Let me start out by saying that I absolutely hate blogging. Can't stand it. Writing in a room filled with fellow writers and personally getting their constructive critiques about my work will always reign as the far superior option in my eyes. However, not everyone has access to a room and other writers to fill that room with to provide constructive critiques. So for writers for which reviewers are hard to come by, blogging and sharing their writing with other writers over the internet would probably be the most viable option. Not to mention when you're on the internet you're presenting your work to a much broader audience than you ever could presenting it in a classroom.
I prefer the classroom option because the feedback you get from a room full of writers is so much more in-depth than what you would get from someone posting a comment on a website. This is not to say that there are no knowledgeable writers on the internet. I'm emphasizing the fact that in a classroom, you can be bombarded with countless ways to improve your work because the people in the room with you can just keep giving you suggestions and explain themselves much more quickly than they could if you didn't understand what they had written in their first comment for your work on your blog.
If you had to choose one, the choice is entirely personal preference. Both options are equally very helpful. So it's just a matter of which you're more comfortable with. Maybe you'll like to utilize both options. Knock yourself out if that's the case.
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Monday, December 5, 2011
Fiction Writing - Blog #6: Good Writing
Take a quick look at this:
http://grammar.about.com/od/yourwriting/a/characteristics.htm
Everything there are the concise general fundamentals of what would be considered "good" writing. I whole-heartedly agree with the proposition that good writing is writing that responds to the interests and needs of the readers. When you write, you're trying to do so much more than just show the world how good your grammar and spelling is. You're trying to stir up something that is much deeper within your readers when you present your work to them. When your readers are done reading your work, you want them to be different after they've read it from before they ever set eyes on it.
http://grammar.about.com/od/yourwriting/a/characteristics.htm
Everything there are the concise general fundamentals of what would be considered "good" writing. I whole-heartedly agree with the proposition that good writing is writing that responds to the interests and needs of the readers. When you write, you're trying to do so much more than just show the world how good your grammar and spelling is. You're trying to stir up something that is much deeper within your readers when you present your work to them. When your readers are done reading your work, you want them to be different after they've read it from before they ever set eyes on it.
FIction Writing - Blog #5: My Literary Magazine of Choice
I don't think I have ever picked up a literary magazine in my life. So this makes it practically impossible for me to post up one I like or would recommend to my fellow writers. I can, however, direct you all to a source that will provide you with names and information on hundreds of literary magazines.
Check this out:
http://www.newpages.com/literary-magazines/
Check this out:
http://www.newpages.com/literary-magazines/
Fiction Writing - Blog #4: My Writing Process
My writing process, I think, is pretty simple. As someone who rarely reads, but loves to write, I tend to rely on several sources separate from literature: video games, films, music, and life experience for inspiration. These four outlets provide me with all I need to get my fingers typing. Insert lots of moments of staring off into space here and there while I ponder these sources, and you pretty much have my writing process.
I'm an avid gamer. I've been playing video games all my life, and I play just about every genre excluding maybe two or three. Over the years lots of gamers have begun to shy away from the single player experience in favor of the games that feature online multiplayer, allowing players from all over the world to face off against each other over the internet. I'm one of the few gamers I know who still indulges in single player games. Why? Because, for as long as I can remember, I have always been enchanted by the various characters, creatures, locations, architecture, and plots that populate these electronic worlds. For my more fantastical work, the digital realm holds heavy inspiration.
I'm not a movie buff. Actually I'm quite the contrary. I'm one of those people who hasn't seen a lot of the movies that everyone else has seen, and I will disappoint you if you ask me if I've seen them when I tell you I haven't. However, that doesn't mean that I don't love films. I rarely watch TV anymore. So I often find myself browsing Netflix for a new movie to watch or just putting on a favorite film I have on DVD for leisure or just background noise. I love films because I can actually see the characters and how they interact with each other, how they behave by themselves, and how they react to the plot as it takes its course around them. I get to see the different environments the characters find themselves in as well. I take all these visuals, and then find my own way to articulate what I see on paper.
I believe these last two sources I'm about to mention have the most influence on my writing once I actually get to putting words down.
Now we have music. Music...music...music. When I write, music is imperative, a must, mandatory, a necessity, and you can fill in the rest of the blanks on the list with words synonymous to those mentioned. When I have a scene in mind, and the time has come to put this scene down in words, I have to be listening to music when I do it. When I listen to music, I can visualize the scene happening right before me as I begin to write. Depending on what kind of scene I'm writing, I'll listen to a song that fits the mood or bears very relevant meaning to it. I have Last.fm on my Xbox360 playing hip-hop as I type this blog post. Music in general just makes my writing process go a lot smoother. Without it, I'd be spending a much more significant amount of time staring blankly at my unfinished pages.
Finally, there's life experience. Nothing has ever helped me more with writing about an experience than experiencing it for myself. After having lived through a significant moment, I can effortlessly translate this instance to words on the page. Since these experiences are so vivid to me, I can recall just what I did, or how I felt, and then project these actions and feelings onto a fictional character.
Another writer's writing process:
http://kristincashore.blogspot.com/2008/02/my-writing-process.html
I'm an avid gamer. I've been playing video games all my life, and I play just about every genre excluding maybe two or three. Over the years lots of gamers have begun to shy away from the single player experience in favor of the games that feature online multiplayer, allowing players from all over the world to face off against each other over the internet. I'm one of the few gamers I know who still indulges in single player games. Why? Because, for as long as I can remember, I have always been enchanted by the various characters, creatures, locations, architecture, and plots that populate these electronic worlds. For my more fantastical work, the digital realm holds heavy inspiration.
I'm not a movie buff. Actually I'm quite the contrary. I'm one of those people who hasn't seen a lot of the movies that everyone else has seen, and I will disappoint you if you ask me if I've seen them when I tell you I haven't. However, that doesn't mean that I don't love films. I rarely watch TV anymore. So I often find myself browsing Netflix for a new movie to watch or just putting on a favorite film I have on DVD for leisure or just background noise. I love films because I can actually see the characters and how they interact with each other, how they behave by themselves, and how they react to the plot as it takes its course around them. I get to see the different environments the characters find themselves in as well. I take all these visuals, and then find my own way to articulate what I see on paper.
I believe these last two sources I'm about to mention have the most influence on my writing once I actually get to putting words down.
