A Song of Smoke and Daggers: A Waste of Time by CJ McKraken (Spoilers)

*Note: Enjoy your tangents and lack of commas, because I’m lazy. Also, SPOILERS. Seriously, a LOT of SPOILERS. SPOILERS!!!!!!!!!!
I have had a pet theory for awhile that “Ice and Fire” was Arya and Gendry. A girl from the north and a blacksmith. It called all the way back to the very start of the story and the desire for the Baratheons and the Starks to combine their households. The parallel was too perfect. However, since I have seen some of the backlash to Sunday’s episode I have been stuck on the Azor Ahai prophecy. I originally started this dive to see if Arya fulfilled the prophecy, and I came to a conclusion. However, to get to it I need to take you on the journey.

First, there is already a huge assumption that the Prince that was Promised and the Azor Ahai are one in the same. This is a basic cyclical prophecy. What has happened will happen again. Azor was simply the last person to fulfill it. Prophecies normally aren’t that clear. The beats match, but the steps may be a bit different. Lightbringer was used before, but the current Prince doesn’t have to use Lightbringer itself to kill the Night King. That was just the sword Azor made. Per Thoros “According to prophecy, our champion will be reborn to wake dragons from stone and reforge the great sword Lightbringer that defeated the darkness those thousands of years ago. If the old tales are true, a terrible weapon forged with a loving wife’s heart. Part of me thinks man was well rid of it, but great power requires great sacrifice. That much at least the Lord of Light is clear on.”

Let’s start with a look at the weapons.
Lightbringer was forged by using the blood of Nissa Nissa, but what about Cat’s Paw? What do we know? Cat’s Paw is a Valyrian Steel dagger with a dragonbone hilt adorned with a single red gem. What is Valyrian Steel? Nobody really knows since the art of it is lost, but it is believed to have been forged by Dragonfire and Dark Magic…or more specifically Blood Magic. The only survivors of the Doom were the Targaryens who chose the house words “Fire and Blood.” It is possible Lightbringer may have just been the first sword formed by those methods. If you can make one what is to stop others from making more. He discovered the method to create a material to take down the Night King. This could mean that literally any Valyrian steel weapon satisfies this part of the prophecy. Now the only reason I mentioned the gem is because at another point Lightbringer was called the red sword of heroes. I’m not sure that matters and I don’t think the gem was ever mentioned in the books.

Now there is the other prophecy. “When the red star bleeds and the darkness gathers, Azor Ahai shall be born again amidst smoke and salt to wake dragons out of stone.”
There seems to be a popular idea that this is quite literal and refers to an actual birth, but that may not be the case. It can be someone reborn. I remember a theory awhile back that even Tyrion had a claim since he was born into the man he is now during the Battle of Blackwater. When was Arya really born? When did she become who she is? The first point that came to mind was when she became no one and then chose to be Arya. This moment happened when she killed the Waif. She did this in Braavos, a large harbor that is ruled by the Sealords and contains a place referred to as Salty Town. Check goes to salt. What really caught my attention was how Arya defeated the Waif. She used the skills she learned while she was blind, something the Waif could not do. She won by extinguishing a candle. Smoke.

So, at that point my only sticking point was “wake dragons out of stone.” However, it was 1 AM and I was tired. I decided to sleep on it. I knew that I should be cautious about assuming that the prophecy meant literal dragons, because that just isn’t how these things necessarily work.

The prophecy itself was based on the religion of Rheillor. We have seen in this show that many gods may be lurking. We have Melisandre and the Band Brothers setting things on fire and bringing people back to life, we have Bran warging into animals and peeping all along the time line, and we have the faceless men turning into duplicates of other people. I am assuming that involves more than just ripping off someone’s face and wearing it (although that creates some hilarious imagery for the Walder Frey dinner party). Who is to say that the Darkness is destroyed by a prophet of Light every time? It is possible it is different due to the fact that Arya follows the God of Death.

