Creatively Challenged Us

An alien sucking the creative jucies

2008-07-13T18:22:00.002-04:00

I feels as though I've had an alien living on the back of my neck for the past seven months sustaining it's life on my creative juices. For the life of me I have not had the energy to sit down and actually devote time to creative outlets, especially my writing.

I've recently moved and it has give me a very welcome change of scenery. I now need to force myself back in to the routine I was working on two and a half years ago. Prior to my divorce I would wake up at five AM and work on my writing. I need to start doing that again. The trick here is forcing myself to do it. That is easier said than done.

This is a test

2008-01-24T13:42:00.000-05:00

Of the Emergency Pupcast Network

Late Spring Evening

2008-01-12T09:17:00.000-05:00

She lay there, in the soft warm grass, staring up at the stars in the blue-black late spring sky. The night was still clinging to the warm of the day, but a faint breeze would graze her flesh intermittently, kissing off the heat. Everything was calm and quiet, the scent of jasmine filled the air, practically palpable. The only sounds came from the nearby pond. A chorus of frogs, there must have been dozens of them, singing their sweet love songs into the night. A symphony of ethereal music swelling into the dark.

She lay there, drinking in each sensation. The way the dark soil beneath her gave, ever so slightly, under her, and the way it radiated the heat of the day back into the world. The soft blades of grass, thick and flexible under her hands. The warmth of the air and cool of the breeze. The way she could almost feel the jasmine in the air. She closed her eyes, a smile light on her lips, listening to the song of the night.

The sound of frogs in symphony would always remind her of these days. The dreamy, languorous evenings strung between the bitterest colds of winter and the harshest heat of summer. The time when the earth was warming back up, growing again, stretching its legs after a long winter's nap. She loved these nights. It was as though time stood still and nature breathed a sigh of relief.

Everything seemed suspended in the moment.

Suddenly a wriggling ball of fur collided headlong into her stomach, ripping a shriek of laughter from her. The puppy rolled and wiggled and barked small puppy barks as though someone had taken a smallish ball of pure excitement, wrapped it in fur and named it "Puppy". She laughed more and tousled the pup through the grass. The puppy let out another bark and then tore off again into the night.

She laughed as she climbed up out of her reverie, then ran off in hot pursuit of a wriggling ball of excitement.

What Was Awkward Conversation Number Two Hundred and Thirty Three

2008-01-10T21:39:00.000-05:00

The screen door opened and closed under its own weight making a jarring metal on metal screech. Peter was leaning against a tree smoking a clove cigarette. Allison walked through the sweet ring of smoke, her boots crunching in the snow.

"I thought you'd be cold so I brought you a jacket." she said.

"Thanks." he said as he took the coat and put it on.

"You sure left in a hurry."

"Let's just say I hate surprises."

"Surprises?" she asked.

He took a long drag on his cigarette "Yep, surprises."

She put her back to the tree and stared down at her feet.

"I told him it was going to be unfair to you."

"Unfair? I think it would be fairer to call it a surgical strike than an unfair situation. Why didn't you tell me earlier?" he snapped.

"Believe me I wanted to but Andrew wanted to break it to your entire family up here. He asked me not to. I guess if I had known you were going to storm out on your parents then I would have insisted on telling you earlier."

Peter dropped his butt on the ground and kicked some snow over top of it.

"What is bugging you? I thought you'd be happy I'm marrying your cousin."

The screen door clanged again as someone walked out of the house. Peter took another three cigarettes out of his pack and handed one to Allison lighting it for her. Andrew walked up to them.

"Hey guys. You both made a quick exit."

Peter handed the third clove to his cousin.

"Just needed one of these before your mom went in to one of her speeches."

Andrew took the lighter from Peter. "No complaints from me on that one." The three of them stood silently for a moment. Then Peter grabbed his cousin's hand.

"Dude, I almost forgot congratulations." He pulled Andrew close and gave him a quick hug.

"Have you guys thought about setting a date?"

"We really haven't thought about any of that yet right hon?" Allison said to her fiance. "There are still lots of loose ends to tie up before we can get to the point where we are setting dates and ordering the catering." she said giving Peter a stern look.

"I sense some hostility in the air here. How many of these have you guys gone through?" Andrew asked.

"Oh it's nothing man." Peter replied, "Just shit at work I need to clear up."

"I've told you hundreds of times, get out of there. You can find something better. Shit it is cold out here. I'm going back in doors. 3 below is exactly why I gave this habit up." he said tossing the half smoked clove to the ground. "Come on back inside. Dad's getting a fire going."