Now we have music. Music...music...music. When I write, music is imperative, a must, mandatory, a necessity, and you can fill in the rest of the blanks on the list with words synonymous to those mentioned. When I have a scene in mind, and the time has come to put this scene down in words, I have to be listening to music when I do it. When I listen to music, I can visualize the scene happening right before me as I begin to write. Depending on what kind of scene I'm writing, I'll listen to a song that fits the mood or bears very relevant meaning to it. I have Last.fm on my Xbox360 playing hip-hop as I type this blog post. Music in general just makes my writing process go a lot smoother. Without it, I'd be spending a much more significant amount of time staring blankly at my unfinished pages.
Finally, there's life experience. Nothing has ever helped me more with writing about an experience than experiencing it for myself. After having lived through a significant moment, I can effortlessly translate this instance to words on the page. Since these experiences are so vivid to me, I can recall just what I did, or how I felt, and then project these actions and feelings onto a fictional character.
Another writer's writing process:
http://kristincashore.blogspot.com/2008/02/my-writing-process.html
Monday, November 28, 2011
Fiction Writing - Blog #3: Story Beginnings
The opening of a story is an extremely crucial part of the text overall. It is supposed to set the tone of the story, maybe introduce the main protagonist, perhaps also establish the setting, and immerse the reader within the pages all at the same time. This is no basic task. In light of these facts, this is why many seasoned writers advise up and coming writers to finish their stories first and add the opening last.
T.C. Boyle's opening to his short story Caviar is very good. In the opening to this story you already get a feel for how the tone of the rest of the story will feel, you learn a lot about our narrator who is also the protagonist, and Boyle presents you with the setting on the Hudson. I was sucked into it immediately from the very first sentence when the first thing the narrator tells us is that he never went to college.
The first sentence of your story is just as crucial as the opening itself. If you manage to draw your reader in at the very first sentence, that in itself is an admirable accomplishment. The introduction is about providing your readers with just the right amount of information about the story without giving too much of it away. You want to lay it out for them and show them just what they're about to get themselves into, but at the same time you don't want to weigh them down with too much information that might bore them or spoil the story. You want to give them a small taste that's going to wow them and keep them reading.
T.C. Boyle's opening to his short story Caviar is very good. In the opening to this story you already get a feel for how the tone of the rest of the story will feel, you learn a lot about our narrator who is also the protagonist, and Boyle presents you with the setting on the Hudson. I was sucked into it immediately from the very first sentence when the first thing the narrator tells us is that he never went to college.
The first sentence of your story is just as crucial as the opening itself. If you manage to draw your reader in at the very first sentence, that in itself is an admirable accomplishment. The introduction is about providing your readers with just the right amount of information about the story without giving too much of it away. You want to lay it out for them and show them just what they're about to get themselves into, but at the same time you don't want to weigh them down with too much information that might bore them or spoil the story. You want to give them a small taste that's going to wow them and keep them reading.
Fiction Writing - Blog #2: Quotation Punctuation
Quotation punctuation is pretty self-explanatory; it's how a writer chooses to format the punctuation within the spoken dialogue of their characters. Many writers tend to have their own style for quotation punctuation, but there is a set of guidelines that show us the standard for quotation punctuation.
Quotation Punctuation Rules
http://www.grammarbook.com/punctuation/quotes.asp
My chosen author is J.K. Rowling. Here's a small excerpt from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone when the Weasley twins, Fred and George, first meet Harry:
"Thanks," said Harry, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes.
"What's that?" said one of the twins suddenly, pointing at Harry's lightning scar.
"Blimey," said the other twin. "Are you -?"
"He is," said the first twin. "Aren't you?" he added to Harry.
"What?" said Harry.
"Harry Potter," chorused the twins.
"Oh, him," said Harry. "I mean, yes, I am."
This is a pretty basic example of standard quotation punctuation. Commas are used instead of periods at the end of statements within quotations. Every new line of dialogue spoken by a different character is given a new paragraph, etc. Here's a small example from my novel idea Love[s] of My Life of how I present my dialogue:
"Pssssst!"
She turned her beautiful face toward me and gave me that sweet smile, "Hey!" She took a seat in the armchair next to mine.
"Finished already?" I asked her.
She nodded, "Yeah. I just had a couple things to check and a few e-mails to send out."
I could feel her aura wrapping around my body, "What you got to do now?"
"Nothing," she shrugged. "I have like two hours before my next class. Didn't you say you had to study?"
"Yeah, but I think I'm good. I did plenty of studying last night," I lied with a grin.
Quotation Punctuation Rules
http://www.grammarbook.com/punctuation/quotes.asp
My chosen author is J.K. Rowling. Here's a small excerpt from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone when the Weasley twins, Fred and George, first meet Harry:
"Thanks," said Harry, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes.
"What's that?" said one of the twins suddenly, pointing at Harry's lightning scar.
"Blimey," said the other twin. "Are you -?"
"He is," said the first twin. "Aren't you?" he added to Harry.
"What?" said Harry.
"Harry Potter," chorused the twins.
"Oh, him," said Harry. "I mean, yes, I am."
This is a pretty basic example of standard quotation punctuation. Commas are used instead of periods at the end of statements within quotations. Every new line of dialogue spoken by a different character is given a new paragraph, etc. Here's a small example from my novel idea Love[s] of My Life of how I present my dialogue:
"Pssssst!"
She turned her beautiful face toward me and gave me that sweet smile, "Hey!" She took a seat in the armchair next to mine.
"Finished already?" I asked her.
She nodded, "Yeah. I just had a couple things to check and a few e-mails to send out."
I could feel her aura wrapping around my body, "What you got to do now?"
"Nothing," she shrugged. "I have like two hours before my next class. Didn't you say you had to study?"
"Yeah, but I think I'm good. I did plenty of studying last night," I lied with a grin.
Fiction Writing - Blog #1: Inspirational Fiction
The films written and directed by Quentin Tarantino are a huge influence on my style of writing, most notably the way I present my characters in their spoken dialogue. What I love most about the way Tarantino writes dialogue is just how real the characters feel when they speak. Some of the conversations and comments I heard in his films are things I could definitely hear myself or some of my friends talking about. A prime example is the scene from Tarantino's Pulp Fiction toward the end when we see the two hitmen, Jules and Vincent, at a diner:
Vincent: Want some bacon?
Jules: No man, I don't eat pork.
Vincent: Are you Jewish?
