JBWE, R2, My Turn (Jim Butcher Writing Experience)

JBWE, Round 2, My Turn -- Jim Butcher Writing Experiment



Here go my answers to this round of the writing experiment.  Let's see what we can do!  Who all is talking in my head?  That's disturbing.

Part 04: It All Depends On Your Point Of View
a.    Experience the importance of having a strong char/knowing char:
       i. Pick one of your favorite shows from childhood; write about a normal day from the main character's POV
       ii. Pick one of your favorite shows from childhood; write about a normal day from a back/weak character's POV

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Here goes Part 04, a, i:


"Oh what a day it will be!  I've already done 879,000 push-ups, had 347 eggs for breakfast, and dispatched 14 legions of baddies from the lands of Grayskull.  Nothing more could top the glory achieved under this fine sun!"

I wasn't talking to anyone in particular, but sometimes I just feel the need to let it out!  Yup - here goes again.

"What's that over there?  Is that a flimsy looking cowl of one dastardly skull-faced villain I know?  Come on Battle Cat, let's ride like the wind!"

Fortunately, Battle Cat, my over sized riding cat, decided to stop his breakfast at 411 brush hens.  He strolled over and rubbed up against... well, my whole body, really and let out a comforting rumble.

"Thanks old boy.  Let's hit the roads and follow that cowl!"

I mounted the feline mercenary quickly and dashed my heels into his hind-quarters.  We were off in a flash to hunt down the thing I hate the most.  That vile skulled-man that I see in the shadows on my way to bed.  It was his time to feel the power.

I have it.  Yes, I do.

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Here goes Part 04, a, ii:

"Now where did I leave that bucket of dirt again?"

Mumbling while I dig through the castle dungeons seems to help jar my memory.  Well, it usually does when I've got nothing else to do... which is most of the time.  I mean, I'm not down-playing myself or anything, but how's a cloaked bruddah-from-another-muddah supposed to get some action around here?

Come to think of it, I'm not sure that type of thing would suit me best.  I mean, I see hens and eggs disappear like mad these days and it just spooks the heck-fire out of me!  Sure, He-man says he eats it all, and maybe Battle Cat has a piece or two... that cat can eat ...but the numbers oh the numbers are crazy. Makes me want to crawl back into my corner and shiver until tomorrow.

My knees started bouncing off each other as a bead of sweat rolled down the tip of my nose.  Or what would have been my nose if this dang cloak didn't cover it up.  Glad no one has asked me about the 'O', either.

"Not that I'd want to show anyone.  Now that's a scary thought."

Steadied in my doubt, I figure it's about time to get back to polishing the kitchen-ware.  Where am I again?

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Okay - maybe I'm a bit biased because Orco was a complete waste of space, but man his portion was boring.  Point taken.

I Salute You, Passing Captain

To wretch.  To reach way down deep.  Grab that thing making your acid roll around without stopping.  Yank it up and hurl it away.  Grab the infestation by the horns and wrangle it on down.  YUCK.

Strolling along the sidewalk... at a leisurely pace - no where in particular to be.  I begin to wonder.  What is it that you think of me?  Know that I use my own God-given flashlight and don't live on the lamps of others for my day to day.

But what is it inside that makes you tick the way you do when I enter the frame?

Do I scare you?  Is there something that I do that makes you want to be less like you?  Is there something less-visible perching on my shoulder that constantly keeps you at bay.  That unconscious tug pulling you the other way?

Or maybe it is completely conscious.  The pull is but a push.  As if you'd rather have little to do with me and hide inside a bush.  This is fine, of course, but I'd like to know the reason.  It seems as if the rope of tension grows more taught with every attempt to loosen.

Another crack in the sidewalk, gently glided over on the way to the park.  Strolling through the green scene from head to toe.  All the while taking in that lovely aroma of leaves just before they let go of their branches.  The branches.

The branches don't seek a reason, but they repeat every season.  How is it that they're never confused by the signs of times ago?  Or is it that they just don't know?  Maybe the trees are so rooted in firm ground that it bothers them not where the leaf drifts.

The trees know why they're here.  They're here to get life to the extremes.  Get water, nutrition, and support to the fluttering leaves.  Worried little about why and where they eventually go.  Always firm.  Always grounded.  Always ready to supply in times of need.

Hop into the boat in the park's lake and what do I see?  A pane of glass with boats gliding in all directions.  Some going in circles - some bouncing off boundaries.  All going in directions that I could not begin to comprehend.  The straighter I go across toward my goal, the more wildly they dance across the water.

It seems as if a boat on point would look lost from the shore, when the captain knows the destination true.  I guess you could say what the captain says matters, and little else - in this lake, anyway.

So to you, passing captain, I salute and wave with well wishes.  I cast my rod and try to feed the fishes.  To bite is a choice I cannot control.  This I know.

