The Long Lost Art of the Free Write

I took a creative writing class in high school as an English elective. I knew I loved to write, and I thought that it would be an easy way to get an A.

One of the exercises we had to perform daily was called a "Free Write". This was 10 to 15 minutes of time set aside at the beginning of class to get the creative juices to flow. It has been years since I thought of this technique, and it was with no surprise when I found myself sitting here in front of the monitor tonight, having taken a most unfortunate nap earlier and feeling increasingly ill, that my mind returned once again to this exercise.

The goal of the free write is to just write. There is no subject, no constraints, and no restraints on what you can write about. You're just supposed to open your mind and either put pen to paper or fingers to keyboard for the time allotted. Tonight's time was 10 minutes to just ramble on about the first idea that popped into my head.

The previous post is the result of that time. I know where the idea came from - a moment of personal tragedy showing up in my subconscious when I closed my eyes. What resulted, however, could be the beginnings of two different story directions. It's amazing what one little kernel of inspiration can do to light that spark of imagination.

If you're feeling the need to write but are feeling blocked, I suggest you try this technique. Just choose an amount of time in which you're going to write - 10, 15, 20... maybe even 30 minutes. Close your eyes for just a moment or two to see what prompts you to start typing. And then just write. Write what flows into your head. Cause it to flow onto the screen or the paper like a river flowing into the ocean. Don't stop to look at it ... don't take a moment to reread it. Just write. There will always be time later on to go back and look at what inspired you at that particular.

The object is just to write... to live once more within the circus of your imagination.

Free Write (06 Jan 2009 23:35) - Murder or Cure?

He laid back on the table, staring at the cold, sterile surroundings. A sense of unease built within his chest, and he could barely contain the tears. 54 years on this earth had boiled down to this - some stranger filling his veins and his body with poison.

She smiled at him, trying her best to reassure and to comfort. Fitting the the needle into his arm, she was careful to ensure that she'd tapped directly into the vein. There was no room for error... no recourse for missing her target. Adjusting the line, she opened up the lock and let the fluid flood the line.

He closed his eyes, terror washing through him. Memories of time spent with his wife and kids floated past like a slideshow, each moment more precious than the last. Could this really be it? Had he actually reached the end of the line? If he could do it all again, he knew he'd make sure that he spent more time with the ones he loved... ensure he took advantages of each opportunity life presented him and not squander away the time like some cricket in the sun.

The first drop hit his veins and burned like some sort of acid eating away at him. It flowed from the tubing into his arm and through his body, filling him with the most deadly type of poison. He tried to make the most of it, but his mind would not allow him to concentrate on the positive. Cold dread filled him, and a tear slid down his cheek.

The burning sensation spread through. At first just an unpleasant warmth, it quickly spread into an ingulfing inferno. His body became feverish, and he felt as if he'd be consumed in flames at any moment. Biting his tongue, he refused to give in... refused to admit to the sheer agony that was consuming him from the inside out.

The foul fluid spread through his arms, his chest. It spread into his neck and stomach. Fiendish fingers reached out and prodded at soft tissues; they poked at his organs. He tried to curl into the fetal position and was stopped by the apparatus. Wishing for a mercifully swift death, all he could do now was wait.

But wait for what? What was standing on the other side of this doorway opened before him? Sweet relief? Or dark agony?

The Race

Tabitha ran as hard as she could, trying to make it before they caught up with her. If they did, she was as good as dead.

How could I have been so stupid, she thought to herself. These people where not the type you normally associate with, you idiot. And now look at yourself.

She was penniless, hungry, and cold. Her last sanctuary had been a 200-year old Catholic church, but the church now lay in ruins – a bomb had brought the beautiful old building and most of a city block down to rubble. Her heart raced, her pulse pounded, and she didn’t know how much more of this she could take.

If only I had listened to him, she thought. If only I had taken David’s advice at face value instead of scoffing at him. I would not be in this mess right now.

And a mess it was. She heard hounds baying in the distance and the constant hum of suv’s getting closer. Hastily, she turned into a thickly populated forest and ran – ran for her very life.

A shot rang out through the chilly night air. “You can run, but you can’t hide, Tabby,” a voice called out. “You know we’ll find you like we found your friend Davy.” The voice was mocking, purposely trying to goad her into making a mistake. “You know, Davy’s head will look real purty hangin on my wall next to your daddy’s.”