Here is where things started to get weird for me. The more I thought about it, the more I thought about prophecies themselves. How many times in stories are prophecies self-fulfilling. Humans build lore and religion around things we do not understand, and really there may be no/half truth to it. The old tales and prophecy could simply be how Valyrian Steel was created, and that is really all anyone needs. Arya just happened to be the one that Beric (a man with a literal flaming sword) died protecting which made Melisandre change her mind (again), so she gave Arya the speech that she needed to find her own personal courage. I mean old George himself has said that he wanted to avoid prophecies that are too literal or too easily solved.

These prophecies were spoken by people. When Theron brought it up he even said “if the old tales are true.” The only thing he knew for sure is that sacrifice would be required. The other bit was from the Red Woman, a religious zealot who thought everyone she met was the Price that was Promised. Is she really a credible source?

Martin has never been shy about the type of book he was writing. I feel like we viewers/reader are the Red Woman. We are constantly changing, guessing, and bending our theories based on the newest bit of info. Now the red woman is dead and we have to go back to the part of the story that was started, human’s bickering over power. A tyrannical ruler can be many measures worse than a snowy apocalypse. At least in the apocalypse you are probably just dead. This is only going to go more insane now that there is no great threat to bind all of these groups. George loves his parallels and he has made his stance on prophecy pretty clear.

After mulling all of this over I came to an interesting conclusion: The Prince that was Promised is Valyrian Steel in general or possibly Cat’s Paw itself if you still want to stay all lore filled. Forged with Dragonfire and Blood Magic on a Peninsula in the Summer Sea. After the Doom the place fell apart and is now separated by the Smoking Sea. We do not know the origin of Cat’s Paw, and that may be the key. What we do know is that of all the Valyrian Steel swords made several are unaccounted for. Cat’s Paw could have been forged from one of them. We know for a fact that Brightroar was lost when the King of the Rock sailed out on a failed quest to raid the remains of the city once ruled by dragonlords, and we also know that there have been attempts to reclaim it. Tywin was also desperate to buy a replacement until he finally acquired Ice.

I have seen some people saying Arya was fan service, lazy story telling, and not real, but they have been setting this up since season three. Every step she made in the background led to this moment.  This style of Anti-Fantasy is really common in Martin’s writing.

It also might be something to note that nobody ever said that the Darkness was the Wights. It was assumed, but plenty of people of assumed they were fighting the Darkness before. The Night King character wasn’t even a really big thing in the books. There was a Night’s King, but that is a completely different story with a different origin. Keep in mind, we still have three movie lengths of show left. A lot can still happen. Maybe the Night King warged into Cersei before he died, or maybe his death will lead to a mad king (or queen) going mad. Burn them All. Hold the Door. Maybe the true darkness is in King’s Landing. Perhaps Dany is going to pull a flaming sword out of Drogon’s mouth, run Jon through with it, and strike down the Mountain. However, it is also possible that this is a story of political intrigue in a world that happens to have magic. Now that the combined threat is gone, how will our player’s react? Will Dany betray Jon and go mad with power like the Mad King before her? Will Cersei set the other half of King’s Landing on fire? Is there still a snake in the dungeon? Clegane Bowl? Can a King of the North really throw back host ten times the size of their own at Moat Cailin? Something tells me that this battle will not be the end all be all of the series, and there is plenty more spilled blood to come.

 

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WP 2: Something Wicked

Not my typical prompt. I asked some friends for ideas and this is one from Jay.  It is still super long but I care not.  I also misread the original prompt so I’m crossing out the part I skipped. It was Facebook messenger and there was a lot going on.  Not re doing it.  Don’t care.  I’ll probably Ninja Edit a  few times to fix errors.  Prompts are meant to be done quick and dirty.

The Writing Prompt

Write about fluffy dragons becoming the worlds cutest pets… or so we thought”  

My Response

“Mom…Why can’t I have one? Everyone else has one. Even that kid down the block has one and he doesn’t even have parents.”

Michelle sighed, utterly exhausted from Nathaniel’s constant begging. Weeks and weeks of Dragini this and Dragini that. The newest fantasy pet to come out Genamco labs. “I’m sorry bug, don’t you remember what happened to Jeffy the mini Giraffe?”

