aged 40 years. I felt sorry for him.

We went over to pediatrics next. I could tell the kid had been in there for a long time as soon as I stepped into the room. Posters on the wall. Balloons in every corner. The surgeon knew his name without having to think about it. And I guess now I do, too.

The visit was brief. It was around 4 am and the kid was sleep. The doctor quickly listened to his heart and lungs and then we left. She then told me he has been in a boating accident. He was being pulled on a small raft down a river on a leisurely family outing when he hit a rock, and, just like that, his spinal cord suffered irreparable damage. He's paralyzed from the waste down. He's currently learning how to deal with his condition. He has to use a self-administered catheter to urinate. His bowels also don't work as voluntarily as they used to. Specialists came in just to help him understand the fact that he would never walk again.

I can only imagine. I have a hard time accepting it myself. I asked about three times in three different ways if the kid would ever have a hope. Even now, after three no's, a part of me feels like something should be possible for the kid, somewhere down the line. But I'm no doctor. Not yet.

The kid was 15.

There were other interesting patients throughout the night. An older psych patient wanted to sleep on the floor of the waiting room and the police were called to deal with her. She was on 24-hour superveillance, and she didn't like the idea of eyes always watching her. She wanted to be discharged, and wanted to have a man's company again. The surgeon sat down and talked to her for about thirty minutes, explaining the conditions of her stay and assuring that she would try her best to get her discharged. It was truly a display of patience.

There was another psych patient who had beat up a couple nurses just a few days before, leaving them hospitalized. He had just been taken off restraints again and, apparently, he was off his psych meds. Sounds fun, right? He looked just like Mel Gibson in Braveheart, only hairier, and bigger.

I stayed with the intern all night while she checked on patients, administered physical exams, updated notes in the computer system, and responded to the many, many questions the nurses continued to have. At about 6am she presented her patients to her attending and the rest of the trauma surgery team, and then went home to get some rest before coming back that night to do it all over again. When she presented, she was an intern again, a little nervous and hesitant about the questions asked of her, and constantly being grilled on hypothetical situations by the attending. But during the night she was the one everyone looked to--from nurses to patients--to have the answers, to know what to do. And she did. It was inspiring, to say the least.

That, and a tad bit tiring.

A Year Goes By Fast

2011-08-13T17:32:00.000-07:00

Without even knowing it, it's been a year since I posted on this blog. Shame on me, right? I said I'd start a video blog, but that fell through. Honestly, who the hell wants to see me just talk anyway? I think I was just excited about my new iPhone. It's still here, minus a piece or plastic or two missing from the back. And the home button sucks.

I've still been writing. My first thought is to say not as much as I want to, but that's not completely true. Not as focused as I want to is more accurate. I've written a number of short stories (10+) since last year, and have started a new novel. Not to mention I went through the hell of trying to get a book published last year. I got a few agents to request more pages, and one (or two) agents even requested to read the whole thing. At the time I was excited, but now I figure they must have been half-crazy. Still, it's a stepping stone. I might be back at square one, but it's like getting halfway through a video game and having someone hit the reset button. You have to go through all that shit again, but you know how to get to where you left off faster.

There are a number of changes in my life worth noting:

1) I'm engaged. I popped the question in June and I'm getting married in December (yes, this December...there's a very logical explanation on why it's so close, I promise!). I couldn't be happier....well, if weddings were about $15k cheaper I could be a tad happier.

2) I'm taking classes to apply to medical school. I'm actually writing this post from a Starbucks in Sacramento. I'm doing a Pre-Medical Surgical Internship at UC Davis Medical School. In about 90 minutes I'm going in for a 7-12 hour shift to shadow trauma doctors and surgeons. Cool, huh?

3) I'm writing children stories for this new company. I can't say much about it (hell, because I hardly know that much), but I'm getting paid $100 a story and they should launch later this year. I'll definitely be promoting my work on it when it's made public. All I know is that the stories I'm writing will be illustrated. How cool is that?

4) I'm working on a new novel. I wrote 80 pages long-hand, decided it sucked, and started over at the beginning. Now I'm actually planning out the novel and the characters. I'm excited about it, and I'm even more excited about the idea I have for the one after this.

With those changes, I think that this blog might transform into a chronicling of both my writing journey and my medical journey. I don't want to think of them as separate, necessarily, because they both blend to define the most important journey: my journey. My experiences in the medical field will no doubt influence my writing, and my creativity and the way I view the world will no doubt influence my impact on the world.

So here....we...GO!

New Video Blog, to be posted here

2010-08-10T05:54:00.000-07:00

What's up world. I haven't been doing my blog justice, and it's for a good reason. I've been writing pretty diligently, so sometimes it is hard to sit down and write some more. Hopefully this new feature/aspect will add some vivacity to this blog so that it doesn't die.

Let me know what you think about the video...it's my first, so be easy.

The Teacher

2010-06-27T12:24:00.000-07:00

“Get the fuck out the car.”

I cursed. It wasn’t at the cold of the handgun pressed against my temple—that could turn sizzling hot at any second, and then who would I be to complain? It was damn near four in the morning and I had been just about ready to call it a night. Had my hand on the key and the key in the ignition. Now it seemed like I’d be up to see the sunset afterall.

Then again, I might not.

“I said get the fuck out the car!”

I looked up at the tense hand hovering just outside my window. He was black, like me. His finger was wrapped around the trigger, tight and ready. That could mean that either he was more than willing to turn my thinking station into a bowl of torn flesh if I didn’t comply, or that this whole experience was just as scary for him as it was for me.

I put up my hands, slowly. Quick movements get you shot.

“Look, buddy. Whatever you want.” But I didn’t move. I looked past the gun and to the man behind it. His face was paranoid, but angry. This was taking too long, already.

“Don’t look at me,” he said. His voice was firm enough, but I could detect some doubt there. It was the voice of someone who meant business but might not actually know what business meant.

But instead of turning away, I looked past him. My eyes grew wide. In a moment that could have very possibly startled a bullet into my head, I leaned forward and yelled, “Help! Police! Over here!”

“Shit!” The gunslinger whirled his torso but kept the gun surprisingly steady. Before he could realize his mistake, I reached between the car seat and the door, where I kept Susan. I had practiced the movement dozens of times, but never with my heart pushing to overdrive. It felt like forever to me. If the gunslinger had been watching, to him it would have been over faster than a bullet from a chamber.

Ah, the relativity of time.

A few days ago I’d researched what happens to human muscles when damaged—more specifically, when a bullet rips through at the speed of ‘you’re fucked.’ Research may be the wrong word, as my process consisted of a string of Google queries. The only answers I found in my short romp were from a plethora of Internet experts, in other words, pubescent teenage boys who read Wikipedia all day long in between looking at porn. Half the experts said that a bullet through the wrist of a gun-wielding hand would fire for sure and half said that there was only a 50% chance that the muscles would constrict and a 50% chance that everything would go stiff.

I thought they were good odds.

The blast of the gun left a ringing in my ears for days, but then I swear I hardly heard it. It was immediately followed by cursing. I didn’t waste time: I pushed out of the car, the door hitting the wounded predator turned pray on the hip and knocking him over with such ease it could have been comical. But I was in no mood to laugh. In those seconds between staring down the barrel of a gun and standing over this wounded predator with his weapon pointed at his head, a fire had blazed in my chest and my brain had frozen over. It all came together to a hard lump in my throat and with every throb of that lump, my anger grew and grew and my sanity melted.

I waited for the man to stop screaming and cursing. He was rocking on the ground like a ladybug turned on to its back. He was clutching a bloody hand, which now only had three fingers, possibly one and a half. I couldn’t tell if the middle finger was just capped with blood or capped with nothing. His gun had dropped into my car—I’d heard it. I made a mental note to share my real-life experience with the internet professors.

The initial shock was passing—or, at least, flowing out with the tide—and the man began to squirm away.

“You try to rob me?” I said. “You stick a gun in my face and try to rob me?” The man turned and began to awkwardly crawl on his knees while trying to cradle one hand. He looked like a wounded animal, which is pretty much what he was. It was although he had forgotten I was there and there was in the world was the pavement, the night, and the scream in his hand. That just angered me more.

I kicked him hard in the ribs. He cursed and fell over like an upturned beetle.

“I’ll kill you. I’ll fucking kill you.” The intent was all there and more, but he believed the validity of his words just as much as I did. I was the one with the gun and I’d already proven I had what it takes to use it. He hadn’t. Maybe in some other time and place he had passed initiation, but in my world he was still a juvenile.

“Get in the car,” I said. The man just looked at me. His hand was gushing more blood than I’d ever seen outside of television and movies.

There was a second when everything hanged in the balance. The only movement was the puddle of blood expanding from where his chest met the concrete. I don’t even think either one of us breathed. (also his eyes moved). He debated behind those eyes, went through more than a dozen possibilities, but all of them came back to the same optionless moment. And we switched places. I was on the ground, gushing blood, only instead of standing with the gun cocked, the man with the gun was perusing the pockets of my coat, my pants, my life, not caring that I was bleeding to death. And instead of telling me to get in to the car, in my fading universe I could hear the rumble of the engine I’d been hearing every morning for seven years.

Then the moment passed.

I lowered the gun, sighed, and weakly gestured toward the car. “Get in.”

The man obeyed.

Dear Mother

2010-03-30T23:00:00.003-07:00

(Note: No, I do not need to get on anti-depressants. This is actually the start of an idea for a novel)

You did nothing wrong. I've carried around this piece of paper for days wondering how to start it. This is the only way that feels right. You raised me, invested your time in to me, and to see 20 years of your life's work fail must do nothing but leave that deadly question: what did I do wrong?

Nothing.

This was inevitable. I know it has never felt that way. I went to a good school, got a good job, and just got married! You and aunt Terry alwyas talk about how I bright my outlook on life is. I've hid my emotions well. Part of it has been because I love you all and I know my pain wouldn't just be my pain. Most of it is becuae I just wouldn't be able to explain why. Do you understand? My whole existence is a marathon on an internal hell I can't seem to climb out of and for he longest time I had no clue why.

Now I do.

Attached to this letter is Dr. Milligan's diagnosis. There is an imbalance in my brain that makes it hard for me to feel joy and easy for the other way around. This is not becuase of drugs or upbringing, just a random disorder that clicked in to my world sometime around sophormore year. Nothing helps. Believe me, I've tried. Milliford doesn't agree with my way of solving it, but he admits there's nothing else I can do.

This is selfish of me, I know. I've thought about that, too, and so I've made arrangements. You had me young and lord knows you sacrificed everything for me, so I want you to have the chance to see your only son become a man, have a family of his own, be happy.

I found someone who's willing to help. Her name is katrice, and she's extraordinarily become an integral part of my life throuh this process. She's attended my sessions, and i've lead her to believe I will be okay. But the arrangements have been made. She's pregnant with my child and when he's born, he'll be yours. His name is Michael. My condition is not genetic, but rather an anamoly, and katrice's family's medical history is spotless. You're still young and I hope you can come to think of him as your own. Come to think of him as me. I already do. My second chance.

I don't think even I can imagine the pain this is causing you. But I've done everything to make sure you will feel happiness again one day, something I just cannot do. Please take my gift and know that, if anything, I am finally happy.

To second chances,
-Michael

Daniel (Draft)

2010-03-26T22:54:00.000-07:00

Earth Angel, Earth Angel, will you be mine?

I love this song. I first heard it at my high school dance, where I had my first kiss and the rest of my life became set. Do you remember that moment for you? When you knew the rest of your life was determined--not exactly that you knew what that life would be, just that the path was set and you're ticket was booked for the ride. That's how I felt that night. The beat of the music, his gentle and cutely awkward sway, the soft touch of lips...it was magical.

I wish Daniel could know how grateful I am for that moment. I wish he could know that he was my first, no, not in the way that most people past a certain age talk about their first, but in the way that your heart always remembers. I never had the chance to tell him how glad I was he decided to save the last dance for himself out of respect for me, and how it made me shine inside even the more to be able to fill that void when I decided to show. I never had the chance to tell him how special he made me feel. I never got the chance to tell him that his singing of the words--

(Earth Angel, Earth Angel, the one I adore)

--while looking into my eyes defined my existence. I never got the chance to tell him I loved him.

And I never will.

I sometimes stare up at the stars and wish the dead and the living could talk. The embroidery of light in the black sky knows my frustrating--billions of stars visible in the same span of two eyes (one when I decide to close one and not the other, which I do often when looking at stars) yet they are cut off from each other by a barrier which I can see, but they cannot. The space between them so small I can put my finger over it, yet so inscrutably intraversable.

This is how I feel. That something so simple as the shutting down of the machine that is the body, as easily done as taking the engine out of car, could cease the development of two lovers. Yes, I loved him before I had the chance to love, beyond the point where he could even be loved.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, I miss Daniel. And I always will.

But--

Earth Angel

I smile and look upon the stars again. I close my eyes and put myself back on that dance floor, the perfect moment. I am there again, knowing my haphazardous life has finally clicked into place on a puzzle I can't wait to finish. Knowing the kiss will come, loving when it does. Knowing that he wants to touch me, pull me closer, but he doesn't because he's a gentleman, even when we kiss, he's a gentleman.

I don't think about the end of the song. The end of ends, a thing inevitable for all. I don't think about how when it is over I will have to leave and Daniel will still be there. I don't think about the moment would have defined my life, and how impossible it was for it to then. I don't think about that he can't feel me, or I can't feel him, or that he can't see me. I tell myself he knows I am here. I don't think about how I will have to pass over after the dance, how this will be my last moment. I don't think about the car slamming into my body the day before. These things are out of my mind, because that's what happens when you define your life, even if that life is too late.

All I focus on is Earth Angel, and how that is me.

A story a day will keep the (brain) doctors at bay.

2010-03-23T12:10:00.001-07:00

SO, I haven't NOT been writing. I've actually been writing a good deal. I'm typing up my long-ass manuscript that still has no name (Afraid of the Dark = pending, but that's kind of cliche). I hope to finish it this week so I can read right through it this weekend and start on that second draft.

Reading, too. I finished Ghost Story by Peter Straub, almost done with Dark Tower II by Stephen King, and have listened to Mossflower by Brian Jacques, Duma Key by Stephen King (bomb) and am currently listening to Hell House by Richard Matheson (also bomb).

But enough about the past. To quote Jay-Z (another writer, he just doesn't use a pen), loiterers should be arrested. So on to the next one....

And the next one for me is that I have to stay fresh. I need to write everyday and even though I am doing that with typing up my story, I think I also need to write something NEW everyday. So, I have committed to writing a short story everyday. I've already started with today's six-sentence long contribution: Michael. As you can guess, length will vary. Also, I might do it so that a story goes on over multiple days, but I'm at least shooting for a different one every week.

So, dear reader, stay tuned.

Michael

2010-03-23T11:57:00.000-07:00

by. Justin C. Key

A brown shoe in the middle of the road. Behind, the sirens whirr, the crowd is confused, and the hysterics of the loved will echo long after the day is done. With its toddler Nike sign and glow in the dark strings, the forgotten shoe is the antithesis of joy, yet it holds the happiest memories. The car's dank oil travels the tar and circles around the sole, but never touches. Night will fall before a suit takes it away. Goosing his skin, behind him sad wind whispers through insightful trees: Michael.

Published in '6S Review"

2010-01-31T17:51:00.000-08:00

There's this pretty popular site, http://www.sixsentences.blogspot.com/, which invites authors to submit short stories in six sentences. I've submitted to them a few times and recently one of my entries was accepted. Robert McEvily, the editor/founder of the site, told me it would appear in the first issue of The 6S Review, a collection offered in book format.

Either way, you can check it out here: https://www.createspace.com/3426567

House of Leaves

2010-01-31T17:42:00.000-08:00

Short version: Shit was crazy!

Longer version: Shit was crazy!

That was one crazy book. If you take an academic thesis, a horror story, and a journal of a psychomaniac, throw them in a blender, and choose 'liquefy,' you'd get House of Leaves....after you let it sit for a while, of course.

At it's core, the book is about a house that is bigger on the inside than it appears on the out. This is a complete understatement, as points in the novel, this house holds corridors that rival the diameter of the Earth itself. Still, a fairly simple story, right? Well, the next layer is that this is actually a story about a blind man's experience with the story of the house (presented through film). Not done yet. There's another guy, who finds the writings on the old bling guy after his death, and he adds footnotes detailing not only his own thoughts about the text, but aspects of his adequately troubled life.

It's an interesting read, if not frustrating at times. The Navidson Record--written by the old bling guy--is a combination of straight narrative and analytic essay, complete with footnotes. It can quickly go from feeling like you're reading a regular novel to a paper for a college psychology course. The weirdest part (and maybe I just missed the explanation somewhere in the text) is that this dude is supposedly writing all this shit down about a documentary....but he's blind. It's like a deaf guy doing an analysis on the opera.