Jules: Nah, I ain't Jewish, I just don't dig on swine, that's all.
Vincent: Why not?
Jules: Pigs are filthy animals. I don't eat filthy animals.
Vincent: Bacon tastes gooood. Pork chops taste gooood.
Jules: Hey, sewer rat may taste like pumpkin pie, but I'd never know 'cause I wouldn't eat the filthy motherfucker. Pigs sleep and root in shit. That's a filthy animal. I ain't eat nothin' that ain't got sense enough to disregard its own feces.
Vincent: How about a dog? Dogs eats its own feces.
Jules: I don't eat dog either.
Vincent: Yeah, but do you consider a dog to be a filthy animal?
Jules: I wouldn't go so far as to call a dog filthy but they're definitely dirty. But, a dog's got personality. Personality goes a long way.
Vincent: Ah, so by that rationale, if a pig had a better personality, he would cease to be a filthy animal. Is that true?
Jules: Well we'd have to be talkin' about one charming motherfuckin' pig. I mean he'd have to be ten times more charmin' than that Arnold on Green Acres, you know what I'm sayin'?
Pulp Fiction
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0110912/
Reservoir Dogs
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0105236/
Vincent: Want some bacon?
Jules: No man, I don't eat pork.
Vincent: Are you Jewish?
Jules: Nah, I ain't Jewish, I just don't dig on swine, that's all.
Vincent: Why not?
Jules: Pigs are filthy animals. I don't eat filthy animals.
Vincent: Bacon tastes gooood. Pork chops taste gooood.
Jules: Hey, sewer rat may taste like pumpkin pie, but I'd never know 'cause I wouldn't eat the filthy motherfucker. Pigs sleep and root in shit. That's a filthy animal. I ain't eat nothin' that ain't got sense enough to disregard its own feces.
Vincent: How about a dog? Dogs eats its own feces.
Jules: I don't eat dog either.
Vincent: Yeah, but do you consider a dog to be a filthy animal?
Jules: I wouldn't go so far as to call a dog filthy but they're definitely dirty. But, a dog's got personality. Personality goes a long way.
Vincent: Ah, so by that rationale, if a pig had a better personality, he would cease to be a filthy animal. Is that true?
Jules: Well we'd have to be talkin' about one charming motherfuckin' pig. I mean he'd have to be ten times more charmin' than that Arnold on Green Acres, you know what I'm sayin'?
Pulp Fiction
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0110912/
Reservoir Dogs
http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0105236/
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Fiction Writing: First Dialogue Assignment
Stretch's wirey body trembled with the onset of a small shiver from the fresh, brisk air, "Ah! It's almost time!"
Blue raised a brow, "Almost time for what?" He took another hissing hit from the blunt.
"Hustle season, nigga! You don't feel that fall air coming?" He grinned.
"Hell yeah. It's fucking chilly as hell out here tonight," Blue's speech was strained as he held the smoke in his lungs for a few more seconds before blowing it toward the night sky, "but why fall?"
Stretch gingerly snatched the blunt from Blue's offering fingertips, "I can't believe you! It's fucking common sense. Everything comes out in the fall, man!"
Blue nodded with a chuckle, "And you plan to capitalize on this?"
"Nothing has stopped me yet," Stretch answered coughing up herb vapors, "You see people like you make these things too complicated for yourselves."
Blue scoffed, "Hold up! I was just asking you-"
Stretch held up a hand as the smoke from another hit vacated his lungs, "Man I heard your tone," he gave Blue the "Seriously?" look, "You underestimate your own ingenuity."
Blue's lips curled into an amused smirk, "OK Master Guru guy. Enlighten me."
"Like I said, in the fall is when everything comes out. Everyone is going to want these things. All I have to do is get my hands on it, and then make a profit letting them get their hands on it," Stretch held his hands out in admiration of his own greatness, "You see? Simple."
"Man give me a break. Easier-," Blue pointed to the blunt still held by Stretch, "Let me get that," he was passed the blunt and took another pull before continuing, "Easier said than done."
Stretch's smile widened, "You'd be surprised just how easy it really is to fill in the blanks, New Kid."
Blue raised a brow, "Almost time for what?" He took another hissing hit from the blunt.
"Hustle season, nigga! You don't feel that fall air coming?" He grinned.
"Hell yeah. It's fucking chilly as hell out here tonight," Blue's speech was strained as he held the smoke in his lungs for a few more seconds before blowing it toward the night sky, "but why fall?"
Stretch gingerly snatched the blunt from Blue's offering fingertips, "I can't believe you! It's fucking common sense. Everything comes out in the fall, man!"
Blue nodded with a chuckle, "And you plan to capitalize on this?"
"Nothing has stopped me yet," Stretch answered coughing up herb vapors, "You see people like you make these things too complicated for yourselves."
Blue scoffed, "Hold up! I was just asking you-"
Stretch held up a hand as the smoke from another hit vacated his lungs, "Man I heard your tone," he gave Blue the "Seriously?" look, "You underestimate your own ingenuity."
Blue's lips curled into an amused smirk, "OK Master Guru guy. Enlighten me."
"Like I said, in the fall is when everything comes out. Everyone is going to want these things. All I have to do is get my hands on it, and then make a profit letting them get their hands on it," Stretch held his hands out in admiration of his own greatness, "You see? Simple."
"Man give me a break. Easier-," Blue pointed to the blunt still held by Stretch, "Let me get that," he was passed the blunt and took another pull before continuing, "Easier said than done."
Stretch's smile widened, "You'd be surprised just how easy it really is to fill in the blanks, New Kid."
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Thy Will
"Thy Will" is my romance/drama novel concept.
The story follows Azriel, a guardian angel who begins to resent the wishes of his Master and fellow angels concerning humans.
Having seen enough death and heartache to last him thousands of lifetimes, Azriel can't help but be intrigued by the newest person he has been charged with watching over: Shamira (this name isn't final). Azriel watches over Shamira throughout her life as she endures the loss of many friends, family, and other loved ones while still remaining faithful to God in her religious beliefs despite how many people have been taken from her by His angels over the course of her life. Azriel soon develops feelings for Shamira, wishing he could be there for her. When Death comes to claim Shamira's father, her only remaining family, Azriel is disgusted with just standing by idly and watching. Azriel drives away Death against his Master's wishes. Immediately after the short battle, for a reason unbeknownst to Azriel, Shamira can suddenly see him. Azriel then does his best to look after Shamira and her father as he accepts, and begins to deal with the dire consequences of his actions.
