harmonyminusmelody's Xanga

help evan with ideas

Sat, 07 Nov 2009 17:16:20 GMT

i'm currently at am impasse in my novel.

basic backstory: man (jackson) survives nuclear holocaust after being unconscious for 5 days in a basement during the initial panic, gets to hospital, meets up with doctor, his daughter nora, and three other people (theresa, dusty, theo). after about a day they decide to travel to a radio station to contact other survivors. they travel to the doctor's house on the way where they find his wife has died of radiation poisoning, then they go to jackson's house and find his parents survived and left for a city about an hour away to travel by private jet north.

then almost to the radio station, they crash their vehicle and have to walk about half a mile through the town and over a collapsing bridge. they get there and send out a signal for an hour until the backup generator gives out, then they wait. in the morning they are greeted by enemy helicopters which kill the doctor and split jackson and nora up from the other three. they travel through the woods, all the while jackson dealing with nora's recent loss of both of her parents, looking for the rest of the group.

my dilemma: where do they go after they all meet up? here's some ideas i have:

1. they exit the forest and wind up on a road that takes them to where there are a few army people in hazmat suits combing the area. they would then be taken to the base. but what happens after that? i'm afraid if i did that the story would wind to a close right about there, and currently it's only about a third of the way done.

2. they stumble upon the aforementioned military base which has been abandoned. they sleep there for a few nights, stock up on supplies, and then a strike on the base from the enemy kills one of the group members and they barely escape with their lives. (then what? same dilemma once that has been written.)

3. they hear a rumor from a passing man that DC wasn't bombed but is in a state of war between the remaining US troops and enemy troops. they go there to help fight or find out what's really going on? (illogical)

4. i just thought of this one while writing this. they decide to go to the river and go north, since it flows north. they travel up through virginia and into west virginia, then into the ohio river which then dumps into the mississippi river, which would make for an interesting travel.

tell me which of my ideas sound the best or give me some of your own! i need better ideas than this, guys! when i'm thinking of ideas i generally ask myself these questions:

1. how will they survive? what would i (or you) do in the situation?
2. should they try and fight the invaders or just try and survive?
3. would would make the story of survival interesting and not cliche?

new title

Mon, 02 Nov 2009 11:11:44 GMT

i think i want to re-title my re-imagined realistic version of my novel as... wait for it...

ASHES OF ZEPHANIAH

named for the doomsday prophet in the Bible. yes? no? i like it!

Excerpt from A Time Undone, Chapter 2: Killian Flight Inc.

Fri, 30 Oct 2009 17:09:06 GMT

Jackson braced himself against the jagged edge of the gash in the building, put his uninjured right leg into the darkness, put all his weight on that foot, and swung his left leg over the lip. He pressed his back violently into the side of the hole as the bottom of his ankle caught a sharp piece of sheet metal sticking up. He hopped around, trying not to scream as his ankle and, now, his bleeding back caused him terrible amounts of pain. He put his back to a wall inside the dark garage and rested, trying to overcome the pain and trudge on. He used this chance to get his bearings.

As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he saw three delivery trucks. The one nearest him had been totaled by the car that came through the wall. The other two looked to be intact, so he pressed off the wall and walked towards the trucks. The first one looked heavily damaged; the car had impacted the cab of the truck. The front of the car had made it into the cab, breaking all the windows and tearing up the inside of the truck. It leaned downwards heavily, and Jackson noticed that the back of the truck had been separated from the cab. He stopped to look inside the car for a moment; a cross necklace dangled from the bent rearview mirror. The back was full of junk; trash, magazines, a flashlight… a flashlight could be useful. He took the flashlight and stuffed it into the bag slung off his right shoulder.

Jackson continued forward towards the other trucks when something caught his eye. Something glinted in a moment of light underneath the vehicles on the ground along the wall opposite the gaping hole and on the other side of the trucks. He passed in front of the three trucks that were lined up in a row side by side, also passing the huge garage door towards which the trucks were facing. Paper and bits of metal and plastic covered the ground; it was everything Jackson could do to keep from falling and injuring himself further.

As he neared what he saw on the ground, he realized what it was- a pool of blood. It had run underneath the parallel trucks in a little crimson stream from its source and Jackson fought the urge to vomit inside his mask. He looked down, clutched his knees, and breathed heavily. When the urge was gone, he focused only on trying to find the source. He squinted in the low light… there. It was a man, laying flat on his back, his legs severed from his body. The blood was pooled up around the stubs where his legs used to be. Jackson walked closer and saw it was a boy, probably 18. He assumed the boy was probably dead.