The horror that crossed his sweet face made her rethink taking him out of his PTSD therapy. To say Genamco had a history of releasing pets before fully debugging the process would be quite the understatement. Glow Rabbits developed sudden, massive, and extraordinarily fatal tumors; Miniphants surprisingly kept shrinking; Tiny Ts went feral, but at least the meat was tasty; Turtleducks frequently rejected their wings with their teeth; Talk to Me Gold Fish drowned; PandaPal had a tendency to spontaneously combust; SlinkySnake exploded when fed more than twice a month; and Jeffy…well let’s just say thank God for the National Guard. However this new one did seem promising. A whole year with no incidents.

Genamco had been out of headlines for the past couple years hiding from the press after….well, you know. Even now they weren’t splashing their smug faces all over the TV in nauseating ads. In fact short of a few phoned in statements they had stayed out of the press completely. Perhaps they did learn their lesson and spent more than two seconds checking their product before selling it. This new product had all the bells and whistles too. Affectionate, a good enough sense of location to act as a carrier pigeon, strong enough to grab bags of groceries at the store and fly them home to you, played fetch, liked to nuzzle, big anime eyes, pooped in the woods, and as long as you paid a fee to keep the local lake restocked the little guys just ate fish from their whenever hungry. Pretty much no maintenance. They sky had been buzzing with bright colors and sleek figures for months now. Maybe…..No, absolutely not. “How about a nice dog?”

Nathaniel crossed his arms and sneered. “Dogs are stupid. Nobody has those anymore.”

Before Michelle could even stick up for the memory of her old friend Dogo the front door swung open. “Honey I’m home, and I got a surprise for us.”

Us? Oh God No. She tried to cut Nathaniel off. If she could stop him from seeing maybe just maybe, but the kid slid under the kitchen table and beat her to the hall. She didn’t even have to see to know, the guttural purr followed by that piercing chirp said it all. To her dread she got to the door just in time to see Nathaniel wrap his arms around his new friend.   Metallic purple. Of course that dear husband of her’s would go out and buy the newest, most expensive model.

Nathaniel released an unearthly squee, “I will name him Flappers.”

She tried to stifle a sigh. No way could she win now. “Welcome to the family Flappers.” Her fake smile almost faltered at the thought of calling that out in public. Kids should never name animals. Once Nate went to run to find toys Michelle got her first good look at the newest abomination of nature. Not really what she expected. From a distance the silhouettes in the sky definitely looked like tiny dragons. Long bodies, quadrupedal, legs that tucked in close while their ethereally sheer four foot wing span glistened a rainbow of colors onto the ground below. Up close however all the details seemed off. The head came to a slight point at the mouth, not round and chibi like in the movies. The scales, all though wonderfully plated were long and narrow. Oh well, it’s not like they had real dragon DNA to go off of. The next generation would probably be a little sleeker. Flappers curled around her ankles with a deep growl purr, although is body seemed to flow like liquid she couldn’t help but laugh at the barely more than a stub of a tail. Daniel wrapped his arms around her trying to shake a smile out of her. “I thought the same thing too, but apparently that’s all it needs to maintain flight. I expected some long thing with spikes on the end, but considering Genamco’s track record this is probably for the best.” Melting into his warm arms she finally relented. Perhaps this would be ok. “Come on Nate. Let’s take Flappers for a walk.” Nate’s voice echoed off the walls and Michelle smiled when his nose scrunched up at the name. At least she wouldn’t be alone in the embarrassment.

Nathaniel blasted around the corner and out the door leaving Michelle to fumble with the lock on the door. Once outside Flappers took immediately to the air. Neighbors beamed with envy at the purple beast, easily the biggest on the block by a foot. He swooped and dove chirping and honking. Soon even the other Dragini’s stopped to look on him in awe. Funny? That had never happened before. Maybe they were just as amused by this new model as the rest of us. Flappers flapped furiously to slow his speed and hover maybe a few feet above the tallest house on the block. The others gathered around chattering with their chirps and growls. At first the town laughed. It seemed like he was telling a story like the new kid standing in front of the class on the first day of school. Soon the other draginis went silent leaving only Flappers chirping away. No, not chirping. It was more of a honk, a noot noot sound. Draginis don’t gaw do they? Slowly the smiles dropped from the neighbors faces.