For the two pages of fiction we had to hand in this week, I wrote the scene where Azriel drives away Death to keep Shamira's father alive.
The story follows Azriel, a guardian angel who begins to resent the wishes of his Master and fellow angels concerning humans.
Having seen enough death and heartache to last him thousands of lifetimes, Azriel can't help but be intrigued by the newest person he has been charged with watching over: Shamira (this name isn't final). Azriel watches over Shamira throughout her life as she endures the loss of many friends, family, and other loved ones while still remaining faithful to God in her religious beliefs despite how many people have been taken from her by His angels over the course of her life. Azriel soon develops feelings for Shamira, wishing he could be there for her. When Death comes to claim Shamira's father, her only remaining family, Azriel is disgusted with just standing by idly and watching. Azriel drives away Death against his Master's wishes. Immediately after the short battle, for a reason unbeknownst to Azriel, Shamira can suddenly see him. Azriel then does his best to look after Shamira and her father as he accepts, and begins to deal with the dire consequences of his actions.
For the two pages of fiction we had to hand in this week, I wrote the scene where Azriel drives away Death to keep Shamira's father alive.
Blade Master
I guess you could place this novel concept of mine in the category of fantasy/adventure. "Blade Master" is heavily inspired by animes I've seen, and video games I've played.
I don't have a very solid idea of what the plot is going to be like just yet, but I do have the concept down.
In Japanese legend there are stories of two master sword smiths, Masamune and Muramasa. Masamune's art was refined with benevolence. Muramasa's art was defined by malevolence. Legend says that these two craftsmen, in order to see who was better, each put their swords in a stream to see how the blades would affect the leaves traveling downstream. One version of this story says that the leaves were cut my Muramasa's blade, and then healed by Masamune's. Legend says that Muramasa's blades could not be returned to their scabbards unless they tasted blood first. This drove many Muramasa wielders to insanity for they could end up having to hurt themselves or a loved one before being able to put the sword away.
I'm taking this concept and running with it pretty much. The main character is none other than a young Miyamoto Musashi, non-fictional legendary samurai, and he has in his possession one Masamune blade and one Muramasa blade, possibly the finest blades the two sword smiths have ever crafted.
This is significant because in this story no one has ever been able to wield both a Masamune and a Muramasa simultaneously. Yet Musashi has developed a style through which both blades can work harmoniously to take down any adversary no matter how challenging.
Here's how I envision the blades to be in my novel:
The Masamune blade is an all-powerful, unbreakable sword that can cut through just about anything (save for another Masamune or a Muramasa). However, should innocent blood be spilled by the sword, it will lose its power.
The Muramasa blade is another all-powerful, unbreakable sword that can cut through just about anything with the exceptions mentioned above. However, it must taste blood within seconds of drawing it before it can be put away lest the wielder wishes to succumb to insanity.
So that's the basic break-down of what I have in mind for this novel. I'm still working on it. Let me know what you think of what I have so far.
I don't have a very solid idea of what the plot is going to be like just yet, but I do have the concept down.
In Japanese legend there are stories of two master sword smiths, Masamune and Muramasa. Masamune's art was refined with benevolence. Muramasa's art was defined by malevolence. Legend says that these two craftsmen, in order to see who was better, each put their swords in a stream to see how the blades would affect the leaves traveling downstream. One version of this story says that the leaves were cut my Muramasa's blade, and then healed by Masamune's. Legend says that Muramasa's blades could not be returned to their scabbards unless they tasted blood first. This drove many Muramasa wielders to insanity for they could end up having to hurt themselves or a loved one before being able to put the sword away.
I'm taking this concept and running with it pretty much. The main character is none other than a young Miyamoto Musashi, non-fictional legendary samurai, and he has in his possession one Masamune blade and one Muramasa blade, possibly the finest blades the two sword smiths have ever crafted.
This is significant because in this story no one has ever been able to wield both a Masamune and a Muramasa simultaneously. Yet Musashi has developed a style through which both blades can work harmoniously to take down any adversary no matter how challenging.
Here's how I envision the blades to be in my novel:
The Masamune blade is an all-powerful, unbreakable sword that can cut through just about anything (save for another Masamune or a Muramasa). However, should innocent blood be spilled by the sword, it will lose its power.
The Muramasa blade is another all-powerful, unbreakable sword that can cut through just about anything with the exceptions mentioned above. However, it must taste blood within seconds of drawing it before it can be put away lest the wielder wishes to succumb to insanity.
So that's the basic break-down of what I have in mind for this novel. I'm still working on it. Let me know what you think of what I have so far.
Slum 46
"Slum 46" is my crime-drama, sprinkled with some sci-fi, novel idea that I have been the most active with lately. It's semi-autobiographical (enormous stress on "semi").
I haven't decided whether I want it to take place in its own universe, or if I want the setting to be within our universe. Either way, you're not going to be able to recognize the world I paint for you.
"Slum 46" is about a young man who goes by the alias Blue. Blue lives in an enormous, futuristic walled off city that he only knows as City 6. This city is separated into several different sections called slums. Each slum has their own respective number. These slums are about the size of a typical city you or I live in. So City 6 overall is quite enormous.
The story follows the events that happen around Blue when he drops out of school, and meets a mysterious hood who goes by the name Smooth, and takes on a life of crime in the slum with the highest crime rate, Slum 46. However, the denizens of Slum 46 seem to know something about the government running City 6, and something about the world beyond the walls of the city none of the other residents of City 6 would have ever thought possible.
This is a story about the grind, trust, corruption, rebellion, and peace.
I haven't decided whether I want it to take place in its own universe, or if I want the setting to be within our universe. Either way, you're not going to be able to recognize the world I paint for you.
"Slum 46" is about a young man who goes by the alias Blue. Blue lives in an enormous, futuristic walled off city that he only knows as City 6. This city is separated into several different sections called slums. Each slum has their own respective number. These slums are about the size of a typical city you or I live in. So City 6 overall is quite enormous.
The story follows the events that happen around Blue when he drops out of school, and meets a mysterious hood who goes by the name Smooth, and takes on a life of crime in the slum with the highest crime rate, Slum 46. However, the denizens of Slum 46 seem to know something about the government running City 6, and something about the world beyond the walls of the city none of the other residents of City 6 would have ever thought possible.