Andrew turned and walked back to the house. Allison turned to Peter and slapped him across the face as soon as she heard the metal clang.

Instinctively Peter put his hand up to his face "What the fuck was that for?"

"That," she said "is for being an asshole during the past fifteen minutes."

She placed both hands on his face and pushed his back against the tree. She leaned in close and pressed her lips to his.

"And that," she said slowly pulling away, "is for being an idiot for the past six years."

She turned to head back in towards the house.

"So what are we supposed to do about this?" he asked calling after her.

"There's nothing you can do Peter except chalk this up to awkward conversation number two hundred and thirty four. Finish your smoke and come back inside where it is warm. You know those things will kill you."

Not Cheating

2008-01-10T11:12:00.000-05:00

OK, I know codejnki is going to say that this is cheating because he's mean. But he did it, too, so it's only fair. My brain is still too twitchy to really sit still for things like "writing", so please enjoy some seriously emo poetry from back in the day when I wrote seriously emo poetry.

Betcha didn't know I was this emo, did you?

Checkerboard Nightmare

Li...

OK, seriously, I'm sorry. I cannot in good conscience post that. It's embarrassing. The sad thing is that everyone always said how much they loved my poetry, and I always thought it was such crap. But, you know, as an emo Piscean high schooler, I sure did write a lot of it.

I have some better shit in a book at home, so maybe I'll suck it up and share some of that.

Slacker

2007-12-29T01:54:00.000-05:00

I know I've been a total slacker here, and I'm sorry.

For some reason, the bulk of my "creativity" got put down earlier this year and I've had a really damn hard time picking it back up.

I've tried a couple of times to get it kick started, but, so far, nothing seems to have stuck.

I do know that it's time to get back into the swing of things. I promise, I do.

In the next few days I plan on getting started again and making this more of a ritual. I have no idea what to do with it, though, and that's kind of intimidating. While I've never "finished" any writing I get started on, I still don't consider myself a short-story writer.

So what the hell am I doing here?

Well, the bonus of getting started with the getting started is that you kind of get to help shape how things shake out.

I have no idea what that means for me or for CreativelyChallenged. But I can't wait to find out.

Procrastination

2007-12-10T19:11:00.000-05:00

“Procrastination is the spontaneous reorganization of my priorities.” – Codejnki

I have a slight problem and that’s that I don’t make enough time to actually sit down and write. I barely take time to write my thoughts on my blog. When I was in college my biggest goal and dream was to become a film maker and make an independent film. Ten years later that goal and dream is still there in the back of my mind, but I’ve done very little to work on it. I don’t even take time to sit down and actually write creatively either.

During my college days I carried a yellow legal pad around with me everywhere I went. I had short stories, dialog snippets, or any other random creative thought I had written down. I stopped carrying one with me when I accidentally left notebook with my most complete short story somewhere, to be lost forever. The wind had been knocked out of me.

This site is dedicated to the memory of that notebook, something that I can stare at in the hopes that it will draw creative nuggets back to the surface. Will it succeed? I don’t know.

Ass in Gear

2007-12-08T14:10:00.000-05:00

Partner in crime, reporting for ~~booty~~ duty.

Gnomes/Top Ramen/Trench Warfare

2007-12-08T12:29:00.000-05:00

I lay on my floor staring at my ceiling fan slowly spinning around the room. Wearing only a pair of boxers, the finish of my guitar was cold against my bare chest. Strumming a few random chords I was memorized by the bra hung from one of the blades of my fan. The fan spun with the bra trailing behind it like of those planes that circle fairgrounds with those trailing signs that say “EAT AT JOE’S.”The bra belongs, or rather belonged, to by best friend Molly. After four years of friendship and a late night screening of Monte Python’s Meaning of Life we engaged in the singular act of love making, which looking back on my short sexually active life could quite possibly be one of the most fun nights I’ve ever had. Molly, with her thick Australian accent, only needs to say “Gooday” and my knees turn to Jell-O. She has been my best friend for years and “a nuclear blast would be needed to break it apart.”“We’re out of milk!” my roommate Tom called out.I lifted my head off the floor and looked towards the door “What?”Tom stuck his head in the door. “We’re out of milk and probably a lot of other things. Want to do a shopping trip?”

I set my guitar on the floor and stood up. I grabbed a pair of jeans and as I thrust my left leg in to the jeans I said “Not particularly.” Looking down I realized that I had put my leg in the wrong pant leg, time to try it again.