Finally the murmurings started, “No it can’t be?” Clyde grabbed his wife Martha and tried to run to the house, but their path was cut off by their Dragini Spalcor.

As the poor couple back peddled back to the street cries could be heard through the crowd.

“No, No we destroyed them.”

“This is just a joke. Right? The Dragini’s are just playing. Tell me you’re just playing Groofus.” 16 year old Grant tried to reach out to his, but in a horrifying second Groffus opened his mouth and the boy’s right hand was gone. Screams erupted as everyone tried to run. The Dragini’s took flight glistening their deadly rainbow onto the street. One by one the Dragini swooped down to tear at their owner or lift them to the sky. Flappers stayed firm though. He just started at Michelle with soulless eyes from the perch across the street as if to say the bringers of their champion would be last.

Michelle grinned right back. He was adopted by the wrong mother fucking family. Swinging the door to the house back open she ushered Nate and the lucky few screaming neighbors inside. It all made sense. Genamcos disappearance, the long narrow scales. Not guitar picks but feathers. Glossy sleeked back feathers. Sure they looked different, but it had been two decades since the war against them. How long had they had access to this type of genetic technology? Did they take over Genamco after? Had Genamco been experimenting on the survivors all along? Are there even any humans working there anymore? It didn’t matter how they did it. Not anymore. They returned and now they could fly. “Honey, get your shotgun. The penguins are back.”

 

 

Shot of Pen-icillin (It’s punny)

First let me say I have re-written this a few times, because I don’t know how to cover this topic without alienating myself. Second,  It’s long.  I ran out of time to perfect it since I wanted this out by the 1st, sorry.

I haven’t been in the whole official writing gig thing for very long, and maybe that’s why this particular topic sticks out so much with me. Or maybe I will be torn to shreds for even thinking I could have a say in this which is precisely the reason I’m doing this. Our community is sick. Now I don’t mean in the depraved way I mean in the doctor’s office sick way. It’s nothing terminal or anything, because it’s not too late to fix it. We just need a shot, a shot of compassion and humility.

Back-story time. I have been writing for a long time, but not like what I have been doing the past year or so. Like many others I wrote by myself behind a closed door with the lights off and the covers over my head for good measure. I was embarrassed. My work felt so fragile and raw. If people ever knew of its existence they would surely mock and insult me. After all, I’m CJ the jock or CJ the gamer not CJ the writer. At least that’s how it felt. I think this is a common feeling for most of us at first. When I found out another one of my friends wrote too I mocked him. It was wrong. I was wrong. I was jealous because he could do something I didn’t have the courage to do. I apologized, he pushed me to be more involved in the community, and eventually I relented with NaNoWriMo. I immediately broke the rules like I do, but I still did it. For the most part everyone seemed friendly and nice….that is, until I went into the show your work forums (and, most recently, the forum discussing this year’s rule change which is sort of what clinched my need to write this.)

Keep in mind these are paragraphs written at lightning speed by people who are doing this to have a good time many for the first time. Yet some of the so called veterans would rip at the cadence, the passive voice, and the spelling like they would a George Martin final draft. A few even resorting to insults and cries of just quit now. The mods took down the hateful things as fast as they could, but you could still see it from time to time. On the positive side, most people were helpful and decried those few mean spirits. This pushed me to get more involved.

I started to go to classes and seminars, popped into a few write-ins, continued to help and participate in Camp NaNo, subscribed to Reddit Writing Prompts and Writing, and even drove to other towns to see my favorite writers speak. The more I dug into this world of words the more I saw it. The dark side of us all. Being new I seemed to get a good brunt of it. Everyone telling me my methods and ideas are wrong and juvenile. Things only neophytes would do. These things I know. I’m still looking for my voice and I only have a rough draft.

Probably the worst thing I see is people tearing apart other ideas for the sole reason of getting their own more visibility. (A crime most often seen and admitted to by people using sites with an up vote/down vote system.) One down vote on a new submission will push theirs to the bottom of the pile to be forgotten and keep your own submission closer to the top. It’s tempting I know, but it’s wrong. Another thing tempting is to not up vote things that are good because it will put theirs higher than yours. This is a community, and although it feels great to be praised and recognized it is just as important and vital to praise others.