After about 100 ages, the report gets even weirder. Format goes out the window. You'll have footnotes at the top of the page, whole blocks of text missing, pages with only one paragraph, one sentence, one WORD....crazy shit, like I said.

Johnny Truant finds the scattered papers of The Navidson Record and adds his own two cents as more footnotes. We get a glimpse into his life--lots of sex, drugs, and mental problems--which gets progressively worse. He is suffering ill effects from reading The Navidson Record, like nightmares he can't remember, paranoia, and the inability to do anything in life but wallow in his own depression.

Johnny also has some of the hardest parts to get through. At times he just rambles on, stream of consciousness. It paints a great picture of his mental state, but it's jarring to try and get through 3 pages that's only about one or two sentences (I shit you not). He gets caught up on a topic or a thought or an experience, and keeps going and going until you can't really understand what he is saying anymore, when the thoughts have become more imagery than narrative facts, leaving the reader lost in a sea of words that change, deform, devour all mental states until the brain can't take anymore, yelling for freedom, yelling for some kind of peace, or maybe not yelling at all but wandering off to some other place while the eyes are left with the job of scanning the words but never really processing them, hundreds and hundreds of ideas, thoughts, emotions, wasted like a drunken whore.

Yeah....something like that.....times 10. I literally groaned everytime I turned a page and saw that it was another episode of Johnny's ramblings. It's a shame, too, because I would usually blank out during these times, and I might have missed some deep insights.

As for scare factor, I've heard people say it's a really creepy book. It is, but it also has too much going on for me to really feel the brunt of that fear. The most disturbing part by far is not even a part of the main narrative. It is a collection of letters Johnny's mother sent him from an insane asylum. Now THOSE will leave an imprint on you, especially an encoded section that describes unmentionable horrors. For this alone, the author gains loads of credibility in the genre of horror in a way that's believable and disturbingly real.

I'm not going to go on too much about this book, but know that I enjoyed the experience and think that it's one of those rare gems where multiple readings will do it the most justice. If you decide to pick up the book, think of it more as a piece of art then the conventional word-laced entertainment. It's not something you can jet through. Even if you could, by doing do you'd be missing half the fun.

Committment

2010-01-28T14:27:00.000-08:00

The short story is, I'm employed. The long story, well, that will come with time.

I have made a commitment to write in this blog daily. It should be easier now since I have the cushion of employment and any free time I have I don't feel like I should be looking for work.

Posts to look forward to:

Finishing of cross-country trip.
Unemployment chronicles - basically telling about being unemployed....entertaining, trust.
Tom's Life
Book reviews (just finished House of Leaves)
Short Stories
Commentary on my own writing projects
Six Sentences Publication
Movie/Video games reviews (got my Xbox back...and don't feel too guilty to use it).
Dream Journal in full effect.

Bring it on.

The End of the World

2009-12-16T13:40:00.000-08:00

Had a dream the other night that the world was ending. Actually, there was some other, relatively regular dream-stuff going on before then, but the memory of it as funny, as most dreams are. What I do remember is walking outside, looking up, and seeing another planet filling the sky-view. It was pretty crazy, with asteroids and debris flying all over the place. I woke up soon after seeing it, and went on to wonder what would happen if such an event were ever to occur.

Of course, it would be the end of the world, but would both surfaces boil as they enter each other's atmospheres? Would the gravitational pull of each cancel out and cause everything to launch out in to space long before impact? At initial impact, would you be launched out into space?

Trippy scenario.

-Justin C. Key

Still here, still writing.

2009-12-16T13:31:00.000-08:00

The job search sucks. As I was telling my friend, it's like playing one of those long RPGs (think Pokemon), putting in 40 or so hours, leveling up all your little furry friends, and then BAM! Save is deleted. Maybe you dropped it in the toilet or a lunchbox juice exploded in your pants pocket during flag football (actually happened to me some 10 years ago). Either way, now you have to start all over. The first time, it was fun, exciting, intriguing to see yourself progress and get that much closer to victory.

But the thought of starting from scratch and doing everything again...it's too much. Especially if there's a good possibility that the save will just magically delete itself again.

That's how this job thing feels. In the beginning, you get out about 20 job apps a day. You're excited about your leads, feel good when you get called in for interviews, and at the end of the week you feel like you're that much closer to being employed. Then stuff starts to fall through, other candidates get picked, and people send you e-mails that start with 'Thank you for applying to...' Yeah, those can't end good. Before you know it, it's square one, and going through all those endless pages of job openings isn't as exciting anymore.

That's my short rant and basically where I am in life. But, the good news is that I'm still writing, in one form or the other. I'm still determined to be the next Stephen King, so watch out world! I'm now blogging for WatchMissedEpisodes.com, basically doing opinion pieces about some of the television shows they feature. Anything to get my name out there, really. Still at Scribophile.com and TheCelebrityCafe.com. Still have my novels that I should go ahead and try to get published already. Once I have a job, though, it'll be a lot easier to justify spending time on these types of things.

On the bright side, things are going pretty well. My hope was to have a job before Christmas, but sometimes things just don't work out that way. But I do have a wonderfully supportive family and friend-base. And my typing fingers still work, so what's there to complain about?

-Justin C. Key

Job Search by Justin Key

2009-12-14T13:42:00.000-08:00

I looked up from behind my computer--my computer which holds all the woes and sorrows from the past three months of job-hunting--because he had caught my eye. If it weren't for the smell, one would think he'd been born from a cloud of dust. Oblivious to the colorful life around him, he reached into the slit of the trashcan, and I winced. As he found his lunch as casually as teenagers find love, I tried to imagine what could possibly happen for my own life's path to swerve to match his, but it was about as futile as the deaf wondering what it's like to hear. He walked away, muttering incoherencies, off to fight the cold. As for me, I found it hard to look at my computer any more that day, but not so hard to live.

Under the Dome Review at TheCelebrityCafe.com

2009-12-11T11:05:00.000-08:00

You can find it here: Under the Dome by Stephen King: A Review

I thoroughly enjoyed reading it and may write more about it here later. Next book: House of Leaves.

Weird Dream....But I Can't Remember It.

2009-12-10T18:16:00.000-08:00

I just know that when I woke up, I didn't feel real. Part of it may be because I just started reading House of Leaves (Joey, if you're reading this, it's only because I finished the sample of the Languages book), I had gotten through the introduction, which was pretty creepy.

On top of that, my arm was asleep. So the first few minutes of waking up, I felt like I didn't exist. It was like what a robot that just gained self-awareness may feel like. Creepy.

The Ball

2009-12-10T11:15:00.000-08:00

Never talk back
But I say a lot
In my eyes, my run, the sniff
Sniff
Sniff
Of my nose, rhyme-time-sublime with the wag of my...

TAIL!

Aw hell, there goes a ball,

Round as the world, but with so more

joy

(more joy than a boy with a toy,

i can rhyme, too cus I feel the spark

us dogs, we do, we do)

Cus that's what I know, a thing you may lack

lack

Because you're mind...or brain, I never knew which was the same...it

WORKS

TOO

WELL

Works as good as a nuke, or a gun, or...what do they call it?

Wars?

But there's my ball again, rolling and rolling like life rolls on.

I'm better than you, and you're sorrow, and cries

Even your creation, who cares when soaked with lies

LIES

....lies

Yet best thing about the wag of the tail, the feel of the fur

Is I complete you. I can't heal the pain, the violence, the flaws

But I can catch the ball and replace the tears

With happiness slob.

Movies to Look Forward to in 2010...And those to stray away from.

2009-12-09T08:02:00.000-08:00

You can read the full story here: Blockbusters of 2010: The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. I wrote it myself and the list of movies (without descriptions) is below.

The Sequels:

Wall Street 2 'Money Never Sleeps': April 23. Movie Page

Iron Man 2: May 7. Toy Preview

Shrek Forever After: May 21. Movie Page

Sex and the City 2: May 28 Movie Page

Toy Story 3: June 18 Theatrical Trailer

The Twilight Saga: Eclipse: June 30 Movie Page

Predators: July 7. Movie Page

Little Fockers: July 30 Movie Page

Step Up 3D: August 6. Behind the Scenes Battle.

Friday the 13th, Part 2: August 13. IGN Interview

The Chronicles of Narnia: The Voyage of the Dawn Treader: December 10 Movie Page

Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Part 1: November 19 Newly Released Teaser Trailer

Tron Legacy: December 17. Theatrical Trailer

Hairspray 2: Unknown Movie Page

The Remakes

The Wolfman: February 21. Theatrical Trailer

Alice in Wonderland: March 5. Theatrical Trailer

Nightmare on Elm Street: April 20. Teaser Trailer

Robin Hood: May 14 On the Set

The Karate Kid: June 11. Movie Page

Footloose: June 18.Movie Page

Red Dawn: November 24. Movie Page

Gulliver's Travels: December 22. Movie Page

Total Recall: Unknown

The Adaptations:

Prince of Persia: May 28 Theatrical Trailer

The A Team: June 11 More Movie Info

The Last Airbender: July 2. Theatrical Trailer

The Sorcerer's Apprentice: July 16. Theatrical Trailer

The Green Hornet: December 22. Movie Page

The Originals:

Daybreakers: January 8. Theatrical Trailer

The Book of Eli: January 15 Theatrical Trailer

Legion: January 22 Theatrical Trailer

Tooth Fairy: January 22. Theatrical Trailer

Shutter Island: February 19. Theatrical Trailer

Date Night: April 9. Theatrical Trailer

Kick Ass: April 16. Theatrical Trailer

The Expendables: April 23. More Movie Info

Grown Ups: June 25. Teaser Trailer

Inception: July 16 Theatrical Trailer

Salt: July 23. Theatrical Trailer

Centurion: August 27. Movie Page

-Justin C. Key

Under the Dome: A Writer's Analysis

2009-12-09T07:06:00.000-08:00

Hey all. Wrote up a blog post for Under the Dome yesterday for Scribophile.com. I go in to how the book effected me as a writer and, more importantly, the types of things a writer can learn from reading it. I'm still brooding over my experience and how I feel about it and will write a review for thecelebritycafe.com later today.

Here's the link: Under the Dome: A Writer's Analysis.

-Justin Key

Finished Under the Dome

2009-12-08T09:41:00.000-08:00

Wow. it definitely went in a an unexpected direction. But it was satisfying (mostly). I'm working on an analysis for Scribophile.com now and a review later for TheCelebrityCafe.com

-Justin Key

The bodies are racking up in Under the Dome...

2009-12-03T11:06:00.000-08:00

Amidst Thanksgiving, Internet-outage, and the never-ending job search, I haven't been able to read as much as I would have liked. Either way, I am up to about page 750 or so, so about 3/4 of the way through. And when I can read it, I can't put it down.

And the body-count! I guess I should have expected that this wouldn't be a comedic romp like The Simpsons' version, but dang! Murders left, right, suicides piling up, planes crashing. And all for because of a big ass dome!

It's only been 4 days and some change in the book, so King wasn't lying when he said it only takes up a week. Some things that progress don't seem like they would happen that fast (like the mini-global warming effect or how the town has become so quickly divided...also, there's a character in it that is sick and it seems like they go from relatively okay to terminal in just a couple days, whereas in real life it would take months).

Also, some of the things that are happening seem kind of ridiculous, but more in a way that says 'this could really happen if a town was put in this position and its kind of ridiculous that humans could stoop so low.'

Also, I know now the origin of the dome. Or, at least, what category it falls under. It was what I guessed from the beginning, as it seemed the only logical explanation. There's still a good amount of mystery about it and the person who discovered the source was just thrown in jail, so we'll see how that pans out.

Even though this book is long as life, it's getting to that point where I'm wondering how everything will work out only 300 pages. It feels like I'm more in the middle than rounding out to the end. But I have faith and hopefully the ending isn't a 'hey, the beings responsible for the sudden application of the dome decided to suddenly take it away, problems solved!' It would be a lot more satisfying if the town fights for and earns its own escape.

Social Media and Writing.

2009-12-02T17:25:00.000-08:00

I just put up a new post at Scribophile.com about social media, the changing landscape of writing, and what it means for authors.

Find it here.

Lost: What's to Come.

2009-12-02T17:23:00.000-08:00

I'm a big Lost fan. I've watched every episode and, once I get on my feet, plan to rewatch every one before the new season starts. I just wrote a feature article on it for TheCelebrityCafe.com.

You can find it here: http://www.thecelebritycafe.com/features/36469.html

Let me know what you guys think.

Investigation...

2009-12-02T13:14:00.000-08:00

I read this this morning in the New York Times. It really has us shaken up. It's only a 1/1000 chance that she'll be picked I copied and pasted:

As Families Re-Unite, Congress Calls For Interrogation Lottery

WASHINGTON — The Senate voted 71 to 28 Wednesday morning to initiate a lottery to randomly choose 100,000 Americans from the 150 million that disappeared last Friday for questioning and further research. The decision was made just under an hour ago, but there is already huge uproar from across the country.

Families woke up Monday morning to the return of their loved ones, a nation-wide phenomenon that is in many ways more baffling than the original disappearances. After shock came a relief that swept over the country as more and more reports came in, suggesting that all of the missing have returned.

Officials immediately attempted to get a hold of the situation, which left half of the country's population MIA for 72 hours, by requesting of anyone who remembers anything to come forth. The result has been more than disappointing, prompting Congress to consider a more involved approach. The newly approved initiative will generate a lottery to choose 100,000 individuals to be called in for questioning and to possibly be kept for research. It is unknown when the lottery or subsequent activities will take place.

"America is healing right now," President Obama said in an official statement. "And we want families to have the time to heal, reconnect with their loved ones, and grieve over those who were lost. But eventually we need to assess the situation, discover the cause, and move towards ensuring that nothing of this magnitude ever happens again."

As part of the bill, Congress also pushed for heavy emphasis on Stanford University, where 90% of the student population went missing. It's reported that all 13,500 are set to be automatically included in research procedures.

-Tom Friedman

She's back!!!

2009-11-30T18:54:00.000-08:00

Everyone's back!! It's a little scary, but most of all I'm just so damn excited. I can't keep my hands from shaking. But she's back, sleeping in the bed right behind me.

How did it happen? Hell if I know. But I couldn't sleep last night either at first. I must have been drifting off around sun-rise because I felt like I was falling. And then I started to hear whispers, you know, the kind you hear when you're sleep-deprived but too tired to really sleep? I shook myself out of it and went to the bathroom. When I came back I almost pissed my pants even though I had just gone.

She was there.

Sleep in the bed.

I don't know why. Maybe I thought I was dreaming (it had all just been a dream), or maybe I thought that if I woke her she wouldn't be real, but I slipped into bed, wrapped my arms around her, and went to sleep. She was still there when I woke up.

The amazing thing is that she doesn't remember anything. She thought it was Friday morning. It was like 50 First Dates, kind of, where Drew Barrymore woke up every day not remembering anything that happened the day before. Soon the whole family--both families--were there and it was a little overwhelming for her, especially since she thought I was joking at first. I think her father's tears really got her into believing it all.

That and the news. The people who were missing are popping up in full force...and no one remembers ANYTHING. As you probably know, the day since has been pretty hectic. I saw on the news about how that unidentified flight was almost shot down but then they realized it was the whole flight that had disappeared. After it landed, the passengers were scared as shit...and didn't remember anything. Some (the ones who weren't sleeping) said they noticed a slight difference in the atmosphere but nothing else.

There are a lot of bizarre stories out there, more and more showing up on the news. I don't understand how no one remembers anything. I'm glad to have Kim back, but what could have caused something so...so big? Internet buzz has theories, a lot of people thinking its an inside job, like 9/11. Some think its some type of time travel.

I'm just worried about what might have happened to her during those three days. What if she gets cancer from this? Or gets sick? We tried to take her to the hospital, but it seemed like everyone else in America (or at least in the Bay Area) had the same idea. She said she's fine, just tired.

I don't know what's going to come out of all this, but I'm just glad to have her back.

-Tom Friedman

Stanford hit hard by the disappearances.

2009-11-29T11:08:00.000-08:00

I didn't sleep any last night. Would you be able to? I tried, Lord knows I did, mostly because my mother made me promise I would try. I almost didn't because a part of me (a strong, vocal part) expected to see some relief behind those worried eyes of hers, relief that now I would be able to find someone 'suitable for me.' But all I saw was the tired soul of a mother.

But I just lay there, in my bed, beside an empty slot that I had gotten used to being filled. I guess I stayed awake because every minute I could hope that this whole shit could pass, Kim would come home, and everything would be normal. To go to sleep would mean 8 hours going by like nothing....8 more hours that would just make all this too real.

But mostly I couldn't sleep because of what was on that note.

