One A Day Writing Challenge- The saga continues

Hey there fight fans!

Here we are at the beginning of week three.

I've decided to up the ante on the six week writing challenge.

In addition to burning through a chapter a day, I will be hitting up an agent a day, tossing out queries like hand grenades.

This is a bit of a tie in to the "Writer Who Is Not An Author" segment of this blog just because I like tying things together.

At this point, I don't think I will name agents but I might drop the names of agencies.

Regardless, I presently have three finished manuscripts. I might as well start shopping them around a bit harder.

Chapter 1 (A preview for the curious)

                                "I would like to thank you all again for coming tonight. I look forward to talking with you next week at the same time. And don't forget, the meeting has been changed to conference room number two oh eight so we’ll meet there next week." Steve-Bob flashes a youthful smile that belies his adulthood as he uses his sausagy digits to gather his notes, curriculum and other assorted papers. "By the way, I wish you all a careful drive home, watch the wet roads everybody," he follows up as the small assembly of drones slowly disincorporate and each person begins finding his own way in life again, one trudging footstep at a time. Joy radiates from Steve-Bob's tall frame as he tries to connect with each lost soul by way of handshake or friendly pat on the shoulder and a gracious 'thank you' or 'good night'. This group has a bit of promise, Steve-Bob thinks, reflecting on the many anger management groups he has spoken for in the last couple years. Groups like this remind me why I continue on this path of servitude. They make it all worthwhile.

                                With his seminar closed and his heart open, Steve-Bob embraces the warm cotton that fills his chest and finishes gathering his charts and worksheets, bundles them neatly into his black canvas briefcase and wheels about on his heel to the door only to find the way blocked by a looming figure holding a long, slender weapon. Joy and fulfillment drain from Steve-Bob's face along with his blood. The warm cotton in his chest freezes, sending chilling tingles to the furthest reaches of his large body and he is suddenly aware of an electrical hum from an unknown source.

The figure does not move.

Steve-Bob's mouth begins to compensate for the immediate dryness and the dams break, allowing the saliva to flow. The blood drains to his hands now, making his fingers heavy which nearly prevents them from holding anything. As the handle of the briefcase begins to slip, the friction in his hands remind him of the tangibility of the moment and he knows this isn't some dream and reaffirms his grasp on the bag. "H-Hi there," Steve-Bob musters, "I'm sorry but the seminar is over."

No response.

"There um…there will be another one next week. You can come to that one if you like."

Nothing.

                                Oh god! A chill shakes his spine into submission. This is it! This man is going to kill me! What did I do? His mind begins playing a high speed slideshow of the human mutilation and autopsy photos he had to endure during his training for emergency responder. Each of these bizarre slides replace the generic victim's face for Steve-Bob's own, providing there is a face left.

                "Hello?" Steve-Bob manages to stumble, but still...nothing. The hum amplifies and suddenly, Steve-Bob realizes that he is required to be absolutely anywhere but inside this room at this time. "L-Look guy, I um...I am just on my way out. So, uh...so do you need something?"

                A nod from the stranger. Finally! A response. He raises his hand and offers forth the end of his weapon with dirt traced knuckles to reveal a bristled head. A broom? Oh lord, how stupid! "Hey sure, fellah. I’ll be out of your way in just a second, just let me get my things together and I'm through with this room." Stupid! Stupid stupid stupid! He's just a janitor. Come on, get it together! With his spare hand, Steve-Bob gathers his tacks and the flyer for next week's seminar and heads through the door, shuffling past the cleaning man and his tool. The janitor grins crookedly. Did he just scoot closer? Steve-Bob's meaty back scrapes the door frame and his largish belly brushes awkwardly against the janitor and his broom. Creepy! "Good...uh....good night." Without waiting for a response, Steve-Bob heads down the hall as fast as his long, meaty legs can take him without seeming too obvious that he feels like a hen trapped in a chicken coop with a fox on the loose. He listens as he high paces down the hall but can hear no footsteps other than his own and, once getting to the lobby of the large building, he relaxes his momentum long enough to stop at the community bulletin board to post his flyer for next week's class. With one frantic scan back toward tonight's class, Steve-Bob hurriedly stabs the paper onto the board and darts through the front door, nearly plowing down a small elderly woman trying to make her way inside. "Excuse me...” he exclaims apologetically, “…excuse me"

                                Fresh air fills his lungs and thaws the cotton that once felt nearly warm enough to heat an igloo. Okay, get it together, he coached himself, it was a janitor...nothing more. Not everybody is out to get you. Calm down. With one last curse toward his anxiety attacks, Steve-Bob composes himself and heads down the street, feeling more confident with each stride. He heads out on foot toward his final destination before going home and by the time he makes it to St. Paul's Church of Eternal Joy, the memory of the creepy janitor is all but gone, replaced by the comfort and safety that the towering edifice of old world religion instills within his breast. From the pointed roof, down to the statues of the holy mother at the base of the stone steps, this building serves as a spotlight in the dark of today's society. The ancient architecture of the brickwork and the stained glass windows set the premises apart from the uniform of the modern construction, reminding Steve-Bob that there truly is some stability in this ever changing world.