Yargo's Golden Device

Car screaming - music blaring - not another soul in sight.  I was all alone on what had to be the most deserted road in America.

I put my foot even harder on the pedal and prayed there were no cops around.  Wind gashing at me through the cracks in the windows.  I wasn't quite sure what that note from Maud had meant... I just had to go.

She left me a small note on the receipt from breakfast the other day.  Said something about a golden device.

We ate at Yargo's Diner every 3rd Sunday of the month and it was her turn to pay again.  Only this time - she looked a little weird.  She had this strange bump on her head and was talking nonsense.

"Whoa, whoa whoa!  Slow down Maud.  This isn't school anymore - we can take it slow.  I know I act like a 2nd grader sometimes, but seriously - get a grip!" I said.

"Sorry," Maud let out with a pant, "I'm just so... so... weirded out by the feel of this place now.  I had a dream."

"What?  Oh not this again."

"Whatever.  I don't have time for this."  She said gripping the table to stand up.

I grabbed her hand and tilted her chin toward my direction.  "Maud - I didn't mean..."

"Look, I don't have time.  You have to find the pole in the wide open dust.  That's all I can tell you.  I've got to go."

"...I don't know what you're talking about.  You mean the old stomping grounds?" I said, confused.

"Maybe - I haven't been." She said, recoiling her hand.  "I just feel different about this one, Bud.  Something different.  I gotta go."

"Fine," I said, "but I'll collect the gas money next Sunday!"

* * *

You know, I never saw her again.  I think it had something to do with the device I found buried near that old flag-pole.  Not to mention my hand hasn’t been the same since.

Gigantic Glass Wall

I stood there at the gate.  Not really sure what to do but crawl under.  The posts were enormous at my height.

Something strange had happened the night before in the wretched November storm.  I awoke early in the morning by a barrage of white flashes through my bedroom window.  Startled, I hobbled into the living room with a slab of annoyance on my back.

I briefly peered out the back door's wide opening to see a small figure.  Almost gnome-like, but with ears at least a foot long and 's' shaped.  It just stood there... staring.  I say 'it', but he had the appearance of a rather gruff old man - in fireplace mantle size.

I couldn't think of what else to do but go out onto the back porch.  Surely, I had to be in some type of sleep-induced stupor.  This couldn't be real.  I had nothing funny to eat or drink the night before.  Though, I'll admit, that extra piece of cake after dinner was unnecessary.

The door cracked as I gently tugged inward and another quick flash temporarily blinded me.

When my eyes readjusted to the darkness, I couldn't help but notice that the gnome-man had grown!  I'm not talking a mere couple of inches.  We were now standing eye to eye and nose to nose!

I had a full heart to jump back and crash through the door's glass.  But instead, I just froze.  Staring.  Wondering who would make the first move... if I even had a chance to make a move.

"You are but a wheat top waving in the storm's breath, Harry." He let out with a low grumble.

"What?  My name's Richard, this is my house, and I was trying to sleep!" I said.

"A breath is but a passing moment in such a short life-span, child."

"Look - I don't know what you're talking about... how'd you get so big, anyway?"

"You are surrounded by confusion.  Your perspective has changed, yes, but it is not I you need worry about."

I took a quick glance around.  There beside me stood a 10' tall set of porch furniture... or at least it seemed that way.  The door - that passageway to this mess - had turned into a gigantic glass wall, the metal knob taunting me from floors above.

"WHAT!  What the hell did you do to me?!"

"Your setting is wrong - this is no doing of the Darkland, friend.  This is a gift.  This is your portal to life as it is meant to be seen.  Your veil has been lifted, little one.  Be free.  Just be."

The gnome-man vanished without a trace.  I stood alone on my back porch, in my underwear, which would now be mistaken for a Ken-doll's clothing, and not a bit of the whole made sense.

The only thing that came to mind was had I sprayed for fire-ants, yet?  This was going to be a rough night.

Become a Better Writer - One Scheduled Free-Writing Session at a Time

I've finally decided to open up another blog.  Not one that really matters too much to anyone else but myself.

Still reading?  :)

A few days back, I did a "time inventory" on how I spend my "free time" at night.  I culled a lot of the crap stuff (like Empire Avenue, too much YouTube, and way too much stats checking for everything else).

So what?  What does this have to do with free-writing sessions?  Good questions!

I now have a lean and mean schedule go-by posted right smack in front of my face!  I have 2 main posts days (Sunday and Wednesday) for articles over on my main site: http://richardstep.com/.  But since I want to keep my writing mind fresh - I've scheduled free-writing sessions for the other days of the week.

I am going to use this blog as an archive of these creations.

I'll be testing out writing-craft tools, methods, ideas, or just plain messing around.

I realize I am talking to myself... but dog-gone-it... I'm okay with that.  I'm special.  People like me.  People like me, like me.  I like me.  Me.

What?  I need a nap.