Kim's mom and dad offered to deal with all the cancellations. My guess is that they're calling them up now. Even though all hope for a ceremony died two mornings ago, they said they wouldn't cancel until it looked like they absolutely had to. Considering that we were supposed to get the show going in just a couple hours, now would be a point of absolutely having to. Maybe the caterer and DJ Almond disappeared, too. Save them some trouble. Maybe they're all together, Kim and them with the Reverend, wherever they are, and I'm the one missing.

I thought about that. Maybe we're the ones who disappeared and went some place else. But it was hard for me to wrap my head around.

I heard something on the tv this morning as I was pretending to try and sleep. There's still no real progress. Some people have been found, but it's turning out that they were just regular missing people. Those who just so happened to pick November 27 as the day to run away from home or leave their husbands or wives. But that wasn't the interesting part.

It seems that Stanford University's been hit hard. 90% of their population disappeared, whereas everywhere else is pretty much even. The news hasn't down-right said it, but I wouldn't be surprised if the place is the main suspect now. Maybe some kind of experiment. It's just all so surreal now, it's hard to feel any anger, shock, or anything....I just hope they figure it out.

Uncle Junior, who's been in the hospital for the last six months for stomach cancer--disappeared. Mom told me yesterday. Janet Lyrington--she works at the grocery--her husband disappeared. Both our next-door neighbors--Lynn and John Dryden--disappeared. Beth Matthers--Kim's cousin on her dad's side--is gone, too, plus her three year old daughter. The streets feel so empty. Like a great ghost has fallen over the town.

Nicolas Cage, Tom Cruise, Cher, half of U2, Oprah, Michael J. Fox, Beyonce, Angelina Jolie, that dude from Spider-man, the guy from Transformers (I could never get his name), all gone. And the list goes on and on. I read that Stephen King is gone, too. I never could get in to his books--too long for me--but Kim loved him. That's why I remember. Maybe he can write something for her wherever they are.

I tried working on my vows around 2 am, but couldn't. I've eaten breakfast, but only a little. Around now is when I should be getting ready to walk down the isle, but instead I'm just looking at this note.

Biker in the road.

2009-11-28T20:57:00.000-08:00

Today has been the worst day of my life. I thought yesterday was bad, but yesterday was coated in a fine layer of hope. Hope that kept the tears away.

The President spoke last night. I didn't vote for Obama. I didn't vote for anyone, actually. I was a republican, but didn't support Bush. McCain didn't represent the changes I wanted to see. I'm not ready to go democrat, so I just abstained from voting. But I support Obama, if that makes any sense. So, I took time to watch it. The whole family did. This thing has kind of brought us together, in a weird, mortifying way. I thought after Thanksgiving dinner, the wedding would be off for sure and the only way Kim and I could get married would be to elope in some country that has at least a thousand miles of ocean between this one. Funny how I was right about one part. Funny how the family could put that occurrence behind them, but I still won't be walking down the aisle.

His speech was good. His speech was comforting. His speech was everything you'd expect from a President, and that's why it didn't mean much to me. He did the best that he could, but it was obvious that our government is baffled. It's obvious that no one knows what the hell is going on. It's obvious that instead of a wedding I may be holding a funeral really soon. The whole world might. He did say that they were working around the clock to find the cause and, more importantly, find the people missing. WIth the Machens and the Friedmans crowded around one TV, we were all feeling a little shaken up after what happened at the police station. Freddy, who'd be uncharacteristically tranquil during all this, blurted out that it must be aliens doing this. A mass abduction. "Some trippy alien shit," he said. The funny thing was that no one said anything. Not in agreement or to suggest that the idea was ridiculous.

I started to think that maybe Freddy wasn't far off. Not aliens, but something not of this world. My mind went to the rapture and I could feel other people thinking the same. But that doesn't make much sense. Isn't that the whole world? Why would it just be the United States? Maybe it still is biblical and just different than our expectations/interpretations. I remember seeing on the discovery channel that Noah's flood was really just an isolated event. A grand flood alright, but not the whole world like we have been taught. Same with the ark and its size. A story that's evolved over the years. This could be like that. Something we've just been reading in to all wrong?

But where would that leave us?

We were glued to the television today all day today as well. Not much in official updates. It's like when 9/11 happened, or Michael Jackson died. A looot of speculation, a lot of aerial shots, and a lot of saying the same thing in different ways. At about 6, after a national moment of silence for both those missing and killed on Black Morning, mom and Mrs. Machen offered to cook. They had a little moment that was awkward, given what happened the other night, but I didn't stay to see how it played out. I slipped out the front and just told everyone I needed some time to myself. They let me go. I guess they know this is hard for me. It's a sympathy I don't know if I want. But I was grateful for the alone time.

I smoked for the first time in 2 years. I had stopped for Kim. She hated he habit, mostly because two of her uncles had died of lung cancer and her own father started smoking when he was seven. I promised her I never would, but part of that promise was that I'd get to keep a pack. I figured that I'd know I'd really kicked the habit when I could resist something that was within my reach. In some ways, I thought flushing them would be the easy way out. Knowing that they were under the gray socks in the 3rd drawer that I never wear and still being able to say no--that's an accomplishment to me.

I've had them in my pocket ever since after Obama's speech last night.

I was about to pop in my second cigarette when I saw him. He was coming over the hill, walking his bike. He looked exactly the same as when I stopped for him on the side of the road that day, except he was moving around, not without a limp tho.

At first I wasn't going to say anything to him. Why would I? Besides, it might not have even been him. But I knew it was. And, somehow, I knew he was there to see me. I knew before he even started to head my way.

We just stood there for a little while, me holding an unlit cigarette and him precariously balancing his bike and a bum leg. I thought we would just stand there for hours, but then he spoke. His voice sounded different then before. I don't remember how it sounded that day, but it wasn't this.

"I was one of those who disappeared," he said. At first I didn't think I heard right, and everything still felt too fuzzy, unreal, and dreamlike for me to reply. Then he thrust an envelope into my hand. He told me that she wanted me to have it.

By the time I looked up, he was already leaving. i thought of running after him, but for some reason I didn't. This was a couple hours ago. I haven't looked at the envelope yet. It's sitting right here, beside the computer. I might open it now, but I might not. I don't really know why.

Yes, I should open it. I may be a worrier, but it doesn't mean I have to be a dormant one.

Nothing still...

2009-11-28T11:56:00.000-08:00

The wedding is tomorrow and I'm checking the news every minute like it's a dish on the verge of burning in the oven. The updates are slim. I guess I just hope that everything returns to normal. I wouldn't even ask any questions, as long as my baby would walk through the door in good health and ready to marry me.

It's starting to look like even if she did come back this minute, the wedding won't happen tomorrow. Not in all this chaos. Not to mention, Reverend Jackson is one of the ones gone missing. Or maybe he just left the country, which doesn't sound like a bad idea right about now.

Speechless...

2009-11-27T11:43:00.000-08:00

The country's threat level is up to red for the first time in 8 years and all I can think about is damn sweet potatoes. It's the last thing I said to her: "Don't forget to put up the sweet potatoes, honey." What if this shit is permanent? What if she really is...gone? And instead of I love you or something special, my last words to her will be the equivalent of what you might say to a maid. I'll be glad if I never see another sweet potato again.

But...I worry, right? By the time I woke up most of the nation was already in panic. It was all over the news and I...I hadn't even noticed she was gone until I rolled over to comment about how bizarre it all was. I thought at first she had gone to the bathroom, although I knew then...I knew something was wrong. As it became clear she wasn't in the house, I hoped it could just be a coincidence. She went out early for a walk, or some pre-wedding jitters where she needed to be alone and just hadn't seen the news. If she had, she would have come back quickly, I'm sure of it, so she must just not know. And yet the hours ticked by.

I don't know what to do. My family--our families--don't know what to do. The news is calling it terrorism. For the first time in all my life, my mom is speechless. Bless her soul for that. No one else from my side or hers seem to be missing and we're all about to go down to the police station to file a report. Calling doesn't work.

If anyone has seen Kimberly Rae Machen, please contact us. And to all those who are looking for their loved ones this morning....let's keep

And if you don't know what I'm talking about, look at the pictures below. It's all over the news now, but this particular article I found earlier isn't up anymore. I think it's because they don't want people to know about the Vice President, because that info is left out of subsequent reports. Either way, I still have the page loaded, so I took pics (click to see them better).

Thanksgiving payback.

2009-11-26T13:59:00.000-08:00

Naive, huh? If I'm so naive, how did I find this blog?

Yes, that's right. Kim, here. Excuse my future husband (if I decide to let him live). This Internet thing is a little new to him (even though he's been using it for years) and he didn't realize that a simple search of his name would bring up this blog. I google search my name sometimes (who doesn't) and had a hunch to search his last night before bed. You should have seen his face.

And I didn't know your mom calls me 'The Muslim' Tom! It's kind of funny, when you think about it. He'll probably call me naive again for saying this, but I think Tom's mom is really sweet way down inside....it's just going to take a while to get to it. He's sitting here as I write this (although we agreed no censoring) and he's rolling his eyes, but I have faith.

And a couple things.

New Moon was the shit and a half. Men just don't understand.
Tom does worry too much.
Last night wasn't as bad as you'd think. My parents are like me. In the end, the wedding will only be bigger and better.
Ok, so maybe I should have thought a little better about the family staying thing. But Thanksgiving dinner (which I have to return to in a bit, turkey's been in long enough, I think) is a good cover for everyone being here.
My dress is fabulous.

Now some things about Tom. Call it a little Thanksgiving payback. If anything, it'll be useful info for anyone continuing to read this blog about him.

I came home late from work once--10 minutes late--and Tom has already called my friend, Pam, in a panic.
He wears to pairs of socks...always, no matter the weather.
He's groaning as I write this one, but he's read all of the Twilight series and the real reason he didn't like New Moon was because it didn't hold up to his 'standards.'
Bet 10 bucks he cries at the wedding more than I do.

I think that's enough for now. Today's been hectic and even I am skeptical about this dinner which is only about 2 hours away, but this was fun. You should let me on more often, babe!

-Kim 'Soon to be Friedman' Machen

PS: Isn't that turkey at the top the cutest thing?

You know it's bad when you envy orphans...

2009-11-25T17:25:00.000-08:00

Quick Updates:

John found a DJ. DJ Almond, I think his name is. His last four gigs have all been 18 and up parties, he's more expensive than I'd like, and I may have to pay him extra not to let that name of his known, but who cares??! By the time he starts spinning, I'll be happily married.
Kim's parents (she's from a small town in South Carolina...Charlottesville, it's called) got in last night, along with Freddy, and jumped right into the wedding planning. Thankfully, the Machen's are less die-hard judgmentals than my parents (read: my mom). They converted to the faith after the father came back from Vietnam and since follow the basic principles, but are open to letting Kim choose her own path.
Sunday's forecast is looking better and better.
The honeymoon plans are all set. Even though I'm fairly sure Kim doesn't read this blog, I want it to be a surprise, so not risking telling it here.
My parents got in on time, just three hours ago. Up until then everything was going well. Up until then...

Let's backtrack a little. You know how I said Kim's parents are cool about stuff? Well, the plan was for them to stay with us in our apartment with everyone participating in Operation Keep Shit From the Friedman's. Once my family came to until after the wedding, we would have to all pretend that Kim and I don't live together...while having Kim's family stay in our apartment. Why can't they stay at Kim's? The place has been emptied out for weeks so we wouldn't have to worry about too much moving after the honeymoon. And what do we tell my people once they see 11 Machen's staying with me? Part lie, part truth: Kim's apartment is hollowed out and there's only enough there for Kim to stay comforably.

You can imagine my nerves.

Right after they got in, Kim and her mom went to look at the garden and the church to go over where everything would be (why they couldn't wait until daylight is beyond me), with Kim's dad trailing along to sign his checkbook if needed. Kim's parents have been taking care of Freddy ever since his mom's been in rehab, hence him coming early with them while everyone else arrives tonight/early tomorrow. Ten minutes after everyone else left, I went into the guestroom to ask Freddy if he wanted to watch a movie--you know, try to connect with the kid--and he was already stealing! A painting of one of those amazonian tree frogs on a leaf that had been hanging over the bed...he was stuff it into his suitcase! He froze when he saw me and uttered, "I didn't do it."

I had a heart-to-heart talk with him after that. The basics about decisions in life, the choices we make, respnsibility, and of course a promise that I'd kick his ass if I found him stealing again. I said it in a joking way and it got a laugh, but I felt a small part of him thought I was serious. Which I can live with. I can live with just fine.

Besides that, everything's been fine. But it was like a ticking time bomb that started when my parents' flight took off from LAX at 12:36 pm. I went to pick them up with Kim and her parents (her idea). I insisted that Freddy come to 'take part in the family festivities' but he said he wanted to get some rest. I just wish I would have put up cameras before we left. Or at least taken inventory. Kim can be naive sometimes, bless her soul, and one of the topics she's good at being naive at is my parents. My mother gave me a hug and started talking about all that we had to do for the wedding without even looking at Kim. My father is not much of a villain, but he doesn't do anything to help either. He just stands there and let's mom do her thing. It took me three tries at interrupting before I got mom to acknowledge Kim and introduce her to her parents. Think of one of those awkward moments in a movie...yea, like that.

Kim also thought it would be a good idea to invite mom and dad to wedding planning stuff with them. The Machen's had already gone back to the church and garden (going at night wasn't exactly the most productive, after all), stopped by the florists to look over the flowers, and taken Kim's dress for what her mother called some 'last-minute trimmings. But Joe's Fish N' Chips Catering (trust me, they're better than they sound) still needed a round and also the logistics for Saturday night's rehearsal needed to be fleshed out, so, after clearing it with her parents, Kim thought mom and dad would like to be a part of these errands.

It was like watching a car crash in slow motion. Mom took this gesture as one of belittlement and looked at Kim as if she were goose shit. Then she reclaimed her overbearing self and announced that she had already taken care of all the arrangements, from flowers, to DJ, to catering. 'For a nice Christian wedding' she said.

W.T.Fuck?

Long story short, mom sweared down that she wasn't aware other arrangements had been made and, of course, my father just picked at his fingernails on the side. Livid, I demanded that mom cancel everything she had done, but the Machen's, in the spirit of that oh-so-foreign trait called kindness, insisted that they could work out some balance. Mom agreed. Everyone thought the storm had been averted.

Naive, naive, naive.

But I was my hands of it. I pulled Kim to the side and tried to explain how this could not end up good, but she wanted to 'keep positive.' Yep, I wash my hands of it. I just got home. The Machen's and the Friedman's are off working it out. I'll send up a prayer for them, but mostly I'm about to take a much-needed nap.

...Right after I go hide all our valuables.

-Tom Friedman

And they lived happily ever after...

2009-11-25T12:47:00.000-08:00

Just put up my latest post over at scribophile.com. It's about how to reach a good ending.

Enjoy!

I saw a homeless guy today....

2009-11-24T23:25:00.000-08:00

I saw a homeless guy eating out of the traschcan today. It was the first time I've ever seen something so extreme. Of course, I knew things like that happen. You hear about it, see it portrayed in movies, but to actually see it, right in front of my eyes. It brought a new reality to things.

The man was your prototypical homeless guy. I really don't know how else to put it. His whole body, from his skin to his hair, his coat, shirt, pants, shoes, everything, was a dusty tan, like he'd been living in a a dirt storm for the last two years. His hair was long and as ragged as his gait. He mumbled to himself constantly. I was too far away to hear, but I'd be willing to bet I wouldn't have understood it anyway. I was sitting at Starbucks, working overtime on a project for work, when he crab-legged by. At first I only glanced but then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him stop at the trashcan. And then reach in. By this time I was fixed, not really able to believe that this was happening in front of me. He felt around in there for a few seconds, pulled out a discarded coffee, wiped another piece of garbage from the lid, and drank the remains.

Then he crossed the street to the other trashcan, reached in, and took out a sandwich. Two things stuck out to me the most: 1) The lack of hesitation. This man had come to accept something as part of his everyday life that I could never imagine myself doing it. 2) Like a single blooming flower in the middle of a bloody battlefield, the most contrasting image walked past as homeless guy bit into his dinner: a lady with her baby. It made me think how one day he had been a baby in someone's arms as they walked down the street. I wondered what kind of paths have to open to bring a life to such a point. I thought if I could ever be in that position. It was hard to imagine because I knew my friends and family would never let me be without a place to stay. Then I wondered if he had any family or friends. He couldn't, could he? Who could be a true friend of someone they know gets his meals from trashcans?

I packed up my work then and left. Others at the cafe left, too, no doubt sooner than they were originally planning, but I don't think for the same reason. I left because I was disturbed and couldn't focus anymore. Others...they probably just wanted to get away from the smell.

