Sunday, February 9, 2014

Pieces of Ideas

I hope you are all doing well.  I received a couple of touching letters from readers of Building Blocks that really made my day.  I really appreciate your kind words, but I was only doing what God asked of me.

I still haven't been able to really motivate myself to dive headlong back into my writing.  Every time I sit down to try, my brain shuts down and says "Nope, not yet."  The desire is still there.  The ideas are still there - and more pop up every day.  It's the drive that's missing.  For years, I used to work a full day's shift only to come home and write for another four-five hours.  I just don't have the energy for that right now.  That's not to say I'll never do it again, but right now, I just can't get into that focused zone where the rest of the world does not exist and it's just me and my thoughts.

Still, I've been able to get a few pieces of ideas out.  Not too long ago, I wrote an intro to a story that I think could be fun if done right, but I haven't touched it too much since.  I haven't decided whether it would be a short story or a full-blown book, but I thought I'd share the intro with you all.


Untitled Work in Progress
by: Kevin Domenic

Antonio Cohen died Monday, June 10th 2013 from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.  He was seventeen years old.

Before sundown, the finger-pointing began.  "It was that horrible music he listened to," they said.  "No, it was those violent video games."  Still others blamed TV and movies.  Mental illness.  Drug addiction.  The evening news described him as a paranoid youth with possible masochistic tendencies.  Within a week, he was reviled nationwide by millions who knew neither him nor his circumstances.

My name is Samantha Cedar.  I grew up with Antonio.  We weren't close; we weren't even friends.  But from kindergarten through fifth grade, we shared four out of six teachers.  We were in the same classes, shared the same lunch periods, and played on the same playground.  He was a pretty normal little boy back then.  At least, as far as I knew.  He'd play games with his circle of friends and sometimes get a little rambunctious in class.  There was one incident where he threw a paper airplane through the open window of Mrs. Batters' second-floor classroom.  I still remember the look on his face when she summoned him to her desk at the end of the day.  It was like he'd been caught with his hand in the candy jar.

It's funny; that kind of thing once seemed like such a serious offense.  Boys threw paper airplanes and shot spit-wads.  Girls passed notes and gossiped.  At the end of the day, we were just kids being kids.  But somewhere along the way, spit-wads became fists, and gossip became slander.  As the years went by, we became so caught up in our own egos that we were almost like caricatures of everything we thought we were or wanted to be.  Jocks saw themselves as heroes.  Cheerleaders saw themselves as princesses.  Theater students were hopeless romantics, and the band kids provided the soundtrack.  Each and every student was-whether they liked it or not-divided by their personalities and classified by their interests.  And for the most part, everyone embraced their roles.

And just about everyone saw everyone else as the villain.

Me? I was one of the popular girls.  In high school, I was most often lumped in with the cheerleaders because most of them were my friends.  I didn't cheer myself-I'm too self-conscious for that sort of thing.  But I went to all of the football games with the other non-cheer girls from our circle.  Sometimes we'd bring signs or paint our faces to support the team.  There were so many nights when I came home with a sore throat from screaming so much.

But that was high school.  But that time, we were already divided into our cliques.  Back in kindergarten, however, we were all equals.  Nobody had any pre-conceived notions about anyone else.  There were no expectations or assumptions about our characters or intentions.  We were kids; nothing more, nothing less.  And life was good.


Maybe it'll turn into a book or something one day.  It felt really good to write - like being back on my old bicycle after years of leaving it in our shed.  But I'm still struggling with my focus and concentration.  I just don't have the drive to push through it right now.  I'm confident I will get back to it eventually, but right now I'm just not ready.

God bless,

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