Instead of encouraging others to join we tend to overload them with rules and tales of woe. If I had a dollar for every time I see: “Why write at all, you aren’t good enough to publish.” I would probably be able to open my own freaking publishing company.

Before I’m accused of just complaining for my own short comings please understand this isn’t coming from a place of anger. I’m a full grown dirt of my shoulders adult. I don’t really care what people say, and I don’t care that my work will never be world famous. That’s not why I do this (again something for another day). I do care, however, when I hear these stories coming from the teenagers at these seminars. So young with a confidence so frail. I have seen people giving up completely, because they felt so discouraged after sharing their work with the world which is a crime. Our crime. Of course it’s not perfect and of course we should give pointers, but we also need to be positive. Everyone likes to know that they are on the right track. We need to be able to push people in the right direction not push them away. Who knows, that young man you just ripped a new one could have been the next Dean Koontz had he been given the time to learn and grow. It’s easy to be misunderstood when our chief medium is text on a page; this is the internet after all.

Rant over I guess. As of tonight I start NaNoWriMo so my already poor updating skills will probably be even poorer this month. My bad. I will do my best though considering this blog is pretty much my therapy. I can’t wait to get back together with the old group for those weekly coffee shop nights, and the bar write-ins I’m trying to host for us older kids. Till next time I guess. Sign up if you haven’t.

My Thoughts on the NaNoWriMo Debacle

Initially I had a blog planned out that I was attempting to write, but in my procrastination I finally visited the NaNoWriMo site.  I do it every year and participate in some of the camps as well.  If you haven’t heard of it check it out.  However, I noticed something disheartening this year.  A minor rule change, no not even a rule change really, has caused a ridiculously petty uproar.  After reading 14 plus pages on everyone else’s opinions I felt the need to throw in mine.  Yet with my sickly mind, literally I am sick, I thought writing a poem would be a great idea.  I will probably touch more on this at a later date.

Since the topic sort of kind of loosely applies to the blog I’m working on I figured I would share it:

1.) becuase I took the time to write it,

2.) because I need to stall for time before I get the next piece out.  Don’t judge me.

Let me a tell you my story of woe
Of how I almost didn’t NaNoWriMo

On a dark stormy night late 2012
Into my mind I started to delve
I found a story I’d toyed with for years
Yet had not begun thanks to silly fears
I meticulously wrote each line and each scene
Ignoring the fact I was totally green

I heard tales of a boy who lived down the street
Who would attempt a truly ridiculous feat
50,000 words in a month! How naïve, how insane
A craptastic novel is all he could gain
I looked at my screen and at my perfection
I didn’t need some gimmicky goal to find my direction

I restarted, rewrote, meandered, and dragged
With every misstep my inner editor nagged
With every word a chore and my confidence shattered
Months flitted on by leaving me feeling quite battered

The boy who tried fell just short of his goal
Just as expected with a concept so droll
I wanted to gloat, boast, and beam to the brim
But in the nine months since I had yet to match him
I rushed to the site. What was his secret?
I’d hit a roadblock and needed to beat it

I glanced at the rules alas twas not for me
Why start a game when a cheater I’d be
I loved my characters with foundations so strong
Forsaking the finished felt backwards and wrong
A forum was made for committers of crime
But the rules proclaimed it would be a miserable time

Conflicted, into the community I lurked
In many a thread the argument tumbled and jerked.
A rebel was fine for the seasoned and ready
Their victories earned and their paces rock steady
Fresh blood, however, should never remiss
Without a beginning the spirit they’d miss *

Why even bother with a victory hollow
No, alone in my failure I was doomed to wallow
Maybe one day when this story was done
Happily ever after with evil undone
For now I could only continue alone
Creaking on forward with a sigh and a groan

The boy heard tales of my tormented soul
And came to my door with one alike in goal
Another newbie with a tale of old
Struggling to find the words to be told
That night we took to the site
Together we could overcome our plight

I finished my chapter a month prior to start
And spent the last weeks reworking the heart
The eve of the first I eagerly wait
New ideas lunged through the starting gate
Like a flash they flowed from my head to my hand
All ranked and filed just as I planned