Wedding things are coming together. My mom and dad fly in tomorrow at about 2 pm, Terry (my cousin), her husband and kids at about 4 the next day and then everyone else is driving, so they'll be trickling in, I suppose. The plan was to get everyone (both families) in on time to have a big Thanksgiving dinner, but Mom insisted on arriving earlier to help, even though I told her that Kim's parents were already on it, as per tradition. My mom is the overbearing type, the kind who thinks of her way the best. Oh, she won't blatantly shit on your method of doing things, just she likes to involve herself in any and everything because otherwise she thinks it won't be done right. That and she said she wasn't about to follow any 'muslim' traditions. I tried to tell her that I didn't think the bride's family taking care of the wedding was attached to any religion other than that of the United States of America but, of course, when my mom has her mind made up on something its like trying to convince a dog to piss without lifting its leg.

But we'll deal with that storm when we come to it. The days before the wedding are surprisingly....happy. I didn't expect that and I know most of hat I've been writing is complaints, but we, me and Kim, both have this glow about us. We're about to be married. The nervousness, the worry (whenever I think about that off-white dress...), the foreshadowing of family drama weighing down on us, all of that is overshadowed by how happy we are.

I'm excited about the future. I hope the wedding and everything goes off without a hitch, but I know life doesn't always work out like that. Either way, as long as Kim and I are together, I know, as the song goes....evry lil' thing....gon be all right!

PS: Checked the weather forecast again today. More and more it's looking like Sunday will be clear skies. Rain on Saturday and Monday, but some serious hope for a sunny wedding. Maybe they'll even be a rainbow?

-Tom Friedman

Thou shalt not....

2009-11-23T16:49:00.000-08:00

Kim loved New Moon. I hated it. Thought it was slow, borderline boring and waaaaayyyy too cheesy. "You just don't understand their love!" Kim said after her initial shock that I hadn't, too, thought it was fantastic. Ok, I'll give her that. I don't understand their love. And that was the problem.

Anyway, it was a small price to pay to get to see 2012. We snuck into it right after New Moon. Kim had tried to pull the 'tired' card along with "we have so much to do for the wedding!" but after sitting through that movie, I wasn't letting her backdown. It rocked. 'Nuff said. Even Kim liked it, and she usually doesn't like big, loud, 'explody movies,' as she calls them.

Things are coming together. Or, at least, they seem to be for the moment. Finally got in touch with the florists. Just like I thought, except they didn't admit to ever messing it up in the first place. Either way, they have the order right now. "Lily of the valley, lilacs, anemones, tulips, stock, and pots of wheat grass and lettuce scattered on the buffet tables." I quote it because I don't really know what any of those are, but those are what Kim and her mother came up with. Just as long as the flowers are open and colorful, that's fine with me.

It's a decidedly small wedding: family plus our closest friends. But still, we may have bitten off more than we can chew. Kim and I didn't really...what's the word I'm looking for...communicate that well when it came to family arrangements. We've been living together for the last month (I know, I know....so close to marriage, why not wait? From seeing our friends, we figured that the whole adapting to living with someone can be stressful, so might as well get those kinks out before calling it official), but Kim has kept her old apartment. Until after the wedding.

I guess it's partly my fault for assuming but...she knows my parents wouldn't go for us living together as an unmarried couple. It's like the 11th commandment to them. I figured that we would both have our families stay in hotels, but I figured wrong. She invited her family--all 11 of them--to stay with us. It wouldn't be a problem if I didn't worry about weird things and Kim said her family is more laid back...but I'm willing to bet that this whole living situation will get back to my side. Someway. Somehow. My mom and dad are already not thrilled about me marrying 'the muslim,' as they call her, and will probably have their own opinions on her people not caring about our 'life of sin.'

MONDAY, PLEASE COME!!!

On top of that, one of the 11 is Kim's younger cousin, Freddy. I think he steals. No, I know he steals. And the whole family is in denial, despite his three--count em, THREE--trips to juvy in his short 17 years. I don't like the kid. If that's wrong, shoot me. But...it's family. I guess.

Stress. Stress. Stress.

At least the flowers are in order.

400 pages into Under the Dome...

2009-11-22T21:28:00.000-08:00

Ok, maybe 395. But who's counting?

Anyway, I've been reading a lot of it lately. Things are starting to get complicated under the dome, and rather bloody, too. It's only been about 3 days since the dome dropped and there have already been rapes, murders, fights, you name it. As expected, the dome has not only cut the people off socially, but democratically as well. The police force is made up of a new recruitment of rapist and killers, all of which hardly old enough to drink. Of course, it makes for some interesting happenings.

I'm starting to think that the source of this is supernatural, after all. I won't go too much into it for sake of spoilers, but I will say that King (and fiction in general) likes to use children as a vessel for connecting with the spiritual/supernatural realms.

There are a lot of disturbing characters in this book, but I'm wondering if I am desensitized from it. I say this because I think if this were the first King book I'd ever read, I'd be fairly surprised at some of the things these characters do/think. But I'm not. Not after the disfigured man who practised necrophilia and cannibalism in Gerald's Game, not after the boy who killed his father in IT, and definitely not after the father who chained his son to a pole like a dog in the cellar to get rid of the 'bad gunky' in Lisey's Story. I'm wondering if there will be a new level of disturbia and one of these characters will surprise me down the line. I actually king of hope not. I'm fine with it right where it's at.

But I do like how even the most disturbing characters have other sides. For example, I had to check to make sure I was still reading from the same character's perpective after one of the more twisted ones showed compassion to a stranded pair of kids. I wholly expected him to just kill them or something.

I like surprises. And, so far, I'm digging this book.

Biker in the road.

2009-11-22T15:56:00.000-08:00

Shit.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

Okay, this may be okay. Off-white--cream, some people call it--that could work. It's not white, so technically we aren't lying (does the Lord work on technicalities?). But it looks white, so people may not question the whole virginity thing. They'll just think we're stupid.

I can live with stupid.

Kim's happy, at least. She said the dress 'called to her' as soon as she walked into Eugene's Bridals, whatever that means. Never had anything 'call to me' that didn't have a pulse, but hey, I'm just a man. What do I know? It is beautiful, though. I feel kind of bad that all I can think of is how mom and dad will react. I feel kind of bad that when I think of Monday, November 30 I think relief that this will be over rather than excitement for the first full day of married life. I am excited--more than I've ever been. It's just...I worry weird.

I wish I could stop worrying about it.

Something interesting happened to me today. Flower shop's still been giving me the run around. Drove all the way out to Palo Alto (40 miles!) to speak to them in person while Kim was out having her heart to heart with the dress store. Like I said, I'm pretty sure they have it under wraps, but thought the errand would at least take my mind off the dress. Should have called first. They're closed on Sundays.

On the way back I decided to take the 'scenic route.' Don't ask me, but it's some kind of option on my GPS. Never really noticed it before, but it was only ten minutes longer and after the Closed sign at Sidestreet Florists, I thought 'why the hell not?'

For about 15 minutes it was nothing but this two-lane road bordered by an endless wall of trees, like in one of those car commercials. As long as the 'miles left' on my GPS kept going down, I was fine with it. More than fine, really. It was a nice change from 580.

I saw him right as I was finishing a bend. At first I only glanced, like you would when you see anyone walking or biking on the side of the road, but the thing is he wasn't doing either. I suppose if the bend had kept going I would have just kept on, but the road was straight. In the rearview it became clear that he was hurt.

I pulled over and sat there for a while. I'd like to say that my concerns were for another's well-being, but a lot of selfish thoughts went through my head. All I had left to do, how long this would hold me up, the fact that someone--someone less busy--would surely come along after a while. In the end, I got out.

His bike was all right but he wasn't. I could tell that even as he tried to put on his macho persona. His left leg looked badly hurt. A lot of blood at the ankle. He was holding it there, but it was...peculiar. Almost like he was protecting it from me rather than out of pain. He didn't really look at me either, or give me much to work with. He kept saying that he was fine, yet he didn't have a phone. When I offered to call the ambulance you'd think I had suggested euthanasia. He didn't have insurance, he said. He didn't look homeless, or crazy or anything. Actually, you'd probably say he looked a lot like me, just your average city cog out for an evening cycle.

That's what made it so weird, though. He didn't seem like the type of guy who would be acting like this. Almost like he was running from something. Against my best judgment, I offered him a ride. It was more out of my want to breach that strange defense of his. He said he didn't want to leave his bike. I stayed for a little while longer, hoping another car would come, maybe a truck or something big enough to hold his bike. But no luck. And the man (he wouldn't give me his name) kept urging me to leave. Not in a rude way, but adamant nonetheless.

So, in the end, I left. What more can I do?

I didn't notice it at the time, but I thought about it the way back. He didn't look me in the eyes. Not once.

Told you it was weird. But I guess shit like that happens everyday. Anyway, Kim wants to go see 'New Moon' tonight. I want to see the meteor shower that's supposed to be happening all weekend, but I should have known that wouldn't hold up as a good enough excuse. I guess we'll do both, even though I think we're too old for vampires, werewolves, and teenage love.

I'm coming to find out that soon-to-be-brides always get what they want. Can't wait until she's pregnant.

-Tom Friedman

"Here comes the bride...all dressed in..."

2009-11-22T00:38:00.000-08:00

Some people would say I worry about things in a weird way, others would say I worry about weird things. I still don't know which fits more, just that I worry a lot...like, a whole lot.

The big day is a week away and still so much to do! Here's a (small) sample:

Sidestreet Florists' been giving me the run-around. I think they messed up the order of flowers and are bustling to get it fixed before we talk again. As long as they get it done, but I'll call again in the morning.
The DJ for the reception's been arrested. ARRESTED! John had said, Tom, as your best man, it's my job to throw you the best fucking bachelor's party and get you the best fucking DJ. I guess all the good DJ's ride around at 1 in the morning, stoned out of their minds, trying to pick up female cops as hookers?
It's an outside wedding and the forecast just came out today. Wanna guess what it says for Sunday, November 29? Yep. Rain, my friend. Lots and lots of rain. So I have to get another venue. I was trying to avoid the inside. Because inside means a church (atleast, for my family it does). And a church means complications, considering Pam's muslim and I--my family--is Christian.
Half of our invitations came back. Apparently they just upped the postage price. So I have to get some 1 cent stamps...50 of 'em. But I might just chuck 'em and then email. Kim'll never know.

And I still need to get rings.

But none of these things really worry me. You want to know what does worry me? What Kim's going to wear. I know, I know...silly right? But my family is very traditional...very traditional. As in my mother never worked a day in her life and the only man she ever dated was my father--planned, coordinated, and ordained by the church. That kind of traditional.

But of course me and Kim--she'll kill me if she ever knows I posted this--of course we've had...well, you know. We don't think of it as a big deal. And as for her parents, they seem cool with it. Dad even jokes about it sometimes, which gets a little awkward. But my parents...they just wouldn't accept it. But the worst part is they haven't asked about it, hinted at it, nothing. And I was just sure mom would in one of her round-about, I'm-not-really-asking-this ways. Makes me think they expect something and are too shamed of the inevitable answer to ever ask the question.

White is for virgins. Simple, safe choice, right? But what if my parents know, in some bizarre way just know. The only thing worst for them than pre-marital sex would be lying during such a holy ceremony.

But if she doesn't wear white? Then we might as well paste a sign on her back that says "No flowers here!" (Honey, if you're reading this, Rob told me I could make this blog thing private, so blame him.)

We've been through four dresses. Two white, one blue, one red, all beautiful. All sent back because of me...and my worry. Kim's been patient, as always, but she said she's going once and for all tomorrow and making a decision.

White...or no? White is the least risky. They could really just be that naive and everything go without a hitch. I hope she picks white. Everything else, it'll fall into place, but I've got this tingly feeling, and it tells me this color thing'll be the shit hitting the fan.

It's so clear outside. I can see each and every star. It hasn't rained for a month. I guess its overdue and needed but...on our wedding? But, like I said, not really worried about it. All I can think about are white, blues, and reds...like a flag.

So these are the things I worry about. Welcome to my world. Only 7 more days.

-Tom Friedman

'New Moon' needs a 'New Cast'

2009-11-21T10:28:00.000-08:00

So, as you know, I'm working for TheCelebrityCafe.com as an intern. For about 3 weeks I've been doing 15-20 short, entertainment news articles a week (10 hours) and recently the editor (John Neal) said that I should brainstorm some features. I came up with a few ideas that he liked, one of which was pretty urgent: a movie review for 'New Moon.'

His reply came early yesterday morning:

"If you can get in to see New Moon and put a review up asap, do it."

The earliest showing for Friday was 12:45 at the Grand Lake Theatre, just a mile or so away from where I live. As you also may know, money's been a little tight (maybe I've never outright said that, but I'm still unemployed, for goodness sake, of course money is tight!), tight enough that I had to seriously consider whether the $6.50 for admission would be worth it. At about 12:25, I decided to stay in and work on some of the other features that wouldn't cost a penny to do. I set out to make some oatmeal and then remembered that Grand Lake Theatre gives free popcorn with each movie ticket. In my sometimes weirdly-functioning brain, I figured that the free popcorn could balance out the cost of eating and justify a ticket.

So, at 12:44, I put on some sweats and a hoodie and ran to Grand Lake Theatre.

It was cold. It was raining. I had my notebook tucked into the small-ass pocket of my hoodie and ran the whole way. By the time I got there, I was basically drenched from head to chest. I stopped running about a block before the theatre so I could catch my breath. I'm new around here and may be living in the area for a while, so the last thing I want people to remember me as is the grown-ass man who came into the theatre soaking and out of breath to see Twilight...alone.

"One for New Moon, 12:45," I said with as much cool as I could muster. It was 12:53. No biggie. Previews always offer a CPT-cushion. As I passed the lady taking ticket stubs, I tried not to look her in the eye.

When I went before to see 2012, the free popcorn was a nice surprise. The lady behind the counter had them ready and waiting as we approached the concession stand. This time, though, I knew something was different. When the lady saw me coming, she made no moves to get a fresh bag. She looked like she was ready to take my order.

Son of a bitch!

"Um...do you still do the free popcorn thing?" I asked with my best apparition of a smile. I waved the ticket stub weakly, but I already knew I should have called before hand.

"Sorry," she said. "That's only for Monday-Thursday."

Part of me thought of buying some popcorn right then and there, maybe as a pride thing. But that part died as quickly as Glitter did at the box-office. I slumped away to the cold, dark theatre.

I watched the movie. I took notes. In the end, it's not something I would see again, but exactly what I expected based off the first book (yes, I read it, but for research purposes only...Stephenie Meyer is a best-selling author, so it only makes sense for me to read her shit if I want to be in the same (read: better) shoes one day) and movie. The title of this post just about sums up how I felt about it.

Luckily, the sun was out when I left. When I got back to the apartment, I sat down, thought about it some more, and got to writing.

And golly-gee, it actually got posted! Maybe they'll put me on the payroll eventually? Either way, I'm enjoying the experience.

Without further ado: New Moon: JKey's Review

And don't forget to VOTE! Some of the other competitors already have a great following and although it's hard to compete with that, I think I have a killer video and if I can show the judges that I can still stay in the rankings from scratch, maybe that will earn me some points. Remember, you can vote DAILY!

Third Day Under the Dome

2009-11-21T09:31:00.000-08:00

The beginning is officially over. The whole town knows the basics of the situation: there's a huge forcefield around the town. The initial chaos has finlly settled down but some interesting things are starting to take place. Of course, the law and social order of the town will change now that they're cut off and that's already starting to happen. There are clear underlying ulterior motives in the people who are bringing themselves in to ultimate power and I foresee a division. Also, characteristic of King, there are some religious zealots in the town that will surely shape up to have interesting roles.

It is still unclear whether there are supernatural happenings going on here. There are some hints of such, but it could just be a coincidence/insanity of certain characters. People have therories of what the dome is so far, but I'd guess the real cause wouldn't be given (even if just a little bit) this early on.

Upon starting this book, I was wondering how King would do with the vast amount of characters he has. As he introduces more and more, I still find some of them hard to keep up with (especially with the nicknames), but a vast majority are surprisingly memorable. King seems to have found a balance between backstory and moving along what's in the present. I was initially worried that a lot of the book would delve too much into each character's past and not enough of the present and while there are still times when I'm rushing through a character's memories to get back to the story at hand, King supplies enough to make these characters feel real without hurting the overall flow.

Another thing I notice about Kin and his progression from his initial novels like Carrie and Salem's Lot to Under the Dome is the use of vocabulary. Two summers ago, while in Ecuador, I read a lot of books and kept a pen to underline the words I didn't know. When reading an early King novel, I could expect almost an unknown word per page. Now, I hardly have any problems with any of the vocabulary. I've noticed this difference widely in his earlier versus later books. I have no preference either way and the writing is definitely not 'simple,' just an observation I made.