This is a story about the grind, trust, corruption, rebellion, and peace.
Deity
"Deity" is the title of the first novel concept I ever developed.
It's a story about a universe similar to our own where the entities of Creation/Life and Destruction/Death are constantly in a stalemate with each other.
At the beginning of time, Life manages to gain the upper hand over Death (since I haven't came up with my own coined names for these beings within my story, I will refer to them as Life and Death for the sake of simplicity). From this instant, Life took the opportunity to bring into existence the universe as the characters in my novel know it. Life's ultimate goal was to create a paradise for all living creatures to populate and enjoy.
However, Death would not be in submission for long. Not having enough time to finish creating the paradise, Life sealed away a well containing it's very own essence within the Earth (for lack of my own coined name for the world my story takes place in). This well would emerge from the Earth in the distant future and, when tapped by Life's chosen one, would bestow upon them the power to finish creating the paradise.
Death knew very well what Life was up to, and tainted the well with its own essence before resuming its eternal battle with Life. Now, should Death's chosen one tap the power of the well, it would bestow upon them enough power to reduce the universe back to its original state of nothing.
My story is about the two chosen ones, Matthias and Damien, and their race to tap the Well of Power (another corny name for the sake of simplicity). There is also a third main character whom I haven't decided if they would be a man or woman yet. If it's a man their name would be Constantine, and if a woman, their name would be Constance. This third pillar is the dictator of the most powerful nation present within the novel, and they are seeking a way of harnessing both the powers of Life and Death at the same time for their own selfish purposes.
The novel would be timeless and filled with all kinds of locations from third-world fishing villages, to giant technologically advanced cities. There will be magic, crazy fights, romance, manipulation, betrayal, etc.
This is my idea for a fantasy novel.
It's a story about a universe similar to our own where the entities of Creation/Life and Destruction/Death are constantly in a stalemate with each other.
At the beginning of time, Life manages to gain the upper hand over Death (since I haven't came up with my own coined names for these beings within my story, I will refer to them as Life and Death for the sake of simplicity). From this instant, Life took the opportunity to bring into existence the universe as the characters in my novel know it. Life's ultimate goal was to create a paradise for all living creatures to populate and enjoy.
However, Death would not be in submission for long. Not having enough time to finish creating the paradise, Life sealed away a well containing it's very own essence within the Earth (for lack of my own coined name for the world my story takes place in). This well would emerge from the Earth in the distant future and, when tapped by Life's chosen one, would bestow upon them the power to finish creating the paradise.
Death knew very well what Life was up to, and tainted the well with its own essence before resuming its eternal battle with Life. Now, should Death's chosen one tap the power of the well, it would bestow upon them enough power to reduce the universe back to its original state of nothing.
My story is about the two chosen ones, Matthias and Damien, and their race to tap the Well of Power (another corny name for the sake of simplicity). There is also a third main character whom I haven't decided if they would be a man or woman yet. If it's a man their name would be Constantine, and if a woman, their name would be Constance. This third pillar is the dictator of the most powerful nation present within the novel, and they are seeking a way of harnessing both the powers of Life and Death at the same time for their own selfish purposes.
The novel would be timeless and filled with all kinds of locations from third-world fishing villages, to giant technologically advanced cities. There will be magic, crazy fights, romance, manipulation, betrayal, etc.
This is my idea for a fantasy novel.
Beyond The Ruins
[This one kind of borders on the line between poem and rant. I wrote this to get a bunch of things I was pondering about the world off my chest. Enjoy.]
I don’t have to draw you a sketch and shade it,
I don’t have to draw you a sketch and shade it,
or show you a blank canvas and paint it
to get you to agree with me when I say this,
“It sure is a crazy world ain’t it?”
My rags done been faded,
and the journey’s been so exhausting it’s a miracle I still haven’t fainted.
I’ve come this far with my message to relay it.
So do listen well and prepare yourself to take it.
This is all a sick game everyone is playing
whether you’re just passing through or plan on staying.
Nothing is alright when you’re declared criminally insane
for realizing everyone’s been faking.
It’s all gone is all I’m saying.
Everything and everyone rounded up by the Machine and taken.
You’re sadly mistaken
if you believe the world we live in is anything but misshapen.
You look around and see everything is still there,
but this is exactly why we’re told not to stare.
The Man in the big chair
knows if you look long enough you’ll see He doesn’t care.
Just so long as we beat the snare
to His rhythm He knows we’ll never be aware
of the true Despair that crept from His lair,
and in its wake left the world in ruins everywhere.
But we still hold onto our persistence
because living life without a drive ain’t nothing but nonsense.
How can you say it ain’t a nuisance
knowing we’re out here trying to make a dollar from a few cents?
Riding around in busted up Buicks
because that’s all we’ve got to help get us through this,
and to our jobs hoping for a few tips
while Big Man still has yet to rebuke this.
He couldn’t care less about the poor
because He’s spending all our money on war.
We’re standing with frozen outstretched hands outside His door,
trying our damnedest to keep warm.
Yet He goes about His so-called chores
playing it off like He doesn’t know what we’re crying for.
What He has in store
for us no longer has anything to do with the greater good anymore.
He’s too busy worrying about the flow of His cash
to even bother considering anything we ask.
Always so eager to go to war real fast,
concerned only with giving the economy that nice blast.
Too many tribes are fighting over religion to see who’ll stand last,
not realizing that we all share the same past,
but He’s probably behind all of that mayhem too,
watching it all happen through a one-way stained glass.
There’s no bright side
to the endless flow of blood from torture, murder, and suicide.
If we’re so civilized,
why can’t we swallow our pride and put our differences aside?
It could work. It just might,
but we’re so preoccupied with the urge to fight that we never tried
while He continues to sit back,
laughing so hard at us that He’s probably cried.
I say “He.” He is They.
They are the ones who call all the shots like a well-scripted play.
They are the manipulators bending us to Their will everyday
to make us hand over our hard-earned pay,
and if we resist or ever dare to stray,
They’ll come down on us and force it from our grasp anyway.
They cause so much disarray it pains me to say
how many we could’ve saved if it weren’t for They.
I’ve heard too many others say this. So it ain’t just me,
“All They care about is money money money.”
They tell us we’re free,
but free ain’t free when you’ve been suckered into paying a lifetime fee.