I grabbed one of my exceptionally grungy t-shirts covered in grease and oil stains with the words “BYTE ME” written across the front. It’s one of those jokes very few people get. Tom and I left the apartment to go grocery shopping.

Every time he and I leave the apartment together I’m convinced that a family of gnomes living in my footlocker come out and start cooking our Top Ramen. When we first moved in to the apartment we bought a box of thirty six packages of Top Ramen. At last count there were thirteen packages yet neither Tom nor I can remember ever cooking a package. We really don’t mind that the gnomes eat our Ramen seeing as they clean all the dishes when they are through.

The trip to the store was rather uneventful. We picked up our standard staples, milk, pasta, Coke, vodka, Guinness, and Jelly Beans. Ah to be single and out from under the watchful eye of your parents.

There are advantages and disadvantages to living on the second floor. From that vantage point you’re able to see your entire neighborhood and so whenever a neighbor is getting carted away by the police you have a clear view from you bedroom. On the flip side you have to constantly climb those fucking steps every time you bring a good size haul home from the grocery store. Up, down, back, forth, over and over.

The ritual of bringing groceries in from the car allows one to think of all the things they forgot to buy. More often than not you seem to forget the one thing you went to the store for in the first place.

As I began to put the groceries away in the pantry a quick examination of the Ramen box revealed twelve packages. Well at least it’s getting eaten. I hate Ramen. I once had to survive on it for three months because an old roommate of mine was only able to pay for half of her rent. So in order to keep the apartment I made up her deficiency and the resulting funds I had at my disposal for food was next to nothings. So Ramen and rice was all I ate. Maybe that explains why I’m six foot two and only a hundred and thirty five pounds.

Once al the groceries were put away I wandered back to my room to check my E-mail. They only things there were a few postings from a list for computer programming questions. I had no clue how to answer the question so in to the trash bin they went. Looking out my window I saw the mailman delivering our mail. “Cool,” I thought “more bills.”

I ran down the stairs and landed face down in the dirt. Dirt in-between the teeth always has a gritty feel to it. Pierre helped me back up and placed my helmet back on my head.

“Are you all right?”, he asked me.

“Yeah, a little shaken but I’ll survive.”

A high pitch whistle started to ring out in the air. I looked straight in to Pierre’s eyes and I could tell exactly what he was thinking. We both threw ourselves on to the wall of the trench. The new kid Bobby threw himself against the trench about eight feet to my left. I closed my eyes tight and the shell hit. Debris started pelting my back.

I opened my eyes and to my horror Bobby wasn’t standing there anymore. Let me clarify that, his legs were still standing there but one of his arms was draped across my neck.

I remember the first time I was confronted by body parts after a shell impact. It was a leg that belonged to our unit commander. We were actually rather glad when we figured out it was his leg I was holding. None of us liked him and we were all convinced he was a German spy.

That time with the leg I started screaming loudly unable to move. This time I said a silent good-by to Bobby and flung his arm up over the barb wire in to No-Man’s-Land. Shells started dropping one after another throwing dirt and bodies every which way. For an hour shells rained down on us.

Whenever shelling stops it is startling when the silence hits. Random machine gun fire started to burst out until a steady stream of bullets could be heard.

“Stockton!”

I was startled when I heard my name called out. “Stockton, come here!”

I looked around and say my captain standing in the doorway of the underground bunker. Captain Carter was a decent guy, always looking out for us. I walked over to the doorway and saluted him.

“Yes sir?”, I said.

Captain Carter returned my salute and handed me a slip of paper he was holding in his hand. “I need you and Pierre to go to headquarters for me. There’s an urgent dispatch waiting there that needs to be brought back”

“You have got to be kidding sir!”, I yelled at him. “That’s seventeen miles to the west part of which is German held territory.”

“I know, I know. That’s why I’m sending you two. Headquarters has tried three times to get it out here to us but every time they get stopped. The Germans are expecting someone to be coming from headquarters, but they won’t be expecting someone to be coming from here to headquarters.”

“No offense sir but you have got to be shitting me. Even if Pierre and I were able to make it there alive we’d only get shot on the way back. Who came up with this fucked up plan anyway?

“Trust me, I didn’t. But look at the position I’m in. I’ve got an entire unit filled with kids. None of them have been here longer than a month. Then I’ve got you two who some how miraculously have manage to keep your skins on for over a year and a half. How do you explain that?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “I’m not sure sir. Maybe we’re just lucky I guess.”