Jackson, in confirmation of the boy’s death, knelt beside the body and slowly began reaching out to check for a pulse. The boy’s eye flung wide; they were puffy and bloodshot. As he looked at Jackson, his chest began rising and falling violently. The boy gasped and wheezed as the panic started to set in.

“I’m Jackson, I’m going to help you,” he said to the dying boy.

“No… no, no, no, no, no. No help. No hope. My legs…” he gasped sharply, his airway full of ash and dust, “gone. Dad… gone. I came… looking for him. Three days ago.” He gasped for breath, coughed, and went on. “I got here and the building was… gone. Dad… dad’s dead. I couldn’t find my… my mom before I left the-the house. I came here, found dad… he was c-crushed under a desk. The way… his face was all… c-c-contorted…” The boy took another breath. He shuddered violently and Jackson could see a tear glint in the low light, “He was… burned alive. I… came here to get a truck to leave. The roof… collapsed, cut… my legs. I see them. There.” He pointed to a shoed foot peeking out from underneath a large metal sheet.

The boy coughed; blood dribbled down his chin. In that moment Jackson realized that the boy’s hair had fallen out all around him. His skin was peeling off and his face was covered in sores.

“Your father was my boss… Franklin Killian? You’re Franklin Jr.?”

“No. Yes. Where am I?”

“Franklin, you’ve lost a lot of blood and you’re suffering from severe radiation poisoning. I’m going to take you to the hosp-”

“NO! No, no, no. Can’t you see? HOPE IS GONE! HELL HAS COME!”

“Franklin, we can… we can fix this. You’ll be okay. I’ll get you to the hospital and everything will be okay.”

“I… will… not… live… in… hell!” he wailed, gasping between each word.

The boy picked up a fragment of metal from the collapsed roof and attempted to end his life. Jackson stopped him; he grabbed the boy’s arm and pinned it to the ground with his knee. The boy let out a horrendous blood-curdling scream, a scream that shook Jackson to his very bones. The boy arched his back and his eyes opened wide. The terrified man let go of his arm, but Franklin didn’t notice. The boy’s entire body lurched as a great gushing of blood was vomited from his mouth. He collapsed back to his original laying position and his head fell to the side, eyes wide open at Jackson, a flow of thick crimson liquid dribbling out of his mouth.

“Franklin?” Jackson said quietly after a moment’s pause. He waited what seemed like an eternity, but Franklin stayed unnervingly still. The boy lived no longer. A hot tear fell out of Jackson’s eye and onto the inside of his mask, the only grievance Franklin would ever get. He went to wipe it, but his hand hit the plexiglass facemask. He looked at his unused hand, unable to wipe his face, and then down to Franklin’s lifeless corpse. He used the gloved hand to close the boy’s bloodshot eyes- eyes that no longer saw.

Jackson thought of the philosophy of it all. With the knowledge that he did not die as the last human on earth, was he able to finally let go of his broken body? Maybe, but that thought didn’t stop Jackson from feeling sick in every fiber of his being. He said a silent prayer for Franklin and his family; his father’s body was probably nearby, and soon the collapsing buildings would make a single grave for them both.

i'm the king of rock n' roll

Tue, 27 Oct 2009 00:57:34 GMT

it's true. i am. hey, quick question, would y'all like to read some excerpts from my novel?

i like to write

Sun, 25 Oct 2009 22:44:50 GMT

i love writing and reading too. i read over some stories i wrote in 8th grade and they were so bad! haha. i thought i was the bomb diggity. i actually thought that there were hidden planets on the other side of the sun, hahahaha. and my poetry... oh lord.

but right now i'm reading the road. it's really sad and i had to take a break because it's just so deep. his writing is fantastic, though. he writes like he basically knows everything about anything (cormac mccarthy that is). he goes into such depth with every little detail. it's amazing. and his writing style makes it like it's not a as much of a story as it is a memory, or more like a gritty photograph of a memory. it's beautiful and so sad.

