[I wrote this years ago after attending a writing conference. I can't say where the inspiration came from, but I just wrote and wrote and this came out. Also, my penchant for cussing tends to come out in this piece, and while I'd edit it out, it would feel a bit fabricated. It currently sits as a nice reminder that, while characters may certainly cuss in their regular dialogue, it may not fit the mood or direction of a piece.] Night 1 The dim light in the last room of the hallway lights nothing but the light-skinned figure of a lady. She’s but a corpse; skin drawn and dry, eyes shallow and shady, cheekbones that jut like crooked mountains, face with simply the expression of no feeling. They all appear like that, she’s nothing special. She’s just another one of the useless brain-dead bodies of a person who used-to-be. Patients with a family that had too much patience to realize the predictability of a failure; they just kept pouring money into a project of revival that was destined to fold. Pennies and dollars that could prove worth for the surviving, but had been chosen to uselessly preserve the dead.“Fools,” he mutters. “Just let her die.”He has worked at the hospital for close to fifteen years, never rising in station, nor declining, but then, what is there to fall to? He was only a janitor: a simple, isolated, uneducated twit who couldn’t accomplish a thing outside the obligations of his work. What was there to accomplish anyway? Being a janitor for fifteen years doesn’t exactly grant you many possible avenues of adventure. Nobody noticed anything exciting about him; he was just Tim the Janitor.Working six days a week, nine to ten hours a night left little time for anything else. On the rare days that he had off he would just relax at home and drink a beer, watch some Television, or just sit and brood in his dreams of happiness. Nothing these days, it seemed, grabbed him by the collar and really made him happy.When he first started working at the hospital he was told never to look at the clipboard hanging on the ends of patients’ beds. He was told that not only was it to secure privacy, but it creates a connection between himself and the patient, and strict professionalism and distance from a victim was the best way to avoid any hardships. These hardships being tough decisions made even harder by a direct connection, or holding onto a victim longer than the recommended time because of a false hope created by a relationship. Doctors were hard-asses that at some times looked heartless, but that was far from the truth. Being in such a profession held an obligation of conduct, regardless of what the individual thought.He is not an alcoholic, and neither depressed, he’s just simply existing, nothing radical about his way of life. Unfulfilling, as it was, he still can’t do anything beyond simply living. His life is robotic and strict; schedules never changed.After he finishes emptying the garbage he pulls out a small rag from his cart of cleaning supplies and begins wiping the desks an
I have taken a whitened chicken bone, from which the unfortunate animal was used as dinner a few nights ago. The farmer seemed more than happy to give up one for the cause of the King. From this bone I have begun to carve a small Celtic charm, my brother's wife taught me the meanings of several and I have chosen the luck charm. It is said that the more you wear it, the more luck you will have. Duncan taught me everything he taught Daniel, including how to carve. It was only about three quarters of an inch wide on all sides, and the details were difficult with my wide blade, but it was turning out well. When I had finished the outline and cut the shape out of the rest of the bone, I took a lump of coarse dirt from the roadside and began polishing the edges to round it out.
I sat in the entrance way to my tent after a long day's march, and the rain had begun to pour down. There was not much else to do in the camp besides drilling, so I had plenty of time to make the charm. When the polishing was finished, I reached into my bag and pulled out my sash. Pulling three loose threads from the cut edge, I tied them together at one end and then braided them down to the other end. I took the charm and looped the braid through the top hole in the design, and then tied it around my neck and dropped it down the front of my shirt. I felt it through the cloth and put my hand over it. "Thank you Duncan, goodbye."
I heave a sigh and wipe the moisture from my eye. Tomorrow, we are told, will be the last day of marching, we will be in Portsmouth by mid afternoon and from there on to the ships. I have never been on a ship before, only small fishing boats, and I wonder what its like. Matty walks by on his way to supper, I jump up and join him, and I will ask him.
"Have you ever been on a ship, Matty?"
"Me? No, never."
"I wonder what it's like." said I
"Chris has been on one before." Matty smiled as we ducked out of the rain into the mess tent. "He sailed from Ireland to join up."