                                Steve-Bob begins to climb the steps of the church as the doors atop the steps swing open and a woman nearly as tall as Steve-Bob makes her exit from the building. Her hair is cut close and curled and, despite her slightly advanced age, she still carries a figure that increases the heart rate of many. Steve-Bob knows her well, many times having to remind himself that his thoughts of her are immoral and most likely unappreciated but he never can stop looking fondly upon her. "Good evening Evellyn." His words covered in satin.

                                "Oh..." she says with a start, "Hiya Stevie B. I didn't realize you were going to be here this late," she pauses with a glance deep into the church. He knows she makes little nick names for everyone whose name she can remember but he can't help but feel just a little special any way. She turns back to Steve-Bob, "So, is there...is there anything I can do for you?"

                                Thou shall not covet another man's wife. That wasn't a come on line. Thou shall not covet another man's wife. Come on Steve-Bob, say something. She's waiting. Was it a come on?

                                "Stevie B?" her demeanor is pleasantly impatient.

                                "Uh...No Evellyn. I'm just...is father Nichols still here? I wanted to talk to him about my day." She listens patiently as he continues, "I made so much progress and I think I'm really starting to touch people."

                                With a graceful step to the side, Evellyn motions Steve-Bob inside, "You know he is. I think he's still in the back chambers but he will be out momentarily." She smiles as Steve-Bob skips up the stairs and thanks her before going into the building. Can this guy really be in his thirties, she questions to herself as she continues aloud, "See you Sunday Stevie B."

                                "See you then Evellyn. Good night." He races back out as she's making her way down the steps, "Hey Ev, um...would you like me to walk you home?"

                                "That's thoughtful of you Stevie but, well, I drove here and my car is right at the corner," she awkwardly jabs her thumb just behind her. The two meet glances and each fidgets with uncertainty until Evellyn closes the conversation, "Okay, good night Stevie B."

                                "All right," he shoots a school boy smile, "Alright then, goodnight," he offers as he walks back inside, allowing the thick oak doors to close behind him.

Infinite Inkweel Writer's Guild Update

Image via Wikipedia

As this blog has slowly formed from my own desire to write, into a small guild of writers, it seems only logical that multiple people be allowed to create posts on this site.

As of now, this blog site is a forum for all of the writers in the Infinite Inkwell Writer's Guild so that, all of the writers have a platform of their works or thoughts. Each post is property of the individual guild member.

This action should open this blog into a multiverse of fiction and fantasy and can even act as a springboard to other blogs of each writer, just like my own blog about comic books.

Thanks for reading friends and don't just read, dip that pen!

A morning with Joe

On Wednesday, June 3^rd, Walla Walla Community College, with the assistance of Phi Beta Lambda, opened the doors of their theater in the Health And Science building for award winning local author and business entrepreneur, Mr. Joe Cooke, who spoke to an audience of students and Walla Walla residents on the topic of Creative Entrepeneurialsm, ‘The Road Less Traveled’. Here is a sample of what happened on this bright and pleasant morning for those unfortunate few that could not attend.

With an introduction of Mr. Cooke and his impressive accomplishments, including his college education, previous businesses, seats in office, and a mention of his publishing company, Cannon Publishing Group, Joe Cooke takes the stage and instantly captures his audience with a soft, welcome personality. His discussion on entrepreneurial success begins within Mr. Cooke’s own history and travels through his own ups and downs into the present.

Determining the message behind today’s discussion comes quickly as Joe not only talks about what one needs to succeed, but shows it in his speech, and that thing is passion. With an eloquent presence and skilled speech, Mr. Cooke brings the audience through a range of feelings from amused to inspired as his words find their way into each attendee’s ears and shoots to their motivation centers.

After his presentation, Mr. Cooke generously comes into the crowd and connects with many members of the audience, even staying well after the discussion to carry on community rich conversations with a few remaining people from the audience.

Through the day, the college was abuzz with the quality of this presentation and some individuals that attended were suddenly finding their passion again, rethinking their dreams and goals, and asking, “Why aren’t I getting my business started?”

From the grotto!

I have burned an idea through my head for some time now (possibly a year) and, as the planets align or the fates spin (whichever great destiny you may subscribe to), I have determined that NOW is the time!