Tabitha bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, biting back the comment she had want to throw into his face. She continued on, determined to keep her location a secret when she was so close to the border… so close to being free from their tyranny.

Thud! Her foot struck an outreaching branch, and she tumbled to the ground. Trying to move, she realized the fall had broken her leg and she could go no further. Trying to slow her erratic breathing, Tabitha laid there on the cold, hard ground and waited… waited for the men who were hunting her.

She heard them drawing closer, almost right on top of her. The dogs they were using were sniffing the air and leading the bastards right to her. Breathlessly, Tabitha waited for the moment they’d find her… the moment she would cease to exist.

“Good evening, Tabby,” the voice mockingly greeted her. “I told you that you couldn’t hide from us.” There was a pause as he let the severity of the moment wash over her. “And now you know what we have to do. Such a waste really. If you had only agreed to his terms, he’d have left you alone.”

Tabitha heard the hammer of a gun being pulled back. The barely audible click as it locked into place made her tremor with fear. The man placed his finger on the trigger and aimed, looking down. Sweat poured down Tabitha’s ashen face, despite the chill of the night. He stood there, sites locked on her for what seemed like hours even though she knew it was only moments. Then, he started to swear.

Tabitha looked at the ground and grinned. She had made it across the yellow border after all – that border that signified the end of the course – and was now free and clear. She grabbed a long, sturdy stick that had been lying next to her and got to her feet, supporting her aching leg with the stick.

“When will you ever learn, Vlad? When will you learn that things aren’t always what they appear to be?” With that, she limped off into the moonless night.

Otherworldly Experience

Connie walked up the hill slowly, looking around her at all the strange sites. The imposing shadow rose from out of the middle of nowhere. It appeared to be a building made of a dark, soot-coloured stone and surrounded by a field of bright red roses – roses so bright and alive they seems almost… otherworldly.

She entered the building, not exactly sure where she was or what she was doing there. The cold stone seemed to breathe and pulse as if it were alive.

Connie glanced about, unsettled by the fact the strange beings moving around her acted as if it were just another ordinary day. They were all colours of the rainbow, with fins and huge, vacant eyes. The creatures moved from the entrance to the building’s elevator, never once making a sound or even acknowledging anyone else was there.

Connie’s body tingled and began to shimmer with an unknown force. It tickled and she marveled at the feeling. She felt herself rising as if her body had dissolved to mist – rising higher and higher towards the building’s roof.

As she reached the roof, Connie shuddered as one of the old passersby walked right through her. She drifted over to the edge of the building and looked out at the night. The sky was clear, moonless, and gorgeous. Stars glittered across the arc of the sky in an extravagant, misty sprawl of light. The warm wind was blowing – blowing ferociously hard – but Connie could not feel it.

Gazing out at this beautiful starscape, she became of the pinkening dawn sky. Time seemed to pass faster at this level, and she was amazed. Marveling at the coming day, that was when Connie spied it. It was a looming, inky death bag hovering over the edge of the city – moving with great speed and aimed right at the soot-coloured building.

Are Mandatory Sentencing Laws Making Our Streets Safer?

Suppose, for just a moment, you’re the parent of a young woman who was found dead – murdered – after being robbed. Then, imagine how knowing one of your daughter’s attackers was only sentenced to nine years in prison would make you feel. Many people – parents and people without children alike – feel helpless against a legal system that does not punish the guilty to the fullest extent of the law.

In a country that has the highest rates of violent crime in the world, the United States seems made for mandatory sentencing laws, such as California’s Three Strikes Law. This statute imposes mandatory minimum sentencing guidelines for serious of violent felonies. Many critics of such laws cry, “Foul,” claming that these laws do not effectively lower the crime rate, but the evidence is clear. The mandatory sentencing guidelines of many states, including Alaska, are making streets safer by ensuring the proper sentencing for violent and repeat offenders is the same for every criminal. These guidelines force repeat offenders to spend more of their prison sentences in prison, not on probation or sitting in a county jail. In addition, the strict enforcement of the law deters others from committing crimes – thus lowering the crime rate.