Hmm, that's right. I will ask him then. We get in line and two steaming plates are put in front of us, as well as two tankards full of water. No ale for the drummers, humph. We turn from the line and search for Michael and Chris. They are spotted across the tent, but Nicholas and his gang are sitting between us and them. I look at Matty and head off to take the long way around; we've had mostly no trouble with him, but they are growing bolder; and even though we are equals, he is older and stronger. So we avoid him and his English pals.
"I swear, if I was the cook in this place, Ah'd have made us all a nice big pot o' porridge, never mind this shite!" I swore when taking my seat.
"Oh, so yer a chef now, as well as a sword master?" laughed Chris.
"Aye, Ah'll kill you wi' mae sword in one hand and cut you up and put yer pieces in my stew with my dirk in the other!" I joked back. Matty's eyes widened at this and ducked his head down. "What's the matter, Matty?"
He looked nervous, but spoke anyway. "Is it true
The theme isthere, nothing written happensof the pines. From the homesthe fall of an ordinarykind, inhabited and tedious that the pagan isby nature one. Music didnot insist on the smallestnumber, insteadan empty world, thishallucination just asold the wisdomof a youngtree. What I hear isdemented, ormore politely,one thing.
Free writing on the idea of dreams.
Some say it is the time of your life. I'm not so sure.
and it was less sleep;
overstylized, I stir to
head collaborating into
the easy irrational.
neon-flashes of screen,
of dagger-laced text in
my deceitful subconscious,
like a spiteful,
pangs of grief, an undulation of panic,
searchingsearching and too delirious
to distinguish your voice from the
mourning in my ears—
audible anguish, still? still.
at 6am I thought—
I needed you
the ice-tipped relief did
little to douse this
inflammation of heart;
it's swelled, its illness
until my stomach becomes rock-bottom—
it sunk me back to sleep.
and awaking to wince;
this tenderness is all
an exploratory thumb
gingerly rubs a palm
and the sliver of pain
neonlights the night;
encouraging his fists
occasional remorse uttered
internal nausea gnawing
fists brushing skin,
salutations in sharp inhalations,
he continued, aware
of masochistic intent;
side, my thigh, a
a smile insinuates
grin and bear.
this plaything status more
a consensus wrought
in bruises and
but his knuckle splits
a spot of blood, an
"no" comes all
Whether you use the XRIVO.com workshop function to revise and get feedback privately or share with the entire community, you’re taking a very necessary, though terrifying step in the creative process. The XRIVO feedback process is modeled off those workshop courses to give you the ability to thoroughly respond to work. Now, through XRIVO, you can get and give line-by-line feedback on any piece. All you have to do is highlight what you’d like to comment on and type away in the “Comment” box. As the author, you can filter what feedback shows up by user to make the comments easier to peruse. All you have to do is run your mouse over the comment to see what they’re commenting on.
But there’s more to getting the most out of sharing your work than just detailed revisions and discerning readers. Sharing your writing can be daunting, yes, but here are some things to keep in mind to help everyone get everything they can out of XRIVO.com. Here’s a simple guide: 4 keys to giving and 4 keys to getting feedback on your written work.
if you've never worn my boot
don't judge the way it looks
it's been from here
to hell and back
and it still holds my foot.
it's tattered, torn, and shredded;
ripped from seam to seam,
but you'll never wear these boots
If you'd known what they have seen.
From broken hearts
to shattered dreams;
To all the times I'd hurt so badly
I'd only want to scream
To things I've said
and all I'd done wrong;
to all the places
I no longer belong.
To all the people that I had hurt;
I'd take back all that dirt!
But we're only given one pair
to last us through this walk ahead.
So wear 'em proud and do 'em right
or these boots will find you dead.
So, if you've never worn my boot
don't judge the way it looks
it's been from here
to hell and back
and it still holds my foot.
I figured I would just get some ideas / a map of some of the things we mentioned including in this. We can add to it and then on Sunday make it look pretty once we have content taken care of? If there is anything that I add that you don't like or think could be improved upon, please feel free. I felt our guy needed a name, but even that can be changed.
Name: Karsten Schwartz
II. Work Experience
III. Volunteer Experience
1. Civvies - necessary Civil Service in home of aged persons at request of government. Unmatched tasks, assist in day-to-day objectives.
IV. Hobbies / Achievements
1. Bike riding, football playing, family and friends to visit, meeting new people, writing of poetry and narration.