Some of the use of technology seems forced/out of place. Maybe its because a lot of the books I read I'm not used to seeing mention of main gadgets that have evolved over the past ten years, but at times it feels like King wrote the first draft without them and then when he went back through he just plopped them in. Either that or it feels satiric. Which is fine, but it would seem that in any time period you write a book in, there would have been something new (the television, the microwave, cell phones, the Internet) and I don't remember these 'new' things standing out so much in old books. Maybe it's that now-a-days the popular things have more of a name brand than before. Instead of 'smart phone' it's iPhone or instead of mp3 player it's iPod. And then there are the well known internet names like Facebook, Twitter, and Google. When I see these mentioned in books, it feels like a certain statement is being made.

Well, those are my thoughts so far. It really is a great read. I had to stop myself from reading last time instead of wondering when the next chapter would end so I could finally go and do something else. I just wish it didn't have to end.

That being said, it would be col if King did a web-series that he wrote on everyday/weekly that went on indefinitely. Kind of like a tv show....

Twitter Horror Story

2009-11-19T15:28:00.000-08:00

If I get 1000 votes in the next 24 hours, I will rite a short story that involves Twitter and post it here on my blog.

Here's the link: Vote. For. ME!

Ok, let's make it happen!

Second day Under the Dome

2009-11-17T23:43:00.000-08:00

People are starting to realize that there's a serious problem. The initial chaos of the first few hours is settling as Day 1 comes to a close. Now we can expect the real conflict to begin, and for the different reactions of all the characters to start to collide and bump heads.

And there are a lot of characters! There's actually a list of residents for the small town at the beginning of the book. As of right now, it's easy to get them mixed up, especially since King likes to give all of his characters nicknames that he uses as reference on and off. I expect that as I read more and am introduced to each character's unique quirks, telling them apart will be easier.

Under the Dome offered a great beginning. Now, let's see if it will keep it up.

And yes, I do realize that maybe I am a little too excited about this book. But hey, I'm a reader. I'm a writer. I love this shit.

Video for Sam-E.com Good Mood Blogger goes live!

2009-11-17T08:39:00.000-08:00

VOTE FOR MY VIDEO!

Hey all! I made it to the next round for the Sam-E Gig which, of course, means that you get to see a video of me acting foolish! Well, not quite (for that, search through my blog for my australia vid!), but I can be a little silly at times.

This round is more based on the judges than the actual voting, but voting is still a part of the final tally! Besides, if the judges like someone but they fail to get people to come and support then they'll think that candidate won't be the best to bring new traffic to their site.

Shout out to my Stanford friend Austin Henderson for editing the video. He did a great job in just a short amount of time. Even the little things, like on the cafe part when I look out the window and then it cuts to me looking out the window in the other angle. Stuff you proooobably don't notice, but I definitely didn't shoot it with that in mind. But he did a great job, even when the clock was ticking down, the camera kept dying, or the computer kept freezing up.

And, of course, shout out to my girlfrind Johanna for doing the shooting! She seemed more excited about the quality of her shooting abilities than the upcoming contest tho, haha. If you're reading this, Jo, I'm kidding.

I would post the video here, but you can't vote from here. And I know how laziness works, so for now, I'll keep the video on the site.

The dome drops. Experiencing the Dome, Day 1

2009-11-15T23:56:00.001-08:00

This book definitely starts off with a bang…or, rather, a dome. King puts us right into the action with all of the initial chaos ensuing from the invisible barrier that all of a sudden falls over the town. It’s gorier than I expected. This is nothing like The Simpsons. Since the dome is invisible and no one knew it was coming, cars, planes, and trucks smash into the barrier full speed. One woman is unlucky enough to have her house right on the barrier and gets her hand clean sliced off while tending to her garden. People who are racing to the scene of one crash end up just creating another, but this time the white outline on the pavement will be their own.

But the dome isn’t the only thing going on in town. A grisly murder happens silently as the booms and sirens associated with the dome rock the town. There’s a lot of potential set up here, especially after hearing that the whole story takes place in the span of one week.

I wonder what route King will take with this. Will he go the spiritual way, like in The Stand and Insomnia, or pure horror like IT and The Shining. Or maybe it will be one of his more straight-forward books, like Misery. I would say ‘who knows,’ but, of course, all those fast readers out there know!

Well, either way, I’m going to get back to reading!

Scribophile.com, Suite101.com, and TheCelebrityCafe.com articles on the side...

2009-11-12T19:45:00.000-08:00

What's up, everybody. Part of the reason that I have not been writing in this blog is because I've been writing so much for other things.

Scribophile is an online writing community and its owner, Alex Cabal, recently took me on as one of three blog writers. I write for them every Wednesday. Generally I put up writing advice, especially since this is NaNoWriMo, but I want to try out book reviews/analyses and more conversational topics in the future.

TheCelebrityCafe is the Internet's oldest entertainment news site. I currently intern with them, writing 20 articles a week (10 hours) in their entertainment features section. The internship is for 3 months and hopefully it will lead to something bigger...?

Suite101 is an online magazine with regular people like you and me as writers. I've been slacking on this the most because, like this blog, it isn't a committment but rather something I do out of enjoyment. I want to start writing there again, maybe a post per day.

I've managed to get 'feeds' of my writings for all of these sites on to the side bar of this here blog. Peruse if you will and always feel free to comment however you may like.

Man, this blog is becoming like one big 'ole resume. I can dig it.

The Return of J.Key, With Under the Dome Impressions

2009-11-12T15:17:00.000-08:00

It's been a while since I posted, amidst job search, car crash (!!!), and...well, mainly job search. But I want to return to my blog. Here are a few quick updates that I hope to return to in more detail later:

I write for TheCelebrityCafe.com. I write 20 entertainment articles weekly. Anyone know how I can get a side-bar on this blog that displays links to the articles I've written? That would be awesome.
I still write for Scribphile.com. My latest post: Weird As Fiction
I'm moving on to the next round of the Sam-E Good Mood Gig! Woo!! Now I just have to make a hot-fire video in the next few days.
I'm broke.
I got a parking ticket the other day. Damn street sweepers and their 'don't park here for 3 hours out of this random weekday' rule.
I moved to Oakland. Got an apartment and everything.

Now that that's out of the way, I want to get to the meat of it. I was pondering on whether or not to buy Stephen King's Under the Dome. It's the latest, hottest thing in the book-world, but it's 22 bucks at my local target (and this is discounted from its list price of 35!). I stood in Target for no less than 10 minutes, looking at the monster of a novel, and then put it back. Just don't have the money. But through some self-convincing, I decided to go back and get it, read about 50-100 pages a day, and write about my experience with it each day. I figure this would not only be a cool thing to do, but may attract readership to the blog while the book is still hot. And then, once done, I want to post reviews on here (of course), on Suite101.com (before they kick me off for lack of activity), maybe TheCelebrityCafe (if I get the green light) and an analysis on Scribophile.com.

Also, look forward to me finishing my cross-country roadtrip stories and starting the 'Employment Chronicles" (Title Pending) in the near future.

-Justin C. Key

Breached 1000 votes!

2009-10-20T17:38:00.000-07:00

Vote! Vote! Vote Again!

As many of you know, I am applying for the Sam-E blogging position and the first round is based off votes. At the end of voting (which I believe is either at the end of this month or one week after that), the 20 people with the most votes will move on to the next round. Currently I think I am about 3-400 behind the bottom person of the top 20, but they already had a good amount of votes when I signed up, so I'm catching up to them for sure. The 'vote daily' has been both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, you can vote daily! On the other hand, so can everyone else's supporters, and I can get a lot of people to vote for me, but the question is, can I get a lot of people to continue voting? It feels like everyday I'm starting fresh. For example, I might get 500 people to vote for me today, but then I need to re-convince them to vote for me tomorrow.

At the end of the day, I think I'm doing well and I can only continue to do well with you alls' help. The good news is that the next round is a combination of votes and editor's pick. ANNND it's a video comp, which should be fun. You get to see me act a fool on camera for a job and if that's not incentive to vote, I don't know what is.

Clicking this link will help cure world hunger.

Suite101.com writer.

2009-10-20T17:29:00.000-07:00

Hey guys. Some of you might have heard of Suite101.com, or maybe have read an article or two on there unknowingly. Either way, it's a site where people write articles under just about any category. You have to apply to be a writer and--while I'm not sure how tight their screening process is--I applied and was allowed to join. Now, these articles are different than what I'm used to writing. Here, I can be free-flowing, off the top of the dome, just tell it like it is. But there, these are actual, legit, articles with editors and people that seem to take it seriously. You can't just post things reflecting your own thoughts. They actually have to hold weight and be credible and all that jazz. Found, right?

Either way, Suite101 gets much more traffic than this blog does and people seem to be making money off it, so I thought I'd give it a whirl. My plan right now is to post movie, books, and television show reviews. Maybe as time goes on I'll start posting more news-ish articles, or maybe even informative ones on a topic I like, but right now I'm sticking to something safe and that continually gives me something to write about without having to search for it (the TV is right in my room and the movie theatre is right down the street).

Without further ado, here are the two articles I've written so far. One is a review on Law Abiding Citizen and the other is a review on Fox's new show, Modern Family. Let me know what you think, any advice you may have to be successful at Suite101, and look out for another blog post at Scribophile tomorrow.

Law Abiding Citizen: A Review

Review: Modern Family, 'The Incident'

-Justin C. Key

Dear Journal - Blank Page

2009-10-19T14:11:00.000-07:00

Dear Journal - Blank Page

2009-10-19T14:09:00.000-07:00

Dear Journal - Blank Page

2009-10-19T14:08:00.000-07:00

Dream Journal: 9/11 part 2

2009-10-19T06:32:00.000-07:00

I had a pretty vivid/coherent dream last night. By this, I mean it actually made sense. There weren't too many trippy dream elements.

I was in Washington, DC, walking home with one of my friends. I forget what we were out doing, but it was early in the morning. Anyway, we passed by a view of the capitol (which isn't hard to do, you can see see it from almost anywhere) and it was blown to shit! No, more accurately, it was stills standing but it looked like someone had put a big diagonal scar through it, similar to the Twin Towers before they fell.

We rushed home and, of course, it was all over the news. Apparently a terrorist had sent a scud missle all the way from over seas and hit the capitol overnight. They had videos of the impact and I remember that they kept showing it again and again and again (ok, so here's the trippy dream part, I just remembered: on the news report it said that when they found the terrorist he was being rescued by his 15-pound daughter...then later I thought maybe it was 15-pound cat...?).

I think that was about it. I remember asking if this means that they could sent a nuclear weapon over here and one of my knowledgeable friends said no for some reason that I believed. Nonetheless it's been a while since 9/11 (weird how the time has gone by and weird that there are a generation of people now how can talk and walk and think and do math problems who did not exist yet on that fateful day) and if people out there still hate America (which I'm sure they do), it's just a matter of time....

Dear Journal - Day 27

2009-10-18T09:00:00.000-07:00

by Justin C. Key

Day 27

To Wom It May Concern,

My name is Anthony Coner. I was stranded on this island I have bean writing about. After for weeks of being here, I still dont know where I am.

Although it may sound like I am OK from my writing, I have lost a little of my self here and sinse I know this is my last entry, I am trying my hardest to make my writin clear. I hav also found a lot of myself, too.

I leave the last pages of this jurnal untouched both becus I have ran out of time and becus I do not believe my story is over and I need those last few pages to be blank so that I can fill them in one day, either in heaven or on earth. I keep the first pages becus they are not part of this story. They are part of me.

You never give up hope. I may still be dreaming but Lucky brought more food. If I am dreaming I will just starve to death without knowing I starve but if not I may have a chance. I will stay awake tonight to make sure I no what reality is.

That’s why I send this. Never give up hope. I dont kno how well of a message this is for that, becus I seem quite hopeless. But kno that the value is in the thought that you may not hav hope for me, but I do. I relize now that this was God’s purpose for me. This is why I must send this to the world.

I love my father. He raised me rite, was jus hard. He loved mum. I want to see mum. See them both together. Know that if you don’t hear from me again, I am with them, smiling.

I miss you father,

Anthony Conner

Blogging gig at Scribophile.

2009-10-17T17:12:00.000-07:00

I recently applied for and nabbed a blogging gig at Scribophile.com, a growing site about writing and literature where you can go to talk about your favorite books, your life as a writer, or to get peer feedback on your works. The site recently (to my understanding) had one main blogger and the owner (Alex) just hired two newbies, me being one of them of course. The great thing (besides getting a little piece of change for what I do anyway) is that the owner wants the posts to be informal, fun pieces and I'm definitely down for that. Also, I started a blog to start getting my name out there so that I can better sell myself when I finally do seek publication (time should be coming around soon, cross your fingers) and this allows me to tap in an already established (and still growing) audience.

My first post there is about combating writer's block and my next post will be about the importance of reading and how to fit it into your busy schedule. I'll be posting weekly, every Wednesday.

You can check the first post here (and feel free to comment. oh, and check out the site, too. definitely worth it):

http://www.scribophile.com/blog/writers-block-the-what-if-method/

Dear Journal - Day 26

2009-10-17T14:03:00.000-07:00

by Justin C. Key

Dear Journal

It is hard to say goodbye. But it is needed. You are evil and you should not be with me in my last days. I was doing ~~fine~~ well…I was doing OK until I was bitten…when was I bitten? Tell me journal? Huh, TELL ME! Because of you…I was spending time with you. Should hav just left you how you were, only childhood.

Going to rip out the parts of this journal that came before this incident….my childhood, my trueself. They stay with me, in my pocket. My fate will be theirs. Maybe they save me? They are me….not who I am now. They will find the old me and the old me is healthy.

I have a plan. Tomorrow or tonight I will use lasting energies to go to the ~~pieces of luggage~~ luggages and find plastic bag. Should be one somewhere, father would have packed one and fathers are all over. I wonder if the clothes on me belong to a father? Does that make me a father???? I always wanted to be a father.

Plastic bag!!! Yes. That. I will put this wretched journal in it. Hard part is making it out to sea. Looooong long loooong journey. The water so frightens me. ~~Never got around to telling that story~~…No time now. Frightens me. Will not make it back, no, no energies if I go all the way to the waters. Sacrifice myself for this journal to may live sinse I may die. Will write in here one more again before i finish…promise I will be better.

Dreamed of lucky last night. He brought me food, ripe peace of fruit. I don’t think it was a dream but I must think it was a dream because things don’t happen like that in real life. This doesn’t happen in real life…no, my life isn’t real. But when I think it is a dream I am hungry….full when I think it is not a dream. Trippy ~~shit~~. No cursing!!! Lucky brought me food last night.

Dear Journal - Day 24

2009-10-16T20:00:00.000-07:00

by Justin C. Key

Dear Journal,

Dying…pretty sure of it. I was taught always to have hope. I do, I do, but must face reality and prepare. Denial for too long…even when the ~~vultures~~ big death-birds came. Realized it yesterday…caught one of them PECKING at my leg during a period of my unconscious. Can’t bear to write what happened to my arm…it was too late to have done anything….I killed it, right then, fear and adrenaline pushing me. Snapped its neck…ate what I could right there. Stopped at the bones and began to vomit…what have I become? God gave me no mirrors here ‘cus I would not recognize myself. Then I knew…I was on my way out.

True what they say…think you’re immortal until death is staring you in the eye. Even then, it’s hard…I imagine I will still be in a state of denial seconds before my last breath…can’t fathom not living while I’m still living. Can’t fathom not living while I’m still living.

Hope I have been a good son….a good Christian. I try but I have slipped on both…father should be proud…I think he might even if he did see me now. Even he can accept weakness if it was a last resort…this is last resort. I build fire…I build shelter…I find my own food…I ~~did~~ do all that I can. He HAS to love me and be ~~prod~~ proud for that.

I don’t really have a will. I just want people to be happy. ALWAYS HAVE! It’s important. ~~Hapiness~~ ~~Hapyness~~ Happyness is the most important thing that you can have in life. Live it. Be it.

Cross-Country Trip: Day 2: The Long Road

2009-10-16T13:00:00.000-07:00

Day 2 was all about driving. The open road. Putting the pedal to the medal. Getting from point A to B and whatever other phrases you can think of. I think Day 2 was when I drove the whole day. I opted to do it, and at first Johanna laughed at my request, but I figured I needed driving practice time in and I was starting to enjoy going 90 on those long stretches of nothing-road.

The plan was to drive all day to the Mt. Rushmore area and find a hotel there so we could go and visit first thing in the morning. So far, so good. Only thing was we slept til about 10 a.m. and were lethargic in getting our day started. But we finally got a move on, packed up, and checked out.