Even the rappers that know how the grind can be
still haven’t shown their people much love lately,
keeping all their money for themselves yet throwing it around on the fucking T.V.
for all of us to feel that twitch of envy.
What happened to the realness in Hip-Hop we used to see?
No one cares about your fucking Beamer, Benz, or Bentley!
Rappers act like we actually give two shits about their heavy-ass jewelry.
These punk bitches gladly rake in the Benjies at the cost of their authenticity.
Hip-Hop runs fathoms deeper than just life in the streets,
these rappers’ lousy rap beefs,
or how many women these slobs with no teeth
managed to get beneath their damn sheets.
How can any man use a woman only for sex,
or strike her, telling her she’s worthless?
We should consider ourselves blessed!
They’re our mothers, sisters, and lovers! Pay your respects!
Now our women are convinced they need to take steps
to slim themselves down and get a bigger chest,
sadly never believing that the assets
their mama gave them are the ones that suit them the best.
You can’t allow yourself to listen to
every little thing these boys tell you.
Putting yourself down is what They want you to do
only so They can take advantage of you.
How can you ever expect someone to love you
if you don’t love you too?
If no one else will, I’ll care for you and we’ll see it through.
You just have to wait, hope, and believe, boo.
They’re always going to try to put us down
like lost and found dogs at the inner city pound.
Tell me where your rights are now
when They have guns pointed at you yelling, “Get on the ground!”
Just because we’re on the outside
doesn’t mean there aren’t any prison guards around.
They slowly strip away our rights
under the premise of keeping us safe and sound.
Swear to the skies, hope the Man dies,
the time has come when mankind must dare to cross the line
and rebel before our world is further jeopardized
when a race of prisoners is institutionalized.
Open your eyes!
It’s nothing but lies from the Devil’s son in disguise, ready to bastardize.
Spread the Word of the Wise to finalize the movement to the other side.
The Revolution is on the rise!
Senile
[Cheesey, I know, but whatever. I was in a mushy mood when I wrote this a while back.]
Do you remember the day I first met you?
Because I do.
You had those designer jeans on and...was that a fake flower in your hair?
Regardless, I knew you were someone special right then and there.
When our eyes first met, did you think we'd end up together?
I thought you were the one, not merely just another.
When we first kissed, did you feel a tingle in your lips?
I ask because I felt the goosebumps on your hips.
Did I ever tell you about the way your radiant smile makes me melt?
That, and the way you pull me in with your hands grasping my belt.
Do you remember the first time I said I love you?
It was during that downpour, and we were soaked straight through.
How about the first time we made love and finally got intimate?
Just seconds after my first "I love you" in my back seat where we barely fit.
Do you remember me dropping you off at home that night?
You would've never gotten out of the car if your dad hadn't turned on the outside light.
Or how about when we fell asleep together on the phone?
It was almost like you were right there keeping me from dreaming alone.
And who can forget the evening I got into that fight?
That dude so had it coming for the way he disrespected you that night.
Ever saw him a few days after the scuffle?
His jaw was wrapped in bandages, and his voice was muffled.
I'll never forget the year your parents made that decision to move. Will you?
I did my best to be strong, but I ended up breaking down in tears too.
Could you imagine your life without us?
You're the alpha to my omega, and the minus to my plus.
We balance each other out don't you think?
Me without you sends my mind to the brink.
I wondered to myself, "Why was this the way things had to turn out?"
I couldn't handle pondering it, but it was so hard to find something else to think about.
Yet time still has a way of fast-forwarding by right?
Thank God for that because slow motion without you is a torturous plight.
Did you think about me as much as I thought about you?
If you did then correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe that's what soulmates do.
They always have a way of finding each other, wouldn't you agree?
I know I do, and so I waited for you to return ever so patiently.
Do you remember the day we found each other once more in the street?
Just hearing your voice again caused my heart to skip a beat.
Could you believe that after all this time our feelings for each other didn't stale?
The power of our love stood the test of time, and was never bound to fail.
Do you remember how I proposed to you without a ring?
I just dropped to one knee right there and everything.
Did I ever tell you how beautiful you looked walking down that aisle?
Everyone was looking at you, but your eyes were locked on me all the while.
Do you recall how after I lifted the white veil away from your face there was that pause?
Our lips then came together and caressed to the sound of thunderous applause.
Do you think it's unhealthy that the only thing I think about is you and yours truly?
I doubt it. Oh, by the way, that reminds me.
Do you remember the day I first met you?
Because I do.
Do you remember the day I first met you?
Because I do.
You had those designer jeans on and...was that a fake flower in your hair?
Regardless, I knew you were someone special right then and there.
When our eyes first met, did you think we'd end up together?
I thought you were the one, not merely just another.
When we first kissed, did you feel a tingle in your lips?
I ask because I felt the goosebumps on your hips.
Did I ever tell you about the way your radiant smile makes me melt?
That, and the way you pull me in with your hands grasping my belt.
Do you remember the first time I said I love you?
It was during that downpour, and we were soaked straight through.
How about the first time we made love and finally got intimate?
Just seconds after my first "I love you" in my back seat where we barely fit.
Do you remember me dropping you off at home that night?
You would've never gotten out of the car if your dad hadn't turned on the outside light.
Or how about when we fell asleep together on the phone?
It was almost like you were right there keeping me from dreaming alone.
And who can forget the evening I got into that fight?
That dude so had it coming for the way he disrespected you that night.
Ever saw him a few days after the scuffle?
His jaw was wrapped in bandages, and his voice was muffled.
I'll never forget the year your parents made that decision to move. Will you?
I did my best to be strong, but I ended up breaking down in tears too.
Could you imagine your life without us?
You're the alpha to my omega, and the minus to my plus.
We balance each other out don't you think?
Me without you sends my mind to the brink.
I wondered to myself, "Why was this the way things had to turn out?"
I couldn't handle pondering it, but it was so hard to find something else to think about.
Yet time still has a way of fast-forwarding by right?
Thank God for that because slow motion without you is a torturous plight.
Did you think about me as much as I thought about you?
If you did then correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe that's what soulmates do.
They always have a way of finding each other, wouldn't you agree?
I know I do, and so I waited for you to return ever so patiently.
Do you remember the day we found each other once more in the street?
Just hearing your voice again caused my heart to skip a beat.
Could you believe that after all this time our feelings for each other didn't stale?
The power of our love stood the test of time, and was never bound to fail.