After a week my poor enthusiasm waned
My outline fell through and I had been shamed
My inner demon pled me to give up the fight
With the battle too hard the rule must have been right
But forward I marched under the tick and the tock
A goal I had set; I would conquer the clock

In the days that followed strange words leapt to the page
A new villain emerged full of malice and rage
My hooligans struggled, bled, scraped, and clawed
My hands wrote a story while my brain oohed and ahhed

The story took twists and turns unexpected
Ideas spilled forth that I would have rejected
Characters shifted; I laughed and I cried
Some rose in ranks, some surprisingly died

The 30th came as I blew past the line
A victory earned; I committed no crime
50000 new soldiers all bold and all valid
Not just some worthless, jumbled word salad
My demon reduced to the size of a pebble
On it’s wreckage I stood a NaNoWriMo Rebel.

*Cheap rhyme I know, but I’m tired

Overcoming Fear Pt. 1

Once again sorry for the delay but this is the post I have been dreading. Like I said in the first blog my biggest fear is getting my ideas out there. I fret over if they are rejected or taken, but the point of this page is to get over that so here goes nothing. What’s the point of creating something if you hide it? I have three projects in the works right now: my main, my mini-story, and my micro-story. (I have never tried to sum this up before so be gentle in your judgments good strangers.)

Whenever something is tough I’m always told to go in head first, balls to the wall so to speak. For my first trick let’s go straight to the main project, Blood and Whiskey, the very project this page is named for. It is the working title for the first book in the series I started actually writing down a bit over a year and a half ago. It took severe insanity and boredom to actually do that but that is a rant for another day. I say write down because the world and characters have been dogging me since I was but a young lass in high school. To put things bluntly I got sick of supernatural and fantasy creatures essentially being written as if every single creature has been stuck in stasis for the past century or two. One lonely afternoon I started to rewrite creatures as I would have actually seen them evolve through history. Every single historical path and goal designed around one rule, one truth: Assimilate, Hide, or Die. Once I finished that I created a few new ones, because…why not?

Gone are the days of vamps “From another time.” Orcs have broken off into tribes after a disagreement of which path to take leading to completely different modern results. Some species have flourished in the shadows; others have been hunted into non-existence.  An entirely new species emerged through fear and experimentation. No matter where they pull their energy from no species is inherently good or evil. In this world a demon could be your hero, an elf your nightmare, a gargoyle your neighbor, and a gremlin your tech support.

Book 1, which I finished the first draft in April :-D, centers around a small, local gang that goes by the Fenians of Erin. They have enjoyed a few years of peace in their little underworld, but run into a snag when a rival gang gets new management. Strangers start to arrive offering their services to the highest bidder forcing the already tenuous treaty to crumble.

In a town a few states away a species only know as hunter tries to reign in a war brewing under the surface as tensions rise in the increasingly frustrated meta* community only to be distracted by a serial killer targeting Meta sapiens*.

 

*Subject to change as soon as I redo my research. I lost my cheat sheet of each species’ genus and epithet (>_<)   Meta was the working name; I’m not a fan of it. On the other hand I wasn’t a fan of the name Max being one of the narrator’s names but that grew on me.

WP 1: Perfect Kid

I decided to start doing some Reddit writing prompts to help streamline my writing. I tend to be a bit verbose. This was and is my first attempt at it. I forced myself to write it quickly and tried to limit my length to match the attention span of the average Redditer. It still a bit long but I’m getting better. For a sleepless 3 AM story it turned out ok.

The Writing Prompt

“Far in the future, parents now purchase the traits of their perfect child. They decide everything from intelligence to looks. Better qualities cost significantly more money. Tell me about the imperfect life of the most expensive child ever born”

My Response

I glanced down at my doodle in progress while professor Gaul prattled on about one number or another. Every circle perfect, not a single smudge marred the penciled shading, and every flaw perfectly calculated. Da Vinci himself would envy it. Surely someone would buy it for a few bucks at lunch. Three more just like it and mom could stay home from work for a night…maybe.

“EDWIN.”