Remember I mentioned the toll charges? Well, my Tom-Tom has a feature to avoid the toll lanes so we decided to try it out. It made for an interesting morning. About 30 minutes into the trip we realized that the roads we were on all looked like they hadn't been paved since afros were in style. We were officially in the backroads of America and I started thinking stuff like 'hmm, we could probably find a little farm that sells bunny rabbits on this road.' I was a little worried about the wear and tear on my car (consistently, about every 30 or so miles there was a sign that said 'bump' which should have said 'HOLY SHIT, SLOW DOWN!'), but the change in scenery was worth it. It was the kind of setting you think of when you hear of Little House on the Prairie (minus the racism) or what you see in those cheesy commercials where people are running through meadows.

Nevertheless, it was agreed that from now on we'd just pay the damn toll. But, luckily, all the tolls were behind us anyway.

The rest of the day was pretty uneventful. We listened to The Shack by William P. Young (first time author, but doesn't he just sound like he should be famous?) on audiotape along the way. I had already listened to it (which reminds me, I should post a review of it...also a post about audiotapes...ding ding ding, ideas!), but it was Johanna's first time. Without going much into it, it's basically the story of a father who loses his daughter to a serial killer and a struggling faith in God. Interesting, to say the least. But, again, we'll return to that later.

Another notable thing is that we stopped at a shop in Minnesota. It was a colorful store with quilts and dolls and hats and all kinds of other randoms. I didn't see this myself, but Johanna told me inside that she ran across an Omish man and they continued to stare eachother like they couldn't believe what they were seeing. I guess he'd never seen a real life black person and Johanna a real life Omish (or maybe she'd never seen an Omish intrigued by a black person). either way, I immediately remembered that M&M commercial where they meet Santa:

We got into Rushmore territory pretty late and discovered that we should have booked a hotel ahead of time: all of them seemed to be full for the weekend. We finally found this place with a room for 49 bucks. The cheapness was kind of scary, but it was a room and the Yelp comments weren't too bad. Either way, we had a place to rest our heads. And we'd need it, because the next day we were Mt. Rushmore and Yellowstone bound.

-Justin C. Key

Dream Journal #2

2009-10-16T11:57:00.000-07:00

Just napped--hard--for about an hour. The main dream I can't really remember, but I think it was some kind of nightmare. Then there was this weird period of trying to get up and had 3 rapid succession dreams.

First I remember being in the bed and seeing ants crawling down the walls in waves. I remember when I would turn on the light (from the bed--how, I don't know), they'd kind of thin out, but when I turned the light back off, they just swarmed harder.

Then I thought I was getting up. This consisted of me thinking I was sliding my legs off the bed, slowly, and trying to push myself up. I felt like my body was very heavy and hard to move, which I thought was just a result of heavy sleep. I even remember checking my computer.

Then I was back in dreamworld just like that and for some reason I was driving to the edge of a dock and almost forgot to break and slid to a stop right before going over the edge.

It was weird how the dreams came so close to eachother. It was like treading water, only badly, and my head kept dipping beneath the surface. I wish I could remember that original dream. I also slept for a lot less time than it felt like.

Good Mood Gig Talent Search

2009-10-16T09:00:00.000-07:00

Hello all. So, in my search for opportunities to get my writing out there, I ran into this little gem. http://www.sam-e.com/job/profile/305

Basically, it's a job that has you posting one post per day about how you sustain your good mood. The first round is based solely off of votes and I think they want to see who is good at utilizing social media. So, please, vote for me. And you can vote once per day, so keep returning!

Also, this explains that good mood sticker on the side, just in case anyone was wondering.

-Justin C. Key

Dear Journal - Day 21

2009-10-15T17:45:00.000-07:00

by Justin C. Key

Dear Journal,

I don’t care what father thinks. I’m crying. Lucky ran away. Not crying ‘cus I’m hungry, but ‘cus he sensed I was thinking of doing evil and he left. He was the closest thing I could’ve had to a friend and I messed it up. He was my ‘Wilson.’

I lunged at him. I saw him get scared and released him in instant regret. Was it all regret? No, there was some weakness there as well. He looked at me…I swear he did. ~~Did he say anything?~~ No, that’s nonsense. He looked as IF to say “shame on you, Ant” and he was gone. I cried so much. I’m crying so much. I dont ~~even~~ feel ashamed about it.

I’m still cold. And hungry. And hurt now. Not physically…mentally and emotionally. I’m losing myself here…in this place. If there were Bibles here, ~~maybe~~ I would have fared better. The devil is getting to me…Lucky saw it and he became scared. I’m scared too.

The Devil has taken over my arm and he’s trying to get my soul. I can’t let him take my soul. But I’m so hungry. Those damn birds are hungry too. Big damn birds. They know I see them…see them waiting for me to die. Don’t come too close!

I hope that I am able to get off of here. Somehow. I don’t see a way now. I still have so much to do in life. But it’s slipping away. God had me survive that accident for some reason. I just don’t know what. Maybe I should begin making my peace.

This book is my curse, I have decided. It shouldn’t have survived with me…there’s no way it should have. It was in my luggage…all my other luggage is gone. It is mine too, I am sure of it. God made me live to suffer because my journal lived. I am only living to write in it. Not really living anymore, but dying. ‘Die like a man.’ That’s what father would say.

Cross-Country Trip: Day 1, Part 2: The Drive to Chicago

2009-10-15T12:04:00.000-07:00

First off, did anyone notice I spelled Chicago wrong in part 1? My bad, guys.

Anyway, where was I? Ah, yes, Chicago. One thing I left out in Part 1 was that there were hella hella stupid doo-doo dumb retarded tolls. Literally every 50 miles. It made for interesting developments on day 2, but we'll get to that later.

The first thing I remember about Chicago? The traffic. MY GOD! First off, I'm already dead tired from the overnight and lack of ability to get good sleep in the passenger's seat, it's my turn to drive, and this was my first time experiencing heavy traffic. Since I included the part about Johanna's ticket, it would probably be unfair if I did not include that this trafficky, tired part of the day made me very grumpy. It's not something I'm proud of, but there, I admit it.

We finally arrived to the hotel at about 3:30. We were seriously tempted to just stay in and sleep, but it's Chicago! I'd never been. She'd never been. So we sucked it up and went out to explore. The plan was the Willis Tower and then some good ole Chicago pizza. We decided it might be easier to drive. Big mistake. It's funny, because on the way to the hotel our side was bumper to bumper and the other direction was pretty free flowing. Same stuff when we went back the same way we came: the traffic flow had switched. It was like Chicago was f'ing with us.

We finally made it to the Willis Tower and commenced operation Look Like a Tourist. This consisted of pictures, pictures, and more pictures. We took the 'tour' which first consisted of a movie telling about the history of Sears Tower and how recently Sears has been going under, the tower was bought out, and the name was changed to the wimpiness it is now. Us and a few other people got to the movie part right after they closed the doors and it was 14 minutes til the next showing so the people in front of us took it upon themselves to force entry. We just went along with it and tried to take quick seats as we heard an attendant shouting that we couldn't do that. Nothing ever became of it.

The coolest part was the top view. We got there right around dusk so we were able to see the city in the dying daylight and in all its glory at night. They even had this glass ledge that you can go out on, look down, and feel like you're standing in thin air. It was kind of surreal, but it also didn't look as far up as I thought it would.

Next stop was random Chicago pizza joint. We ordered a classic Chicago-style pizza and what we got was a big chunk of melted cheese on a thin layer of bread. Oh, and I think there were some other things mixed in there as well. It was ok, at best, at the time, but it made for crappy left overs the next day.

The good news is that the traffic back was a breeze. No, that's a damn lie. It was still terrible. And for some reason I still opted to drive. Maybe it made me feel like I had a right to be cranky if I was at least doing the driving. I don't know, maybe you psycho-analysts out there in web-world can help me out. Either way, we were back to the hotel soon, ready to rest up, and that much closer to California.

-Justin C. Key

Dream Journal #1

2009-10-13T10:27:00.000-07:00

Before I forget. Just had a dream that a bunch of us were hanging out with Dave Chappelle (I think) and he was telling us about this health problem he has. Then that problem kicks in, hard, and he dies. Just as we're standing over his dead body, perplexed, some of his family comes in, including a very large, very menacing man. For some unknown reason, my side draws guns in panic, making us look very guilty. Then we run, knowing that this family of Dave is going to try to kill us. We split up and I go and hide among the pool party (don't ask why there's a pool party....it's a dream).

While there, I meet this random girl who says she always wanted to have kids but she wants to be able to run first (she's extremely overweight). I give her the profound advice that you don't need to be able to run to have kids. She ponders on this revelation. Then my pursuers find me. I try to explain to them what had really happened, but they inform me they have already voted to stab me in my kidney with a pencil. I get infuriated and tell them I can prove we didn't kill Dave Chappelle because we had recorded some of our outing beforehand and on some of the tape he talks about this health problem. I proceed to yank the pencils out of their hands. They agree to go and watch the video with me.

I wake here with a weird initial feeling that I need to go back to sleep and finish this 'dream' so they won't come after me in future dreams. Welcome to my mind.

I'm going to start posting some of the dreams that stick out to me. Maybe they will become inspiration for future stories. Who knows, maybe I'll start analyzing them (I invite any reader to as well). I also hear that writing them down right after helps one master the art of lucid dreaming. Eh, we'll see.

-Justin C. Key

Dear Journal - Day 19

2009-10-12T15:43:00.000-07:00

by Justin C. Key

I haven’t been able to move for the past couple of days. I’ve tried but every time I get up I get lightheaded and fall over. I am exhausted all of the time, cold, and, more and more importantly as time goes on, hungry. Food is a stranded man’s worst enemy. It’s the only thing that needs to be accomplished consistently. I build a house…it takes work…it stays there. ~~I build a bandage~~ I make a bandage and it might get used up but by then I am healed (except for this damned arm). But food…I spend a whole day trying to catch something and then the next day I have to go through the trouble all over again. There’s no guarantee. Even now that I have an area full of food, I can’t get to it. So I starve. What a ~~bitch~~.

I have been remembering to pray but I don’t know what I am praying for anymore. 3 weeks, but so long…is it a waste of time to pray for being rescued? Sometimes I pray for this journal to disappear…I feel like it is keeping me here somehow. I don’t write this but some days I try to stay away from this journal. It’s like I’m giving up….I am writing for someone else to read when I am gone. I have been successful some days but most days I come back to write. Hell, even trying hard to return to nice handwriting…last time’s was a mess. But what to pray for….pray for peace. Everything happens for a reason. I am here for a reason.

I can’t kill him. No, I promised I wouldn’t. What kind of name is Lucky if you are killed by the man who named you…so unfair. But I’m so cold…and he’s so close…and I bet his insides are warm.

Why You Don't Talk To Strangers

2009-10-09T18:17:00.000-07:00

A Poem by Justin C. Key

They met on Sunday’s wife.

A Saturday—she wore black,

A color of mourning, none other than that of the cat

Ran over in the street. She’d gone to try

To save its life. Time was against her, death to cut

The feline’s string. They met under the next sun.

They first kissed with the background of the setting sun

On the balcony of The Sailor’s Wife,

A restaurant with salmon so freshly cut.

And when the day turned in to black

His feelings for her, he had to try

To say. But in the end they just kissed. Tongues went to the cat

They first fought about the cat

That he bought for her to bring some sun

In to her life and try

To relieve her guilt from that day. His brother’s wife

Agreed to help. No black,

He said. Only white could make the cut.

A month later she slipped a cut

To her finger, startled by the playful cat.

So much blood, the sink went black

He rushed to her and held her wound up to the sun

As tender as if she were his wife.

That night she asked ‘will you love me.’ He said I’ll try.

Marriage wasn’t long after his try

But tries aren’t good enough, strings of anger cut

By any little thing done by his wife

His true love was just the cat

His eyes the darkest under the sun

So cold at noon, like coals of black

That June her first eye went black

That July she stopped tears to try

To be a good spouse for August’s sun

But September came and sanity was cut

And October’s Halloween found a hanged cat

By November she knew she was Chucky’s wife

Her body is all charred with black, for she chose to be his wife

In the end he had tried to try, to bury her out of love with the cat

But it was as if the sun boiled his brain, and like this he began to cut.

The Best Job In the World

2009-10-09T14:39:00.000-07:00

Remember way back in the beginning of 2009 there was a slight buzz over this job that paid $100k for 6-months of enjoying the Great Barrier Reef, trying out free spa services, and basically sitting on your ass all day? Oh, and feeding the fish was one of the grueling responsibilities, too. Apparently Australia's tourism industry was suffering and they came up with the idea of paying someone a ridiculous amount of money to be pampered, enjoy the high life, and keep up a blog that would ideally increase interest in visiting that continent that we love to call a country, and vice versa.

Naturally, I jumped on the opportunity.

I had just spent three months in Australia as part of Stanford's overseas study programs. It was one of the best experiences of my life--all 22 years and 4 months of it. Along with 47 of my peers, I traveled all up and down the Australian East Coast, from Stradbroke Island to Brisbane to Cairns back down to Heron Island on the Great Barrier Reef and then to Sidney. Hands down, our time on Heron Island was the most memorable. Sure, we still had class regularly (every morning at 8 am to be exact), but our days still consisted of independent morning snorkels, mid-day volleyball with the professors, evening tanning sessions on the beach, and the occasional night snorkel (those were fun, if not a bit eerie).

We spent a total of two weeks at Heron and I imagined that my experience with The Best Job in the World (aka: Island Reef Job) would be quite similar, plus 5.5 months and minus 47 peers and 5 professors. To apply, all you had to do was submit a 60 second video (not a second more) telling why you are the man (or woman, in my case it was the former, so please: no misogyny accusations) for the job. Piece of cake, right? Wrong. In my defense, I have no video editing experience and did all of this in one night, and I think I did pretty well, considering. But some of the people who applied must work for Pixar, I swear.

My mother told me about the job, coincidentally, right after I had stumbled upon it myself. It had been posted on Yahoo!, so I knew there would be a lot of contenders. I would have started on it earlier, but that time-sucking leech of a burden you may know as college was well under way. In fact, I think the deadline was right around mid-terms. So, as things like this usually do, the time kept ticking by and ticking by and soon I was in danger of missing the deadline. So I dedicated a weekend, locked myself in one of the classroom buildings with my computer, a rented camera, and some (limited) food. The plan was to come up with a powerpoint on myself and do a presentation (on myself) in a comical, in-your-face sort of way, and film it. I had done something like this before in Australia (Blubber Love Academy) with good enough result. The presentation, as you'll see in the video, I was pretty proud of but wish I had used an HD-camera so that all the little details would shine through. In the end, my hope was that whoever was viewing these videos would first be intrigued by my charisma and overall presentation and then on subsequent views be able to unravel more from the video, like a colorful ball of yarn with a present in the middle.

I shot it myself using a tripod and basically went through the whole presentation multiple times from multiple angles. The editing was the hardest part by far. They were pretty serious about the 60 second limit and I remember getting it down to 80 seconds and not knowing how I would compress anymore. It's interesting because the fast-paced on-crack nature of the final result is because I went over it many times deleting almost all the spaces in between. So there really is no time of me doing nothing. I forget exactly how I got down to 60 seconds, but I kept chipping away over and over until it meet the criteria.

I finished the video about 12 hours before the upload deadline. Then guess what happened? It wouldn't upload. The servers were being flooded. The worst part was that I'd have to wait about 20 minutes of it acting like it was uploading just to see the error screen at the end. During this time, I read FAQ posts on the site that said, despite the technical difficulties, videos that did not make it up by the deadline would not be considered, no exceptions. It was a bad 12 hours. I was already sleep-deprived and fell asleep a few times beside the computer. For about 6 or so hours it wouldn't upload and I was really beginning to think that, after all of that, I just wouldn't be able to do it. Finally, it randomly went through.

But my worries weren't over.

The FAQ also made it clear that the time limit was to be strictly enforced. Any videos that were over 60.00 seconds were disqualified. The scary part about this was that the site recognized that some video programs would record a second or more difference from what they were using in a video's length but, for fairness, they had to measure everyone's under the same standards. In other words, I could have a program that said my video is 59 seconds, but if the program the judges are using says it's actually 61 seconds, it's disqualified. So, even after mine uploaded, I was fearful of the dreaded rejection email.

In the end, I received an email saying that my upload had gone through successfully. I could tell you in detail what happened after that, but this post is about the creative process and obviously I'm not chilling somewhere in Australia right now, so you can guess the outcome. Long story short, my video wasn't short-listed as part of the 50 that viewers would vote on. Nevertheless, here is the video for your viewing pleasure...and hopefully I never run for office.