Laws calling for mandatory minimum prison sentences for violent and repeat offenders make the streets safer because they make sentencing the same for all criminals, ensuring lenient judges cannot change the sentences on a whim. Written down in clear, easy-to-understand language, these laws provide a guideline for sentencing the dregs of human society. Criminals are sentenced under any of these laws, their sentences must be doubled for a second conviction. For a third offense, felons must receive a minimum of 40 – 99 years in prison. No one, from the blue-collar drug-addicted killer to the white-collar homicidal maniac, can be given a lighter sentence.

Another positive effect of these laws is that prisoners are being forced to spend the full extent of their sentences in prison. Where they may have once only spent 71 days of a 1-year sentence in jail, criminals are now being forced to do their time. In California, “time off for good behavior” has been reduced from a possible fifty percent of a prisoner’s sentence to a mere possibility of twenty percent of a sentence being reduced. In Georgia, inmates in prison in 1993 may only have to have completed twenty-six percent of their sentences before being released. However, in 1995, those same inmates would have had to complete thirty-nine percent of the sentence. With criminals staying in jail longer, fewer offenders are on the streets, ready to commit their crimes.

These laws also have a greater deterrent effect on possible repeat offenders. When criminals look at a possibility of life in prison for breaking into peoples’ homes and stealing televisions, they may consider the crime not worth the time. In the words of Gregory Gaines, an inmate recently released from California’s Folsom State Prison, “I’ve flipped 100%. It’s a brand new me, mainly because of the law. It’s going to keep me working, keep my attitude adjusted.” (Furillo) The law enforcement agencies have also noticed a deterrent effect. At Lt. Joe Enloe of Sacramento Police Department’s Homicide unit states, “You hear them [the criminals] talk about it all the time. It’s swift and sure, not like the death penalty. These guys are really squirming – they know what’s going on.” (Furillo)

As for the deterrent effect, anyone who looks at the crime rate statistics for states that have mandatory sentencing laws would know that these laws work. Since voting the guidelines into law, violent crime rates in Washington state have plummeted more than thirty percent. California’s Los Angeles County saw a 14.2 percent drop in crime right after the law was passed in 1995. These statistics alone substantiate the usefulness of strict law adherence.

Not only are its crime rates dropping, California is also losing its large parolee population. Since the law was passed the average of inmates out on parole petitioning to move out of state have increased while the number of out-of-state parolees petitioning to move into the state have decreased. Kern County District Attorney, Ed Jagels, goes to the prisons and teaches classes about the newer laws and how they affect the inmate populations. He says, “Many of them are talking about moving out of the state.” (Furillo) Even the criminals understand the changing statute scene and what it means for them specifically.

In a country with the highest violent crime rates in the world, a new dawn has come. With the passing of a law that treats every violent or repeat offender the same and forces inmates to spend the extent of their sentences in prison, statistics show that criminals are being deterred from committing new crimes and that crime rates are falling – thus making the nation’s streets much safer.

What of Love

What of love?

Heaven makes means to
Kill our joy with love.

It’s suffering;
It’s anguish;
It’s pain.

And yet
We must have it –
At any cost!

Are you so enamored
That you’ll overlook
Your love of life?
Are you willing to sacrifice
One mistress for another?

I’ve seen you
Smell the sea;
Gaze overhead at
The stars at night.

Look into your heart and
Tell me that you’re willing –
Willing to make the choice to
Bleed again when the
Proper stimulus strikes!

I know your secret;
I know your darkest dreams and
Their soul destroying frequency.

The heart has its reasons
Whereof reason knows nothing

The Will to Live

Who should have lived forever,
Living their last?
Who would ever believe that
They would die?

Life is the enemy we cannot defeat,
Only to cling like parasites on
The living flesh of the universe.

Life will always find a way to
Cheat death,
Hoping that we’re not noticed and
Brushed away with
A flick of the hand.

Life is a gift –
As sweet as the freshest peach,
As precious as a gilded jewel.

You will come back –
You MUST come back!
It is your destiny, and
Destiny will not be trifled with.

For we must never forget
What we are –
Or from whom we came.

This is our lifeblood;
Our nourishment.
Without it we wither and
Become nothing.