Do you remember how I proposed to you without a ring?
I just dropped to one knee right there and everything.
Did I ever tell you how beautiful you looked walking down that aisle?
Everyone was looking at you, but your eyes were locked on me all the while.
Do you recall how after I lifted the white veil away from your face there was that pause?
Our lips then came together and caressed to the sound of thunderous applause.
Do you think it's unhealthy that the only thing I think about is you and yours truly?
I doubt it. Oh, by the way, that reminds me.
Do you remember the day I first met you?
Because I do.
Kamikaze
Blast from the past –
Keeping my ass running fast to avoid the die cast.
I’ve seen Them harass, heard Them laugh, even caught Them in the act.
I’ve done the math, walked the high path, but I still finish last.
Something is wrong –
Never feeling at home even when They sing that sweet song.
These muscles ain’t strong enough to keep forcing myself along.
This body has only enough energy to stay and fight, or get gone.
But it’s futile –
Staying nor leaving Them would never be worth our while.
We’re trapped, forever forced to follow Big Man’s style.
He keeps us lost like a child in the wild without so much as a soothing Black & Mild.
It’s all control –
He and They are the Masters of Old trying to maintain Their oppressive hold
on us to keep the ball on the roll so Their pockets stay filled with gold.
If you refuse to pay the toll, you will be gone, but your story will remain…untold.
Fucking bullshit –
Lying through Their teeth, and They’re knowing it.
Knowing that we’re all in the same shitty boat, and scared of rowing it.
Learned to grow with it, and flow with it, but I ain’t ever showing it.
They can blow me –
They dangle the reward before us like we’re stupid and cheap
because we’re tools to Them, used for Their benefits to reap.
Open your eyes and see that They don’t want us to be free.
It’s just too late –
They’ve sealed our fate long before its expiration date.
Our chance to vacate was gone when They caged us behind the Iron Gate.
There’s only one way to retaliate when the world is in such a desperate state.
I tell you this –
That slice of bliss is just another diss from the venom in the Devil’s kiss.
The lies are poisonous, but are they contagious? The consensus screams yes.
He’ll finally understand Karma is true justice when we bring Them all down with us.
Chivalry
Pardon me, asshole, but are you deaf or just slow?
You really don't know why I'm asking you, bro?
It’s not like it matters though since I'm ending this show.
Just pack up and go 'cause I know you heard the lady say no.
Yeah, I know this wasn't my business, so I kept my distance,
but ever since you stepped to her, you’ve been out of sequence.
You’ve got persistence for someone obsessed with a hopeless romance,
but therein lies my stance as to why you shouldn't advance.
You got my attention with your violent attempt at flirtation.
So this is your initiation into my program called Intervention.
No need for compensation 'cause there's no fee for this education.
Now let's move onto your consultation for your soon-to-be condition.
I wouldn't have cared if you’d just dropped it and left it there,
but the moment you grabbed her by the hair, this became my affair.
Touch her again if you dare to swing until the sirens blare.
I'll be glad to share a cage with you in that zoo filled with hard stares.
This rage in me? You made it, and now I just can't seem to shake it.
This rage in me? You made it, and now I just can't seem to shake it.
You can state it. I'm in your face now and you hate it.
Don't try to escape it just 'cause you can't take it.
She manned up and made it despite having her personal space invaded.
I'm trying to decide on which side of your face I want the docs to stitch.
Regardless, once I switch you'll hit the pavement in no time without a hitch.
Maybe I'll let you swim with the fish, or drop you in a six deep ditch.
I'm indecisive and can't pick, so I'll let her flip a coin to determine which.
So up and leave now ‘cause it’ll be the best deal you’ve ever dealt.
Pushing this any further is only going to get you a series of welts,
get me another notch in my belt, and a trophy for her to put on her shelf.
I’m your last strike in case you couldn’t tell. Get gone before you body yourself.
About Me
I know this is kind of late, but it's better to do this now than never.
What's good everyone? My name is Mike, and I'm 22 years old as of this post.
I love to write, but I hate to read. I've always enjoyed creative writing assignments from my English teachers growing up. Most of the inspiration I get for the pieces I write (poetry and fiction alike) come from life, music (usually Hip-Hop, or just instrumentals) movies, and video games. Yes, I'm a gamer. Video games have always been a big hobby of mine, and I intend to keep playing video games til I'm old and grey. I've never been much for sports. None of them can really hold my attention for very long. The only sport I ever enjoyed and excelled at was swimming. I was on the swim team for all four years of my high school career, and I swam for one season for William Paterson University.
I'm a very chill, easy-going guy. I procrastinate all the time. I enjoy very in-depth conversations about the most random topics. I spend most of my time at home, or with my friends. I prefer to let life take its course. I just sit back, relax, and do my best to enjoy the ride. I suck at making plans and thinking ahead of time. I'm frequently late to just about everything in my life that I have had to arrive on time for, and I absolutely loathe school on every level. Talk to me about anything except school.
My dream in life is to write novels that make it to the silver screen in movie theaters all over the world.
I think that's enough about me =P
What's good everyone? My name is Mike, and I'm 22 years old as of this post.
I love to write, but I hate to read. I've always enjoyed creative writing assignments from my English teachers growing up. Most of the inspiration I get for the pieces I write (poetry and fiction alike) come from life, music (usually Hip-Hop, or just instrumentals) movies, and video games. Yes, I'm a gamer. Video games have always been a big hobby of mine, and I intend to keep playing video games til I'm old and grey. I've never been much for sports. None of them can really hold my attention for very long. The only sport I ever enjoyed and excelled at was swimming. I was on the swim team for all four years of my high school career, and I swam for one season for William Paterson University.
I'm a very chill, easy-going guy. I procrastinate all the time. I enjoy very in-depth conversations about the most random topics. I spend most of my time at home, or with my friends. I prefer to let life take its course. I just sit back, relax, and do my best to enjoy the ride. I suck at making plans and thinking ahead of time. I'm frequently late to just about everything in my life that I have had to arrive on time for, and I absolutely loathe school on every level. Talk to me about anything except school.
My dream in life is to write novels that make it to the silver screen in movie theaters all over the world.
I think that's enough about me =P
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
2nd Writer I Admire
http://www.tolkien-online.com/
J.R.R. Tolkien
Yup, the creator of the Lord of the Rings. I never got around to reading Return of the King (the last Lord of the Rings book in the trilogy) but I have read The Hobbit, The Fellowship of the Ring, and The Two Towers.