-Justin C. Key

Dear Journal - Day 17 (Click on picture to see better)

2009-10-09T14:35:00.000-07:00

Dear Journal - Day 14 (Click on picture to see better)

2009-10-08T23:04:00.000-07:00

Dear Journal - Day 13

2009-10-05T17:24:00.000-07:00

by Justin Key

Hey Journal,

My mom died when I was two years old. I know that people aren’t supposed to remember back that far, but I remember her long, brown hair and her singing to me before going to sleep. She had a drawn-out struggle with cancer that I knew nothing about since I was too young. I think that’s why my father has been so hard on me. He wanted to prepare me for the hardships of life. And in a way he did.

It’s about mid-day now. There isn’t a cloud in the sky and the sun is strong overhead. I guess I am lucky that it is pretty warm here, except for when it rains, but even then it isn’t life-threatening bad. I would sit on the beach and soak it in, as I just had a full meal and bathed, but I still can’t stand to be by the water for too long. Sad, really.

I followed a rabbit yesterday, researching it for food. The awful plan was to kill it when I was done finding out what I needed and having a ‘salad’ with it. Turns out, the little thing led me to a whole field of fruits and vegetables. Most delicious plants I’ve ever eaten! Afterward the little thing came up to me and looked at me all pitiful-like, as if it knew I was planning to kill it and was pleading with me. He let me touch him, pet him, and I couldn’t do it. Besides, he had led me to all that food. I picked him up with my good arm and brought him back to camp. His name is Lucky. Haha, so cliché.

My arm is hurting less. But that’s a bad thing. It’s getting numb and I am beginning to lose use in it. The smell was becoming annoying so I wrapped it in some clothes. I think it’s better if I just don’t talk about it. I just need to pray. Prayer works, journal, prayer works.

Dear Journal - Your thoughts....a.k.a: Please Comment!

2009-10-05T07:40:00.000-07:00

Hello loyal readers, if there are any out there. I've gotten some good comments here and there on some of my blog posts, but not many (maybe none at all, too lazy (read: sick with strep throat) at the moment to go back and check) for my 'Dear Journal' short story series. So, if you've been reading them--or, if you have the time, want to go back and read them now--please comment here with what you think about it so far.

Dear Journal was originally a project for a Stanford class called 'Poetry and Prose in Conversation,' which dealt with the line between, yes, you guessed it--poetry and prose. It was my final assignment and I turned it in as an actual journal that was supposed to have been found washed up on an Ecuadorian beach. I printed it out and bound it together using needle and thread and soaked the papers in tea to give them a worn and 'lost at sea' look. Finally, I burned one of the pages halfway to hell, reflected in Days 10 and 11.

Now that you have the background, let me know what you think of the entries--and the story as a whole--up to this point. I was considering making another of these posts for suggestions on how to make this entire blog better, but I don't want to cloud it with such pleas, so if you have any general comments and/or advice, please feel free to post them here as well.

-Justin C. Key

Dear Journal - Day 12

2009-10-04T18:52:00.000-07:00

Dear Journal,

Again, I am very sorry for hurting you, journal. I felt really bad about it. This journal is all I have right now. I think that I have become kind of dependent on you.

I thought about making a boat yesterday, like in that same Tom Hanks movie. I’m sure my father would be proud if I did, or at least not disappointed in a weak son. I thought about it for a good while, even walked around the woods a little to get a good idea of what was available. It wasn’t the lack of materials that discouraged me, as there is a lot to work with, but I just wanted to be realistic with myself. I haven’t seen any planes and there is nothing on the visible horizon. I am in the middle of the nowhere of the world…I’d die of starvation if I went out to sea.

I’m eating better now. I’m getting smarter about my surroundings and my situation, if I may say so myself. Apparently there are a lot of those rabbits around and they must have never encountered humans before as I found out that I do not have to lurk in the shadows and sneak up on them. They let me come right up to them. I’ve learned to cook them properly as well. Stick right through the mouth and midsection, rest over an open flame, turn every 30 minutes or so until it smells like heaven. I do feel kind of bad having to kill them, especially when I am not overwhelmed by hunger, but I justify myself in saying that I need to to survive…like all carnivores in the animal kingdom. That’s basically what this is right? A return to the animal kingdom for me. But I am trying to change…I’m watching what plants the rabbit-creatures eat to take note of what is safe. Soon I want to convert to veggies…if only to spare my sanity from having to break another neck.

….Soon…how long do I plan on being here?

My arm is bothering me a great deal. It’s starting to smell.

Cross-Country Trip: Day 1, Part 1: The Drive to Chiago

2009-10-02T02:11:00.000-07:00

We set off at midnight. I'd tried to get an ample amount of rest beforehand, but that didn't go too well. Still, on top of the one hour of napping, I had spent 2 hours laying down with my eyes closed, so maybe that would count for something? My car was already packed and all that was left to do was to say my goodbye's--see-you-later's as my grandma would have preferred. This part wasn't as hard as you may expect, considering I had left home for school in California 4 years before. In my eyes, that was when I 'moved out' and this past summer was just me visiting home again. Either way, my mother was there to see me off.

I've always been bad with directions. This little fact combined with a week old license and a car that had been in my possession for the same amount of time ensured that I'd get nowhere without a GPS. That day I had gone out and got one of the TomTom's. I set it up meticulously and then went on my way. I had never driven at night alone before, so I tried to pretend TomTom was that side-seat driver. All was going well until I took the wrong exit en route to the airport to pick up Johanna. Of course, it quickly re-calibrated and told me which way to go, but it felt like it was taking me in circles for a long time after that. Seems I had spent 10 minutes trying to get back to a mile before the exit I had wrongly taken. Johanna's flight was delayed, so it all worked out anyway.

Johanna drove the first leg. It had been her idea to start off early so that we could get to Chicago in the afternoon and spend the rest of the day there. She'll probably be mad that I told you all this, but she got a speeding ticket within the first hour of the trip. She was shocked to discover that the speed limit had been 55 instead of 65. Needless to say, she drove 5 miles under the rest of the way, but it was the first and last ticket of our journey, for both of us.

At 900 or so miles, the drive from DC to Chicago is about 13 hours, give or take a gas station and breakfast stop. The first few hours of driving in the dark was pretty uneventful, but a smooth ride going at 50 mph. Around sunrise, it started getting light outside (I promise I'm not slow for that statement) and we stopped for some breakfast at Denny's. It would be my turn to drive next so, naturally, I had about 3 cups of coffee: I was only going off of two hours of car-sleep.

While at the diner, we met a cute middle-aged-making-their-way-to-elderly couple who were also traveling to Chicago. When we told them we were doing cross-country, they said that they had before as well and had taken almost the same path we were destined upon. It was a nice little conversation, knowing that you weren't the only crazies on the open road, at 6 am no doubt. The breakfast was good, too. Honestly, I forgot what I had, but I remember that it was good.

While I drove, Johanna took it upon herself to take pictures to chronicle our journey. I tried making it so that these pictures are beside eachother, but that didn't work. If anyone knows how to, please leave a comment.

And, I swear, we came across two of these set-ups along the way, about 2-4 hours apart! From the gas station, to the Hardees, to how the huge bathroom was set-up inside (that was the freaky, I-must-be-in-the-Matrix part), these two locations were IDENTICAL. PS: Ignore the date on these photos, that's just a result of me not fixing the settings on my camera.

Soon, as heavy fatigue and road-grumpiness was starting to set in, we began to see signs of the big city. And this is where part 1 of day 1 ends and part 2 will commence.

Dear Journal - Day 11 (Click on picture to see better)

2009-10-01T17:11:00.000-07:00

Dear Journal - Day 10 (Click on picture to see better)

2009-09-30T17:21:00.000-07:00

Cross-Country Trip: Introduction

2009-09-29T18:22:00.000-07:00

A couple weeks ago, just under 20 days after getting my driver's license, I finally set out to move to California. I decided to drive for a couple of reasons: I had just gotten my first car and the shipping costs would be ridiculous and I thought that a cross-country would be a good way to get used to driving. I felt that I needed to learn--and learn fast--since the goal is to live in LA....and I've heard LA driving ain't no joke. I must admit, I was pretty apprehensive about the trip. Just try to put yourself in the shoes of a 22-year-old who'd just finished college, had never sat behind a wheel prior to two months ago, and had 3,200 miles of unadulterated road ahead of him with the heavy burden/worry of not crashing the car that's supposed to last you the next few-several years (oh, and let's not forget the chance of dying part). Scary, huh?

I set off Thursday night/Friday morning at midnight from Washington, DC with my girlfriend. The itinerary took us to Chicago to Mt. Rushmore to Yellowstone to the Bay Area over a span of four days. I want to spend a blog post for each day--pictures and all--because I think it is deserving of such. Tomorrow will be the first, chronicling the overnight drive to the windy city and a great, if not tiring, all-day stay. This post is just a place-holder and a motivation for me to get these posts in sooner than later, so check back tomorrow!

The Storm: Part 8

2009-09-26T22:13:00.000-07:00

“She ripped it out,” he almost yelled. “After three years of trying . . . she just fucking ripped it out. I was supposed . . .” The sobs took back over and pushed out the fire to leave only those fisheyes. “I w-was sup-sup-supposed to be . . . to be . . a f-f-f-father.”

Baylor’s mind raced. How did Jez get there so fast? And the blood . . . so much blood. Where had it all come from? He felt light-headed. Nothing made sense. What has made sense today? What at all has made any fucking sense?

“Did you hurt her? Jez, what did you do to the girl?”

But Jez didn’t seem to hear. He kept on sobbing into his hands. It went on for maybe a minute more and Baylor didn’t know what to do. He suddenly had that wave of fear that he should have felt earlier. Jez was covered in blood that didn’t look to be his own, weeping uncontrollably. Madly. Should he make a break for it? Should he—

“So I ripped her out of it!” Baylor jumped. Jez had sprung up again, only this time his face was close, eyes blazing. “Out of life! I had to, Bay! It was my duty!” He stared down at his own hands, as if the realization of his words—or, rather, the history behind them—was just coming to life. “And then . . . and then there was so much fire. So many flames. I couldn’t get away.” A pause. “I didn’t want to get away.”

As Jez stared at his hands, an orange glow lit his wet face, danced and weaved in and out of the shadow of his eyes and against the mat of his hair. To Baylor’s complete and utter horror, the glow was from fire. Fire that sparked from each and every one of Jez’s fingertips. And it began to spread. Jez’s face began to pour sour sweat.

“‘It’s for the baby,’ she said. ‘It’s what a father’s supposed to do,’ she said. Seven months of fucking slavery. And for what?” Jez seemed indifferent to the fire that had spread down his arms and was quickly invading his body. His skin boiled. His face dripped in waves. Baylor saw that each of Jez’s pupils held its own little flame. Jez’s hair began to smoke. “what’s the fucking point, bay?”

Time to go.

Baylor had been backed against the door. He could feel the blood still falling from the skies and trickling down his back, but what he could feel even more was the heat coming from Jez. His full body was almost ablaze now. Baylor’s hand fumbled for the latch on pure terrored instinct. Found it. Pulled. Simultaneous with his remembering that the lock was jammed and that he was surely fucked, the door swung open and he fell out into the lot.

Baylor coughed and winced from the impact. His elbows had taken the brunt of the weight and a jarring, numbing pain sprinkled his arms. But there was hardly any room for self-sympathies. Not when blood was falling from the sky friends were spontaneously combusting in his car. So he squinted through the pain while scooting back on his hands and arms, pulling his legs from the rest of the cab. But the truck was empty. No man. No fire. Windows intact. And the rain was just rain again. He stopped to check his hangs. They were wet with mud and rain—no blood in sight.

He killed her.

Baylor blinked and blinked again, half from the rain stinging at his eyes and half from all the shit that had just happened. But that phrase—that wind—kept whipping at his mind and his thoughts went to the girl. For some reason, he felt an overwhelming need to protect her.

Baylor gave one last look to his truck (so empty . . . so quiet) and then scrambled to his feet in a slippery manner, almost falling twice before he had the footing to run. And run he did. Blinded by the rain and the haze, he did his best to run to where he thought he had come from. The wind howled, but it did not speak. It seemed like an eternity before he could see anything, but finally the outline of his store rose from the ashes of what had once been a sane world. A fucked up world, but sane nonetheless.

He ran harder.

He burst through the door in a way that sent its bells flying and crashing its last jingle. Rain and wind flooded in behind him. He’d get the girl and they’d go somewhere safe. Somehow, he’d get her somewhere saf—

The store was empty.

Baylor ran behind the counter. There was no sign of her. No sign of anyone. The blood in his head began to thump against his temples like a high school band. He looked under the counter, checked the floor. The water bottle was gone, too. No puddle in sight.

“Jez?” he called, climbing back to his feet. He ran back to the door and leaned out into the rain. It was falling hard, making it difficult to see or to even stand there against its will. He did anyway and yelled out into the storm. “Jez! Jez!” Lightning struck as if to light up his world and show him: nobody there.

Frantic now, he pulled back in to the store and slammed the door. He turned and had gone two steps when the floor caught his eye. It was clean. There were puddles from the rain, but they were clean puddles. The only shoe marks were his own, and even those were faint—nowhere near the caliber that had earned Jez a grimace before. And the muddy (bloody) trail that the girl had introduced . . . just a fairy tale. Clean.

But . . .

Small drops of water broke from the norm. Became special in their own right. They formed a line extending from the door. A line that was far from perfect but too determined to ever be by accident. He followed these dots with his eyes—ever so slowly—and then with his feet. The drumming of his temple was deafening now. His heart felt like a drying machine with rocks thrown inside.

He followed.

Dear Journal - Day 9

2009-09-24T23:23:00.000-07:00

Dear Journal,

Fire! We have fire, people. It took a long time and I definitely didn’t know what the hell I was doing, but I got lucky. I got frustrated and started looking for matches in one of the ~~luggages~~, pieces of luggage (I have 4 now, still can’t find my own though) and there was a magnifying glass in one instead. I had seen it being used on TV with the sun and it was a bright sunny day.

I gathered up a lot of sticks and dead leaves. It didn’t take too long to get something going and soon I had…fire! It reminded me of that movie with Tom Hanks where he is stranded on that island (damn…too bad I don’t have a Volleyball) and he first creates fire and is dancing around his creation. I didn’t do quite that, with my injuries and all, but I was quite happy and proud.

Speaking of which, my mid-section is doing better. I haven’t written about it much because it really hasn’t been on my mind. I don’t think I broke anything there after all. My leg as well. The swelling has gone down a little. It still hurts and I’m not risking overusing it, but I definitely see improvement.

As for my hand (or should I say my arm now)…I’m trying to keep my mind off of it. The best way to do that is to look for food. Especially now that I have a fire.

I wonder if anyone is missing me back at home? Back in the office? Of course, I have friends and I am important where I work, but I am unmarried and no real immediate family. I wonder if they have stopped searching for me, given me up as for dead like all the others. That’s how you know who your real friends are…the ones that never give up hope. Maybe one day I will be able to find out who my real friends are.

Misery by Stephen King - Review

2009-09-22T20:40:00.000-07:00

Am I twisted if I finish a book like this and then think: wow, that was a fun ride! Some might say that I am, but I just like to think of it as recognizing a brilliant creative mind when I see one. Throughout, this novel was classic King, with all the twists, bloody details, and character development expected from the master. It was also interesting to read this after having watched the movie in the past. I thought the Annie in that was a psycopath, but King's original character takes the insanity cake, licks off all the icing, and then spits it back out before serving it to her guests. I don't know if I have ever encountered a crazier character, written or acted, than Annie Wilkes.

King decided to present this story through the perspective of a writer, something he has done in other novels (The Shining, The Dark Half, Lisey's Story, etc) with great outcomes. Misery is no different. Throughout the novel, King explores what it means to be a writer, from dealing with motivations to writer's block to pushing past the slush and the frustration to break free into the land of the wonderful. He does this through Paul Sheldon, a famous author of the Misery books, a romance series based in pre-colonial times. He owes his fame to these books, but he is also trying to escape them and write that novel to become known as a more 'serious' author. After completing the first draft of this savior novel, he takes it upon himself to celebrate and the next thing he knows he is drugged and in a lifetime of pain in the home of Annie Wilkes: he had been in a near-fatal accident on a snowy, windy road in the dead of winter. By chance, luck, or some strange fate, Annie had been the one to find him. And Annie is his biggest fan. And Annie is crazier than a pitbull with hot sauce on its nuts.

The rest of the novel focuses on Annie and Paul's interactions. We slowly, but surely, see her psychotic nature unfold as she first becomes furious at Paul for killing Misery Chastain at the end of the last book in the series that just came out and later forces Paul to burn his new manuscript and write Misery's Return in its place. I'm not going to give away the details of her grand displays of dementia, but King does a great job of creating a desperate and bone-chilling environment for the duration of the reader's stay.