The Potion

Passing your days in
One night stands.
Tear apart the threats –
The web of love’s truth
Where strings of beauties wrap
Your heartstrings around your neck.

Does love really exist in
This hedonistic world of ours?
Is it not only our selfish needs –
Our own desires that
Fuel the potion.

The Muse

There, in the thicket,
Can you see it?
A half-wild beast supping on
A half-cooked stew,
Lingering close to the clearing
Yet not quite willing to enter.

Drawn in by the stench of
Eagerness and hope,
It releases a gut-wrenching snarl and
Enters,
Moving ever closer with
A gleam and a dare in its eye.

Do you have what it takes –
The depth of faith;
The constitution and patience to
Go as far as needed –
To tame the beast…
To train this thing?

The stench of a still life,
A snapshot of some story
Rattling about in your head,
Draws the beast ever closer –
Snarling, drooling, and
Ready for battle.

Suppositions, superstitions and
Half-finished stories –
The fruit of your imagination –
Is the stuffs of which
The beast creates and cooks
Its nightly repast.

Do you possess it –
The patience and passion necessary to
Tame the beast…
To tame your muse so that
You can put pen to paper and
Clear your wild mind?

The Muse

There, in the thicket,
Can you see it?
A half-wild beast supping on
A half-cooked stew,
Lingering close to the clearing
Yet not quite willing to enter.

Drawn in by the stench of
Eagerness and hope,
It releases a gut-wrenching snarl and
Enters,
Moving ever closer with
A gleam and a dare in its eye.

Do you have what it takes –
The depth of faith;
The constitution and patience to
Go as far as needed –
To tame the beast…
To train this thing?

The stench of a still life,
A snapshot of some story
Rattling about in your head,
Draws the beast ever closer –
Snarling, drooling, and
Ready for battle.

Suppositions, superstitions and
Half-finished stories –
The fruit of your imagination –
Is the stuffs of which
The beast creates and cooks
Its nightly repast.

Do you possess it –
The patience and passion necessary to
Tame the beast…
To tame your muse so that
You can put pen to paper and
Clear your wild mind?

The Moon

Behold!

The moon rises over the pallid sea and
The silvery mist of the meadows –
Silently one by one,
In the infinite meadows of heaven,
Blossoms the lovely stars –
The forget-me-nots of the angels

Her level rays, like golden bars
Lie on the ground below
An eerie green with
Wild shadows cast in brown in between.
Silver white the waters gleam,
As if Artemis herself,
In enpassioned dreams,
Has dropped her silver bow
Down upon the quiet earth.


A very soft spirit worships -
One lovers know and love so well –
Whose influence over
All tides of soul has true power, and
Who lends a pale light to
Rapture and despair;

The glow of hope and wan hue of sick fancy
Are each reflected within the mirror of slivered rays
Lighting the path of meeting or of parting love -
Illuminating the mingling of and
The breaking of hearts one in the same…
An ethereal smile enthroned in beauty.


In the same breath,
The governess of floods -
Pale in her anger –
Washes all the air
That rheumatic diseases do abound.

Through this fit of temper,
We do see the seasons alter

The Chill of Winter

Where is he?

Slipped away like
A child in the fairground –
Lost in the crowd.

Does he wander through
The noise,
Searching for
The hand that guides?

Does he embrace the
Heavenly alchemy,
Breathing liberty like
The fresh flower that
Brings the summer?

'Soon'
Fades into
'Forever', and
she is left
Forsaken.

To face the chill of
Winter.


Cold
Barren
Bleak.

Winter is
The kindest season.
The heart will not
Melt in winter.

Chilled by the cold,
We are spared
The guilt,
The sorrow,
The messy emotion of
Life.

Winter is
Solace
For the lonely.
Its cold touch soothes
the battered heart.

St. Valentine

A blip on the monitor of
Involuntary human response.
A hiccup of emotion when
Compared with envy,
Hatred,
Lust.

Power comes with the
Absence of love.
Love drains us of
Our strength.

We never learn,
Do we?

Yet they say that
Love conquers all.

Not for you,
St. Valentine.

Not for me.

Not for any of
The heartbroken.

Somewhere Else

There's somewhere else I'm supposed to be -
Somewhere far from this endless night that engulfs my soul.

Somewhere out on the horizon, just beyond my sight and reach -
Waiting for me to arrive.