I think I like Tolkien's work more or less for the same reason I like William Shakespeare's literary prowess. He just has a way of talking about things while he's telling you his story that just really suck you in. As weird as it may sound, it's like I'm completely lost with what he's saying, but at the same time I know exactly what he's describing. He has a very intricate way of feeding you the story. My favorite thing about his writing is the way he describes the surroundings of a particular scene. If there is one thing I know I need to work on with my writing (as far as stories go) it would be showing, not telling about the particular environment a scene in my book is taking place in.
Tolkien's the man.
J.R.R. Tolkien
Yup, the creator of the Lord of the Rings. I never got around to reading Return of the King (the last Lord of the Rings book in the trilogy) but I have read The Hobbit, The Fellowship of the Ring, and The Two Towers.
I think I like Tolkien's work more or less for the same reason I like William Shakespeare's literary prowess. He just has a way of talking about things while he's telling you his story that just really suck you in. As weird as it may sound, it's like I'm completely lost with what he's saying, but at the same time I know exactly what he's describing. He has a very intricate way of feeding you the story. My favorite thing about his writing is the way he describes the surroundings of a particular scene. If there is one thing I know I need to work on with my writing (as far as stories go) it would be showing, not telling about the particular environment a scene in my book is taking place in.
Tolkien's the man.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Plethora of True Expression
[Poem I made from the three select words I picked out from my description of poetry. Those being:
-True
-Plethora
-Expression
Enjoy! Due 1/31/11]
-True
-Plethora
-Expression
Enjoy! Due 1/31/11]
Release the mind tension
and commence with the poetry lesson
for aggression will distort the vision
through which one’s obsession
for words without limitation
assembles a lyrical creation
of pure self expression.
The stanzas reflect you,
a mirror of the writer who
inscribes their ideas to
and for those that do
not wish their minds subdued.
Use your pen to put into view
that which is undoubtedly true.
Choose words wisely from the plethora.
Remember always that you’re a
poet who will forever strive for a
deeper message to be written or a
special idea to strike the core of
something new and fresh more of
the people will never get bored of.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Statistic
[Here is my extra poem for Wednesday for extra credit! Enjoy!]
I can hear the battle raging up ahead
Flashes of my life…
Will I soon be dead?
Will I soon be dead?
I tilt my head back and sniff the air
The suffocating stench of smoke and gunpowder…
The suffocating stench of smoke and gunpowder…
I can see the lifeless strewn everywhere
I have never felt anything such as this fear
As the caravan draws closer…
Down my cheek rolls a single tear
Our commander suddenly yells, “GO GO GO!”
We all jump out of the truck without a single thought…
And begin our rapid trudge through the red snow
Bodies and blood all over the ground
To think I would be in the midst of this hell…
Away from my home where I was safe and sound
My ears ring with the crack of each exploding shell, one after another
Gunfire followed by piercing screams of pain…
Along with the unanswered cries for mother
A Tango approaches and our commander bellows, “FIRE!”
Raising my weapon, I pull the trigger on instinct…
And watch my target quickly expire
Just like that, without thinking, I had taken a life
I am no killer, but wait! Tango is still moving…
I rush forward and puncture their heart with my knife
Turning my head with blood on my face, a bullet grazes my cheek
Tangos have me in their sights…
I feel so helpless, so meek
Another ballistic ricochets off my metal hat
I begin to sprint…
Frantically dodging this way and that,
Desperately searching for cover as the shots blaze by
A projectile finally finds its way into my gut’s flesh…
I am barely a man, much too young to die
I begin to panic and lose my head
I am no different from any of them…
Soon I too will be dead
One last sliver of lead to my chest and I fall to one knee
I am nothing…
Just another frozen face no one will ever see
Looking down I see the growing stain of my own blood
This is it...
My grave will be here upon this patch of snow and mud
The sounds of gunfire and shouted commands begin to fade
I fall onto my side…
And there my body stayed
My mind and muscles begin to slack
As I watch the vapors from my last breath escape…
Everything goes black
Untitled
[I wrote this a while back when I wanted to write something, but wasn't quite sure what. After reading it again today I realized this would be a good choice to use as my poem about poems/poetry/poets. You decide for yourself. Enjoy!]
Never branded
Never labeled
Never official
Never chosen
Never hooked
Yet never been overlooked
Never brought down
Never built up
Never and always told to shut up
Never wrong
Never right
Never completely out of sight
Never here
Never there
But been just about everywhere
Never challenged
Never questioned
Yet forever condemned
Never hot
Never cold
Never done as told
Never mean
Never nice
Just playful when the time is right
Never loved
Never hated
Never under or overrated
Never promiscuous
Never prude
Always sets the right mood
Never a fighter
Never a lover
Never permanent but always forever
Never following
Never leading
Always drifting
Never branded
Never labeled
Never official
Never branded
Never labeled
Never official
Never chosen
Never hooked
Yet never been overlooked
Never brought down
Never built up
Never and always told to shut up
Never wrong
Never right
Never completely out of sight
Never here
Never there
But been just about everywhere
Never challenged
Never questioned
Yet forever condemned
Never hot
Never cold
Never done as told
Never mean
Never nice
Just playful when the time is right
Never loved
Never hated
Never under or overrated
Never promiscuous
Never prude
Always sets the right mood
Never a fighter
Never a lover
Never permanent but always forever
Never following
Never leading
Always drifting
Never branded
Never labeled
Never official
My Writer Preference
http://www.online-literature.com/shakespeare/
There he is: William Shakespeare!
Yeah, he's a popular one, but I can't deny that I really love his work. Shakespeare is a literary genius. There is nothing that compares to his word play, and engaging story lines. Many movies along with other literary works these days are heavily inspired by much of his work. How many people can claim to have accomplished that? Shakespeare is my author of choice for the aforementioned reasons.
Plus, I wish I could speak as smoothly and romantically as he did =P
There he is: William Shakespeare!
Yeah, he's a popular one, but I can't deny that I really love his work. Shakespeare is a literary genius. There is nothing that compares to his word play, and engaging story lines. Many movies along with other literary works these days are heavily inspired by much of his work. How many people can claim to have accomplished that? Shakespeare is my author of choice for the aforementioned reasons.
Plus, I wish I could speak as smoothly and romantically as he did =P
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