“Look, I don’t want to send you but this comes from the top. Someone over there actually requested you two to be sent.”

“Captain Carter, I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

“I know, but I’ve got my orders and you’ve got yours. Ours is not to question why, ours is just to do. Or something to that effect.”

I gave him a snide salute and walked off to find Pierre. Pierre was manning a machine gun around the second bend from the command post. Pierre was intently firing off rounds towards the German lines. I lay down next to him and placed my had on his shoulder. He kept firing round and turned towards me.

“We’ve been give some bull shit assignment! We’ve become delivery men!” I screamed at him above the sound of the machine gun.

Pierre’s face went long. He then nodded and said “I understand!” He fired off a few more rounds then packed away his machine gun.

Fifteen minutes later we were off. We followed the French trenches till we reached the Paris road. The trek to the Paris road was a hard one. We engaged in a three mile hunched over run carrying backpacks and rifles. It was a disjointed mishmash of dodging bullets, bodies and shrapnel from shell fire.

When we reached the road a truck was sitting there. All the men from this areas were standing at attention in neat straight lines. A General was walking up and down the ranks randomly selecting troops. Once a particular troop was selected he would then climb in to the back of the truck. The General spotted Pierre and I standing off to the side. He walked over to us.

“You two, in to the truck.” he ordered.

“With all respect sir,” Pierre started.

“I don’t care. In to the truck.” he snapped.

I placed my had on Pierre’s shoulder and we headed to the truck. We climbed in to the back. The truck sprang to life and started rambling down the road. The truck was filled with troops. Each one younger than the next. All of them had this blank look on their face as if saying “I wish I knew where we were going.”

The truck drove on for hours. I looked up at Pierre. “So Pierre, where did you learn English?” I asked him.

“English, I was going to ask you where you learned French.” he replied.

Shocked at his reply, neither of us said anything else for the rest of the trip. When the truck stopped we all jumped out. The sound of crashing waves rang out in the air. The truck was parked along side a beach. On the beach stood a line of soldiers.

The General and his assistant came along to each one of us. The General took our rifles and the assistant handed each one of us a serrated knife that was roughly twelve inches long. We were marched down to the beach lined up facing the soldiers already there.

The soldiers were German. They too were armed only with knives. The German commander and our General met each other and shook hands. The two of them walked to the side of the field still engaged in conversation. The German commander took out a pistol and fired one shot up in the air.

The two lines started rushing towards each other bent on blood letting. Except I stood still watching in horror as bodies and blood started flying over the beach. Screams from the dying rang out. Then suddenly, silence.

The entire beach was silent and still. The soldiers who moments before were engaged in barbaric hand to hand combat had stopped, frozen in to place.

“Patrick.” a voice called out.

I looked around the beach searching for the possessor of that voice. It sounded familiar. Standing in the waves was a woman dressed in all white. She slowly started walking towards me. She reached her left hand out towards me. When she was just a few feet away from me I was able to place the face. It was Molly.

“You left this the last time you were over at my place.” She handed me a piece of paper. She gave me a kiss on the cheek and turned and walked back in to the ocean.

I turned to look at the soldiers. They were gone. Everyone was gone. I was standing alone on the beach wearing nothing but a pair of boxer shorts. I looked down in my hands at the crumpled piece of paper Molly had handed me. I unfolded it and began to read.

I lay on my floor starting at my ceiling fan slowly spinning around the room. Wearing only a pair of boxers, the finish on my guitar was cold against my bare chest. Strumming a few random chords I was memorized by the bra hung from one of the blades of my fan…