There's somewhere else I'm supposed to be -
Somewhere far from the cries that torment my soul.

Somewhere undefined but concrete all the same -
Calling my name and tugging at my heart.

There's somewhere else I'm supposed to be -
A haven from the pains and worries of past strife.

Somewhere that holds a waiting pair of arms,
Ready to lift me up above the mire.

There's somewhere else I'm supposed to be -
A place uncharted by any map or located via compass.

Someone please tell me how to find it.

The Mask of Sisterhood

The hag was more than human –
She was a wild, austere,
Mighty manifestation of nature.

Tall and gaunt,
Face possessed of hard,
Craggy features with
Intolerant dark eyes,
Even her hair of snowy white and
Gently stooping back could not
Remove the sense of
Fear
Which she inspired in those around her.

Her face was pure evil,
Smoothed by the years of hypocrisy;
Her manners excellent.

She stood for some moments,
Gazing at her own flesh and blood –
Her own sisters –
Affection beaming in one eye;
Calculation in the other.

Sin

To understand this cruel world,
One must only have the mind of
A killer.

There you will find
Their motives,
There reasons,
Their means,
Their secret dreams.

Some do not tread, not wishing to know
And wanting to forget
What they’ve discovered in
Delving into the seedier side of life.

Perhaps…

We are not so easily forgiven,
An eternal judgment –
A true life sentence from which we as
Sinners
Can never be absolved.

Is payment in full rendered for
Our sins
At the hour of
Our death?

Ripped Away

oh god, she did it.
i don't know how -
didn't think it was possible -
but she did it again.

without the blink of an eye,
she ripped out yet another chunk
of my battle worn heart,
beating and bloody from my chest.

watching her ham-fisted slap
strike across his cherubic face
with such a tyrannical force,
a bit of his soul visably died.

that single malicious act -
an act destroying perfect innocence -
killed that last part of me
holding out hope...

holding out hope for reconciliation -
a future with warmth and understanding
flowing down the river styx
like the blood trickling from his lip.

Revenge

A familiar sound disturbs the silence
Of the blackest night,
Screaming through the air on
A breath of a chilled wind.
A lonely woman’s cry for justice,
Justice demanded from beyond death.

What justice is sweeter –
Sweeter than the purest honey –
Than that exacted by
Those who have been wronged?
The down trodden, the victims –
Those very souls we’re meant to protect.

What law is more perfect –
More so than the visage of an angel –
Than those exercised by an advocate –
One who moves swiftly and sure with
An iron tight resolve to move
Mountains in a fight for the cause.


Only those who have practiced it –
The very art and science of
Revenge
Know the morals of this lesson for
A man who studies revenge
Keeps his own wounds clean.

Passion

Like lightning,
A beauty which links Earth to
Heaven…
Alas also blinding us.

It takes no account of time;
Marks no hours or minutes.
It makes its own calendar…
Has ways and beliefs peculiar to itself.

Its very nature is
Raw, uncontrolled emotion,
Enticing us to prey upon
Forces of reflective power –
Thus strengthening us in
Our pursuits.

Man is only truly great when
He acts from
The passions;
Never irresistible but when
He appeals to
The imagination.

Not Worthy

You are not worthy –
Not worthy of the love
Which I have devoted to you.

I never thought before that
There was one who could affect me
So much by saying
So little.
You do not know what
My state of mind
Towards you is.

You do not know how
You haunt me and bewilder me.

You do not know how
The cursed carelessness that is
Over-officious in helping me at
Every other turning of my life,
Will not help me here.

You have struck it dead –
I think –
I sometimes almost wish
You had struck me dead along with it

You are the ruin of me.

I have no resources in myself;
I have no confidence in myself;
I have no government of myself when
You are near me or
In my thoughts.

And you are always in my thoughts now.
I have never been quit of you
since I first saw you.
Oh, that was a wretched day for me!
That was a wretched, miserable day

So, no, you are not worthy of
The love which
I have devoted to you.

I knew all along that the prize
I had set my life on was not
Worth the winning;

I further knew that I was a fool,
With fond fancies,
Bartering away my wall of
Truth and ardor
Against your little feeble
Remnant of love.

I will bargain no more.
I withdraw.