With an annoyed sigh I raised my head to face the front of the class. Professor Gaul had always been a problem. In English I flashed my winning smile, in ethics my BS prose could sway any debate, in science I just had to spend one lunch a month helping out in the lab, but Gaul wanted my attention. Something I simply refused to give. I knew more than he ever would, why should I waste my time with him? Another needlessly complicated problem awaited. “Glad that you’re still with us Edwin. Now would you mind solving the problem on the board since you obviously already know it seeing as you’re not paying attention.”

“Obviously.” The kids close enough to hear snickered and Gaul glared. I had mumbled too quietly for him to be sure, but he knew all the same. He just couldn’t do anything about it. For the first time this month I scanned the board. Chapter 4! How had he only taught to chapter 4? He wanted me to do his job. Not this time. In my mind I built the problem, saw the models and graphs, and bit by bit I whittled down to the answer. Not even complicated. “3 plus or minus 2i.”

Gaul’s nose crinkled and his brow creased, but you can’t punish a kid for being right. Even if he thought I cheated he couldn’t prove it. “Well smart ass why don’t you show the rest of the class how you came up with that.” He extended the chalk and waited, impatiently tapping his foot.

I knew what he wanted. He wanted me to show a step by step method that would get you to the answer, but completely miss the point. Why parrot the cold methods of the old and dead when the answer held so much perfection and beauty? I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Instead of the line by line step ladder expected I started to draw the concept from my head. Not half way through the first curve he pushed me away from the board. The cloyingly sweet scent of his cologne filled my senses. No man should ever wear that scent.

“I’m sick of you cocky attitude. I want you out of this classroom. I don’t care what the Dean says I’m failing you.”

I stood in shock and anger. It didn’t really matter. I could test out of this class, the next class, and the next class. The doctors gave me the ability to memorize entire textbooks in mere days and the artistic mind to visualize concepts with ease. That perfect memory allowed me to speak six languages, to debate politics with senators, to handle complex problems and their solutions in my mind, it allowed me to remember the first argument my parents had when their fixed loan rate hadn’t been so fixed, to recall the faces of every agent that dragged my father away to work off his debt, the exact brand of whiskey on my mother’s breath before her first night in her new job, the ability to match each scent on her the next morning to those that called themselves my mentors, and the sense to know it was all my fault. Tonight marked the second Tuesday of the month; the day before that cloying sweet scent would linger in the kitchen while mom made my breakfast with her head hung in shame. She shouldn’t feel that way; she did what she could, what she had to. She just wanted me to be happy and to bring my father home.

Chalk dust began to fall from my clenched fist. Not tonight. With a quick flick of my wrist I turned that line on the board into a middle finger before mirroring the image with my own hands. Professor Gaul turned a new shade of red and charged me; just like I planned. With ease I side stepped before burying my knee into his groin. I couldn’t hide my sneer when he slumped to the ground. At least he would be icing it instead of using it tonight.

The class cheered as I walked out the door. Why wouldn’t they? I helped them cheat, I made them laugh, and I got them in and out of all sorts of mischief. They loved me. Everyone loved me. Everyone except myself.

Just an update

Hello, just a quick update on this page. I’m still stumbling my way though the web design so you will see me make one of each of the categories of posts I’m intending to do over the next week or so. On the plus side I only marginally screwed up the site mapping. It should work for you readers, but I completely pantsed it on my end.  I can manage though.

Hopefully in the future I will be less scattered in my posts…or more so. It will definitely be one of those two. Anyway just as a preview I guess I think I want to make four major types of posts-

Blog: Self explanatory, just the blog like ramblings about things that seem mildly interesting.

Writing Prompts: I need to start learning to parse my writing and this seemed a good way to do that. I want to try to semi regularly participate in Reddit’s WritingPrompts and post the fruits that aren’t too embarrassing here.

Project Updates: This might break into sub categories later. This will showcase/update my actual projects such as Blood and Whiskey, Picture’s Worth (working title), and my short stories. I may even post the current one (yet to be named) when it’s finished. For those following my Facebook page this will be pretty same same for a little bit.  Sorry.

Miscellaneous: Pretty much what this is. Site updates and Distractions

At least that is the initial plan, but if this is anything like my well thought out and detailed pre book outlines I will end up doing something completely different by the end. Expect the first WP post later this week.  If anyone has any suggestions please let me know.