This novel only contains two main characters and one setting. And even in that one setting (Annie's house), we are mostly limited to one bedroom. This allows a greater focus on the development of these two characters. We learn what makes Paul Sheldon tick as a writer an, in turn, some insight into the mind of King as well. One thing that stuck out to me was Paul's recurring question of Can You? He uses this as motivation to get past his writer's block, to tell himself that he can create worlds and characters that people can relate to. He has a lot of time to think in this book--about life, mortality, writing, and the f'ed up situation he's found himself in--and this is one of his answers to his own infamous question:

"Can I? Yeah. You bet I can. There's a million things in this world I can't do. Couldn't hit a curveball, even back in high school. Can't fix a leaky faucet. Can't roller skate or make a F-chord on the guitar that sounds like anything but shit. I have tried twice to be married and couldn't do it either time. But if you want me to take you away, to scare you or involve you or make you cry or grin, yeah. I can. I can bring it to you and keep bringing it until you holler uncle. I am able. I can."

In conclusion, Misery is a great ride. Even if not a horror fan, anyone who has any interesting in writing should try to stomach the grotesque and the terror for some damn good commentary on what it means not only to thrive in this art but to live it to its fullest.

Three Day Novel - Metro84

2009-09-10T19:27:00.000-07:00

Wow!

That was my first response.

Total and utter exhaustion.

That was my second.

Surprisingly, though, I couldn't sleep right after. Despite multiple times in those 72 hours where I'd be typing at a sluggish, zombie pace one second and dreaming about God knows what the next, I just could not sleep once it was all said and done. Part of that is most likely attributed to the pure fact that it is always easier for me to fall asleep when my goal is to complete some other task (like reading or writing or schoolwork--but let's never speak of that latter again: those days are over) than when I am actually ready and willing to enter slumberland. And even after a 3-day marathon of typing, thinking, and wishing that the time would go by faster but dreading just that because the story wasn't anywhere near being done yet, the adrenaline of finishing made it hard for me to take what I had been craving for so long when I drew all the curtains, flicked off all the lights, and curled up under the sheets when midnight finally came..

On top of that, I just couldn't stop thinking of the story.

Let me backtrack a little so that I won't lose you. There's this contest (3DayNovel.com) that has been going on for thirty years or so that challenges authors to write a full novel in 72-hours. You can plan all you want beforehand, make an outline, meditate, go on a journey around the world for inspiration, as long as the actual writing is done within the 72 hour time frame. How do they hold people to this little detail? Technically, they can't. They don't have anything to go on besides people's words that the manuscripts submitted were written following the rules listed on their site. Of course, they would be able to tell the difference between something written marathon-style over the course of a weekend and something that someone has been working on for the last three years. They encourage that contestants submit their work right after they are done, typos and all: it's what they expect.

The winner (announced every January after the September deadline) gets their book published (no worries, the book is edited professionally after it is picked) while the two runner ups get cash prizes. While I am not naive enough to bank on this contest as my ticket to fame, the contest had special appeal to me because of some of the limiting factors of my current work. Both of my first two novels are about 150k words in length and both may suffer from over-description (although this term is very opinionated...what may be over-description to some may be just right for others and, even still, too bland for those special people out there) at times. While there are published works out there that display these same characteristics and published authors that live by them, as an individual seeking first-time publication, these can be limiting. I saw this contest as a chance to focus on the story, get out all of my thoughts in a short amount of time, and potentially create something that is shorter, more stream-lined, and, ultimately, more appealing to publishers. In other words, even if I don't win the contest, I'd have created something that I could use towards future publication.

And, of course, I could now say that I've written three full novels.

I didn't create an outline beforehand. In fact, I didn't think about the story much at all prior to sitting down at the chair that would be torturing my hind quarters for the next three days. About a day or so before I asked a couple of friends if they could go through my short-story tweets and see which ones could be potentially expanded to something longer. People gave me a few ideas and I pondered over a few, but not much more.

I ended up using this idea that I've been wanting to do for a couple months now. Monday, June 22, 2009, my mother and me were on the D.C. metro, going to see the movie 'Up,' when the train broke down in the tunnel. We were there for maybe an hour or so and I remember the metro attendants speed-walking up and down the aisles, in between train cars, and one time even going out into the tunnel (my mother said that she had never seen them do that before). Finally, we had to be pushed to the next platform by another train. Coincidentally, later that day the fatal train collision at Fort Totten occurred. It was unrelated to our train, but we were on our way back home when it happened.

While being stuck in that tunnel my imagination went wild. What if this were the cause, or that, or if this happened when he opened the door to the tunnel, or that person went crazy, etc, etc, etc. I knew a short-story had to come out of it. But I had other projects that I was working on and wanted to not half-ass it, so I put it aside.

This is the idea that stuck with me when I sat down for the 3-day-novel. It started off with a single father, Jake, and his nine-year-old son, Thomas, who barely make the train: they are going to see a movie, a Disney/Pixar collab, no less. From then I let my memory guide the first chapter of the story, incorporating how it sounded when the train stopped, or people's reactions, or how the urgency behind the attendants' strides made everyone uneasy. Then, as I expected (or maybe hoped is the better word), things started taking a life of its own. I wrote about one thousand words per hour and, with random 1/2 hour naps, eating, and small procrastinations, averaged about 10k words per 12 hours. In fact, soon it became my goal. At any upcoming noon or midnight I'd know that I had to press to complete that 10k. With my thousand word/hour rate, if it was 10 am and I had 38k words, then I knew I'd need the full two hours to complete my goal: the break would come after noon. In the same light, if I was at 39k, the next two hours could be a little more forgiving. I'd read that the average submission for the contest was about 100 pages, typed, double-spaced, 12 point Times New Roman font. Well, that's about 30-35k words, which is more a novella. I wanted something that I could also use outside of this contest, and I knew that after the story-arc was written and compeleted, fluffing it up for the sake of more words would just mess up the flow. So, despite the nagging feeling that the unusually length of my work might raise suspicions of its validity in the scope of the 72-hour contest, I stuck with my mid-daily goals when I saw that it was achievable.

After a while (and this part is really amazing), I felt less like I was writing a story and more like I was reading one. Or watching a really long movie, or watching a regular movie really slowly. I don't know exactly when, but at some point I was writing out of curiosity of what was going to happen next, rather than out of necessity to create, if that makes any sense. I always knew that the story would be some kind of horror and deal with some kind of 'evil' lurking in the tunnels, sparked by the attendant opening the doors (bred by the what ifs I experienced when it was actually happening), but it formed itself into a story about religious faith, judgment, and the personal struggle of a man (Jake) dealing with his failures in being a father and a husband. All of the other main characters also have their own demons to deal with.

The basic plot of the story is that a group of people are stuck on a train and all of a sudden find themselves at the mercy of some greater force that will judge them for their sins. And people do get judged. And people do die. Without giving too much away, I'd like to say that some of the judgment deaths were quite disturbing, but not as much as some of the sins that went with them. There is also a lot of questioning of religion and, while I'm no expert or scholar, I try to treat these in a fair way and utilize some of my own understanding of God from my own faith. In the end, I think the characters shone through and offer very real perspective and pasts. A lot of elements I took from my own life, whether from things I've experienced firsthand or have heard or have seen happen to other people. I even include a fictionalized version of myself and my mother on the train to pay a sort of homage to the situation the story sprang from.

I think one of the things I was surprised at the most was the lack of loss of motivation. I just kept typing and typing and typing. Sure, there were times when I just wanted to sleep, or when I was unsure about where to go next, but outside of the small breaks, I was always typing and the story just unrolled itself like a red carpet. I slept about a total of 8-10 hours during the whole ordeal and by the last 12-hour stretch, I was laying on the floor in front of my laptop, pecking away, in and out of sleep. When 10 came, though, I got my 'second-wind' (which might have been my fiftieth by then) and finished the story. It was a great feeling. There were some things that I had to rush a little bit or I felt could have used a little bit of fleshing out, but I had finished the story-arc. It had a beginning, middle, and an end--and damn good ones, if I may say so myself. The final word-count was around 58k and about 180 pages. I've mailed it in and everything and haven't even gone back for typos or plot-holes or anything. I plan to do that later, but for now, that's what they asked for and that's what they're going to get. Besides, I need any proof I have that I didn't cheat on the time-limit.

For about a day afterward, my mind still felt connected to the story. You ever watch a movie that shocked you or left some kind of impression (anyone remember the ending of The Departed? yea, something like that) and it's still on your mind in a hazy, floaty kind of way for a few hours afterward? That's what I experienced after finishing Metro84 (oh, btw, that's the name of the book). I'm sure it was highly exacerbated by my lack of sleep, but I felt a deep impression for some hours afterward. It's hard to explain, but it was weird. I also kind of missed the feeling as time (and sleep) helped it to slip away.

Needless to say, I am excited about the future. I am still working on my other two novels, but I think that Metro84 may be easier for publishers to swallow, especially for a newcomer like myself. I have to wait until the January results before seeking publication elsewhere (or else I would be disqualified), but after that, if I don't win I can do with the manuscript whatever I want. Would I do this contest again? Probably not next year. Maybe not ever. But I think I would use some modified version of it for my own creative adventure and to keep this writing thing lively and interesting.

District 9 Review and Commentary on Racial Representation

2009-08-22T00:04:00.000-07:00

It's 3 am, I'm in New York visiting for the weekend, it's hot as hell, and I can't sleep. I saw District 9 a week ago and have been meaning to write a review, so I figure now is as good a time as any.

It is refreshing to go to the movies and see something that is new and unexpected in both form, story, and message. I was completely dazzled (I must be, right? It's a week later and I'm thinking about the movie at 3 o'clock in the morning!). It was one of those things where I went in expected to be surprised. Kind of like Seven Pounds, where the advertising campaign is run on the secrecy technique and everybody says they can't tell you about the movie because it'd spoil the whole thing. That is how I felt going in to this. So, in that sense, I wasn't surprised, because I was expecting the unexpected. But I can say that I was expecting something original, and original is what I got.

Without giving away too much of the movie, I'd say the movie shines in its character development. The main character makes a complete 360 (in more ways than one) and it is interesting and extremely compelling to watch the process. In addition, the alien creatures are made so that we relate to and feel for them moreso than in any other alien movie I've seen (I guess besides ET). This is probably because in a lot of other movies, the aliens are the bad guys. In this one they're...well, they're almost human. The fact that by the end of the film you feel more connected to something completely computer generated and that doesn't speak a language that could ever be muttered by human tongue is a great achievement.

From a writer's standpoint, I truly appreciate the creativity in the little things. I remember when, during my screenwriting class this past Spring, my teacher (Adam Tobin) critiqued the first act of a horror screenplay I was working on. The scene was one where the main character's ex-husband went crazy in the middle of their divorce settlement meeting. I had him do some regular, run-of-the-mill craziness like shoving a pencil through someone's eye or bashing his own head in with his fist. Adam suggested that I go for original: we've already seen that in movies, especially the horror genre. He said, for example, maybe character could start to chew his own fingers off or something. That creepy little piece of advice stuck with me. And it rang in my head again and again when watching District 9. There were so many things that could have been made into your everyday action flick occurrence, but there were noticeable points where I know the writers were having fun with it. Think laser-room scene from Resident Evil, but less in-your-face and riddled throughout. Maybe it's just the writer in me, but I suspect not. I think a lot of people will remember a lot of parts from this movie.

There is one issue I should address and it was sparked by a discussion on a list from my alma mata, Stanford: racial representation. I walked away thinking that, besides being a kickass bout in originality, a solid social commentary on apartheid. Others focused more on the representation of Africans (Nigerians, specifically) in the movie. They are depicted as savages, more or less, and do things like practice voodoo, inter-species prostitution, and barter illegally with the aliens. I can understand how people could cringe at the portrayals (honestly, while watching it, I lightheartedly thought myself 'well, this just set Nigerians back a hundred years), but I saw it as being creative. The director is from South Africa and that's where the setting was: Africa (and where the setting needed to be to bring light to the real analogous issue: apartheid). Fact is, wherever you go, human nature is corruption. If the movie took place in America, there would be the same negative connotations with Americans, but the director wanted to reflect a real problem in a fashion that would make it to the general public, and hence the setting. And instead of walking on eggshells because he was working with blacks, he kept it real.

I think that white people were actually portrayed worse in this movie. Like a lot of movies, they are the ones pushing for domination over 'lesser races' and their lust for power makes them do despicable things. This is actually seen in a LOT of movies, but I think people overlook that. In this movie, our image of the average white American male is the REAL antagonist. I think that this movie was just real with itself and its audience about what COULD happen and I'm glad for that. I do realize, however, that, combined with ignorance, some people could step away with just one more stereotype about what they think the black race is all about. But that's all around us already and hopefully people will take away the brighter message.

Well, guys, I think (hope, pray) maybe I can sleep now. It's been fun and, if you haven't yet (hell, even if you have), go see District 9!

Dear Journal - Day 8

2009-08-19T09:03:00.000-07:00

Dear Journal,

It wasn’t that bad. Not THAT bad. It tasted like cold salami. The weird smell made it a little unbearable at times, but I was determined to keep it down. And I couldn’t tell what parts I could eat or couldn’t. Nonetheless, I am going to make a fire today. I have no clue how to, but I’m human and I figure I can do it. Nasty or not, my hunger has subsided for now and I should use this energy for that fire.

I found a body the other day. It washed up on to shore as I was looking for food in the shallows (there are surprisingly no fish to be found and I didn’t dare go farther than a foot deep of water). It wasn’t close to me but I saw it all of a sudden and knew. I just stared at it and knew. I left immediately.

I remember the first time I saw a dead body. I was about seven years old when grandma died and at the funeral I saw her. She looked so ~~fake~~ artificial and I didn’t understand how and why everyone said she looked so good and like she was ‘just sleeping.’ I remember not thinking it was her. It wasn’t the lady I would visit in the summer and write childish letters to during the rest of the year. It was hard for me to accept.

I knew this body was different, even though I didn’t see it. I knew it wasn’t all made up and fake. I didn’t know if it was a man, a woman, mother, child. Just that it was dead. Maybe I had interacted with the person on the boat beforehand. I didn’t know. And I don’t ever want to know.

This is all for now. A fire awaits me.

The Ink Road

"The Deadliest Sin" To-Do List 9/30/11

Gordon Ferrell - Lunatic of Pens

'The Deadliest Sin' - My Novel in Progress

No time to write....or do much of anything

'Creative Writing Can't Be Taught'....

When the Air Hits Your Brain - My Thoughts

Scraps

Tommyknockers - Good, but not King's best.

'I Remember' - A Poem for My Aunt

Scribophile Posts: "Is Stephen King a Good Writer?" and "Race in Writing."

"The Brain is Sexy"

A Night in the Hospital

A Year Goes By Fast

New Video Blog, to be posted here

The Teacher

Dear Mother

Daniel (Draft)

A story a day will keep the (brain) doctors at bay.

Michael

Published in '6S Review"

House of Leaves

Committment

The End of the World

Still here, still writing.

Job Search by Justin Key

Under the Dome Review at TheCelebrityCafe.com

Weird Dream....But I Can't Remember It.

The Ball

Top 10 Lost Mysteries That Need Answering

Movies to Look Forward to in 2010...And those to stray away from.

Under the Dome: A Writer's Analysis

Finished Under the Dome

The bodies are racking up in Under the Dome...

Social Media and Writing.

Lost: What's to Come.

Investigation...

As Families Re-Unite, Congress Calls For Interrogation Lottery

She's back!!!

Stanford hit hard by the disappearances.

Biker in the road.

Nothing still...

Speechless...

Thanksgiving payback.

You know it's bad when you envy orphans...

And they lived happily ever after...

I saw a homeless guy today....

Thou shalt not....

400 pages into Under the Dome...

Biker in the road.

"Here comes the bride...all dressed in..."

'New Moon' needs a 'New Cast'

Third Day Under the Dome

Twitter Horror Story

Second day Under the Dome

Video for Sam-E.com Good Mood Blogger goes live!

The dome drops. Experiencing the Dome, Day 1

Scribophile.com, Suite101.com, and TheCelebrityCafe.com articles on the side...

The Return of J.Key, With Under the Dome Impressions

Breached 1000 votes!

Suite101.com writer.

Dear Journal - Blank Page

Dear Journal - Blank Page

Dear Journal - Blank Page

Dream Journal: 9/11 part 2

Dear Journal - Day 27

Blogging gig at Scribophile.

Dear Journal - Day 26

Dear Journal - Day 24

Cross-Country Trip: Day 2: The Long Road

Dream Journal #2

Good Mood Gig Talent Search

Dear Journal - Day 21

Cross-Country Trip: Day 1, Part 2: The Drive to Chicago

Dream Journal #1

Dear Journal - Day 19

Why You Don't Talk To Strangers

The Best Job In the World

Dear Journal - Day 17 (Click on picture to see better)

Dear Journal - Day 14 (Click on picture to see better)