Sometimes The Truth is Stranger Than Fiction

2007-10-30T21:59:00.000-04:00

Peter sat slumped over the bar. His hands were covering the mouth of his glass with his chin resting on his hands. Molly walked up behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Why do all the good women keep on leaving me?” Peter ask, pausing slightly between words.
“I'd like to go on record saying she wasn't a good woman.” Molly stated as she sat down.
“This is a pattern Mol, you can't deny that" he said.
“That may be so, but I am a firm believer in fate and in angles. There is a someone out there for you and just because Jessica fucked you over royally doesn’t mean that you have to continually beat yourself up over it.”
Peter picked up his glass and finished what was left. “Chuck, another one.”
“Nah, second thought Chuck call us a cab.” she said.
Chuck the bartender took the empty stuck it in the sink and picked up the phone.
“I’d rather walk.” Peter said.
Molly look at him and then over to Chuck and nodded in agreement. Peter stood up and paced a fifty dollar bill down on the bar. He picked up his coat and threw it on. He leaned on Molly as she helped him climb the stairs to the street above the bar.
As they started their walk Molly turned to him and said “I'm telling you right now, if we get stopped for public intoxication I’m claiming I don’t even know you.”
“All right deal, only if I get to say you’re over charging me and I need to see someone at the better business bureau.”
For about twelve to fifteen blocks neither of them said anything. Peter meandered along kicking rocks and cans as he came to them. Every now and then he’d jump up on to a bus bench and stretch his arm out and look up at the three stars you are able to see through the city lights. Somewhere around the corner of 20th and N he sat down on the curb and stared off in to the distance. His vision was swimming, blurred by the continual stream of beer he’d downed. He picked up a dry leaf and began to tear little bits off of it and crumble them in to dust.
“She fucked this guy on the living room floor. As I come down the stairs...”
“I know you see this white ass flailing in the air. I know the story Peter. We all know the story. And if you keep it up the replay the images will never leave you. You have got to get her out of you head and out of your life.”
“Don’t you think I fucking know that! Damn I loved her doesn’t she understand that?”
Molly sat down next to him. “Yes she knew that. And I think in her own sick and demented way she loved you as well. But now she is in another state, all of her crap is out of the apartment, and there is nothing left of her in your life except for the bits and pieces up there” she said tapping him on the forehead.
“There’s the dog.”
“Hey now, I love Spike.”
“Yeah, I know that but every time I see that fucking thing all I can think about is her. It doesn’t help that he tears things apart and shits all over the house, I come home clean it up and then he cuddles up to me. In a sick way that’s exactly what she did to me. Kick out the girl but keep the dog, they’ll torment you the same!” Peter stood up and started to walk down the street again.
Frustrated she finally yelled “Peter, you need to grow up!”
“Me grow up? You know that’s what Jess always was saying I needed to do. I was the one that needed to grow up. But you know, I’m not the one the checked themselves in to the mental hospital. I’m not the one who runs away from all of their problems. No actually I sit in my problems until they completely engulf me and then there is nothing left of them because they have become such a part of me. I am my problems. I learned a long time ago that you couldn’t leave your problems behind. You always packed them up with you when ever you leave.”
“Why are you telling me this? I already know this.”
“Well, you’re the only one here right now. And I know you’ll listen unlike Jess. You want to know something strange?”
“Not really but why do I get the feeling you’re going to tell me anyway?”
“Right now I really regret meeting her.”
“You shouldn’t be regretting that.”
“No actually I really do, I mean it caused nothing but problems. She used sex as a possible solution to whatever problem she was perceiving at the time. In the middle of it all she’d try and get me to promise something completely outrageous. Did you know that she always accused me of wanting to much sex but she was the one always taking her clothes off?”
“She was manipulating you, ya dumb ass. You know that, I know that, we all know that. You know what else, she’s still manipulating you. She has got you in the perfect of situations. You are here heart broken over her almost completely unable to do anything else while she’s off somewhere else fucking who knows what. You have got to get her out of your life. The next time I hear some crazy fucked up story that involves Jessica I swear I am going slug you. As long as you keep thinking about her you might as well be living in a cage.”
“Ahh a cage. That sure would make life simpler wouldn't it?”
“Hand me your keys.” she said firmly.
“Why, we are walking, not driving.”
“Idiot, we're at your apartment and I can either stand here for fifteen minuets watching you fumble with the lock, or I can do it for you.”
“Oh” Peter giggled. He took a set of keys out of his pocket and handed them to her. He leaned against the door jamb and his eyes began to close.
Molly took notice of this and said “Not quite yet. You've got about 30 more feet and then you can pass out. But I'm not dragging your ass from here to the couch.” as she pushed the door open. Peter stumbled in to his apartment.
The couch was perfectly aligned to allow him to lean over and fall dead center on to it. Molly, feeling some sense of duty to her fallen comrade, went to the bedroom and grabbed a pillow and blanket from it. The dog Spike woke from his slumber having fallen to the floor when she lifted the blanket from the bed.
“You probably want out don't you.” she said to the dog. Instinctively Spike ran to the other room barking and doing circles in front of the door.
Molly tossed the blanket and pillow in the direction of the couch as Peter yelled “Can you shut that fucking dog up.”

2007-10-30T19:49:00.000-04:00

Well http://www.creativelychallenged.us has been reborn. I am waiting for my partner in crime to get her ass in gear and then we shall start this thing right.