The foundation of the Infinite Inkwell Writer's Guild has been set and the structure which sits upon said foundation is being developed!
Currently, our membership sits at two individuals. If you live in the Walla Walla area, have a sincere passion for writing, and would like to gain membership, contact me here or on Facebook.

We will gather for regular or semi-regular meetings. The goals of these meetings will range from writing challenges to network enhancement or any other discussion topic which will enhance our writing or publishing agendas.

Writing

“Any person can work to be a blacksmith and create something from metal that was not there before, but being a blacksmith does not make a master craftsman. Just as the metal worker, I am a wordsmith. This does not make me an author.”

-Joshua L. Conley I

My First Day of Teaching Martial Arts.

(Hopefully, if you are reading my blogs, you have an idea of who I am and what interests me.)
-INTRO-
As a youth, I pursued my interest in martial arts. Due to circumstances that were not entirely in my control, my ability to continue my training was halted, possibly forever. Upon returning to Walla Walla, I have found an incredible dojo and my entire family has been fortunate enough to gain wisdom from two intensely devoted instructors. Thank you Master Sensei Steve Smith, I look forward to every class with eager anticipation!
-END INTRO-
I have been on this road for a while now and, though the journey has barely just begun, the trip has been an exciting one and every day that I feel I know what lies ahead, another attraction appears over the horizon. When I set out on this road, I had an idea where the destination was and I was even able to plot out the course which would most efficiently get me to my goal.
Through my journey, I have been fortunate enough to experience the daunting chore of public performance; the pride of conquering entire choreographies of moves, strikes and blocks which we call forms; I managed to pour sweat and survive many tests of skill which mark a teacher's approvement and subsequently, a student's advancement; the will pushing loss of blood and stamina through training to improve solid fighting ability, both in the cage and on the street; and most importantly, I was able to stand as a teammate and assist (and gain assistance from) my wife, children and fellow students so they could rise closer to our ideal of perfection in the art.
My travel has taken me out of my realm of comfort, both emotionally and physically. We have even trained outside the dojo, deep in the mountains, in order to train in more natural environments and gain a stronger sense of self.
In just the last year, I have done some things that I never imagined but tonight's class was one that I was not even remotely prepared for.
Each class brings out my weakness which promptly streams from every pore and rolls to the mat and, even though I'm pushed differently and diligently every night, I feel the desire to continue training after class has ended, which is always too soon. I gain a thirty minute cool down while my youngest girl gets on the mat and explodes with a brilliance that most could only hope to witness, much less, become.
During my daughter's class, a young and lonely student of the following class asked if I would be watching him perform in his class just like I watch my own daughter in her own. I could tell he desperately wanted to connect with someone and there was no one to support him so I offered my attention but this was unneccesary as our Master Instructor approached me and asked if I would be willing to teach this young man's class.
Immediately, I began questioning my own ability and my confidence was taking blow after blow from the villanous monster known as doubt but we worked through it together and I gladly accepted the offer.
I was no longer the student and was now a teacher, even if only for thirty minutes. It was at that moment of realization that the wash of responsibility drenched me and my alertness level had been heightened to the stratosphere.
The next half hour, I worked very closely with this young man. We built strength and precision. I challenged him physically and he challenged me spiritually. We pushed through techniques and forms. My mind constantly traveled to memories of substitute teachers in middle school through the comparisons and my leniency level was challenged. This intelligent young man was emotionally checking boundaries and testing personality weaknesses to encourage the physical ease of his training and I knew that, as an initiate instructor, I would be a failure if I allowed this to happen but if I was forceful and stern that I would lose my first pupil forever. I was holding the future in my hands, not just mine but this boy's devotion as well. What was I to do? I took a chance and searched for closer connection to this child by digging for his interests that might motivate him to excell of his own accord so we took a moment and talked.
Once we built a solid relationship, our class motored on with freight train intensity and we no longer needed to struggle for control which encouraged his full support and even offered up some genuine smiles through the class from more than just the two of us but also the bystanders that I suddenly realized were very interested in our progress. By the end of the class, I felt confident that he took some valuable lessons home with him and I could tell that he no longer felt that sense of isolation that filled him before class. He got what he was after, the chance to show his skill to an interested peer and to feel accomplished in a field he enjoyed but has not gotten much support in.
We all left the school and his glow was possibly the brightest today. I was proud of him and told him as much as I thanked him for teaching me today in what has been my most valuable lesson thus far.
Experiences like this are the exact reason I purusued a future in teaching and my school, Beginner's Mind Dojo, would not even exist without the valuable experiences I learned from this young man.