i also love to read because it inspires me. it helps me see how crappy of a writer i really am and to go back and fix stuff. which i really need to do! i've hit page 100 of my novel, though. i took a break from writing for a while but i've started back up and i've written over 10 pages since my break. i think it'd be about 130 some pages of book-sized pages, not Word-sized pages, which are larger.

realize

Thu, 22 Oct 2009 09:49:53 GMT

there are some (many) girls and guys who don't realize things.

you knew them in high school. you didn't like them all that much, but they seemed okay. maybe they were in the "in" crowd, but they seemed smart and generally likable person. or maybe they were one of the "weird" kids. they could've been anyone. but then, they go to college.

this person probably began going to parties in high school. if you knew them well, they probably didn't party with you or any of your friends. in college, parties became their every status update on facebook. "omg great weekend" "getting ready for another AMAZZZING weekend lol!" etc. through the years, they begin to be even more pathetic, stooping to putting pictures of themselves so drunk they can't open their eyes on facebook, and more status updates- but now, generally talking about how much action they're getting.

it's almost sad. you want to pity them, but then you realize that they don't deserve it. maybe they don't care about the repercussions of their actions after college. but think about it: when mary jane rottencrotch plans to settle down and not have sex with a different person every weekend, how do you think that will work out? i personally wouldn't want a woman who's had sex at all, but most guys don't want a girl who's had tons of sex. they don't want to hear drunk stories about you, they don't want to imagine you with, in reality, probably over 100 guys. if everyone's been with you, we don't need to be with you.

where do you think it will get you? does it make you happy? does that 10 minutes of pleasure make up for the regrets, the hangovers, and not even remembering who you slept with? when you want a job, those drunk pictures will come back to haunt you. when you want a man for good, not for a night, those other men will haunt you.

it's just sad how many people do these things. you'd think it was just a college stereotype and that it wasn't true, but it is. it's completely true. watch that "popular" girl who goes to all the parties in high school slowly devolve into a drunk, slutty ape. you may be getting all the apes now, but when you're old and sagging, you won't have a true ape there beside you. you'll be alone, only with the regrets of yesterday to keep you company. use your time well.

The Conversation

Mon, 19 Oct 2009 23:03:31 GMT

Church bells rang. It was the dawn of a new day. I entered the old church with a flood of men and women from all over the area; at the front of the room, the preacher stood, awaiting the coming hush of the new crowd.

In this church we sang no songs, we shook no hands, we took no offerings. One half hour was all Reverend Kyle had to speak to us, and only under the watchful eye of the Enforcers.

"Today, I'd like to speak to you all about your souls. You see, our bodies may be oppressed, our pockets may be empty, and our hearts may be sad, but our souls are forever free in Jesus. Under no government can that be taken away. And what is the use of execution if we are sent like winged birds to heaven?"

He spoke of the importance of sharing the Gospel, of knowing Jesus, but I doubted that many people felt anything at all anymore.

"If you share the word of God with everyone you meet, the most powerful tool the government has over us- death- is but an empty word ringing out in an abandoned courtyard. With Jesus in our hearts, we are forever free. May God bless-"

A familiar, but always unnerving sound rang through the city. Low drones, like that of a bomb siren, rattled my brain and the people in the church began scurrying out into the street, hurried along by the Enforcers. There was no stopping for talk or even mere smiles, for gathering in groups of 5 or more was illegal all hours of every day except for the time between 11:30 am and 12:00 pm on Sunday mornings. This "generosity" of our overseers seemed like a gesture of peace to the common man, but to the keen eye it was obvious that the only way to hold complete power of us was to give us a small sliver of hope for that single half hour every week.

It was enough to make a man wonder how it all could've happened. There was no invasion or great war; no secret plan or false leader. We just... signed our rights away. It happened over the course of nearly a decade and a half; with the constant wars "threatening the American people", the degrading climate, and dwindling natural resources, it was all we could do to keep from all out war.

Before anyone had the chance to realize what was truly going on, the Treaty had already been signed. There was some initial fighting when Earth's new omnipresent government took over the leadership of America, replacing it with a corrupt group of virtual psycho-terrorists, but it was no coincidence what happened next.

The Blight. It was an infectious disease that quickly became airborne after the first few cases became known. It had an 90% fatality rate, but an abnormally high immunity rate: nearly 20% of the population was inherently immune to the Blight. Still, it easily wiped out nearly two-thirds of the American population within the year.

We had no doubt it was the doing of the Government. When so many die around you, who else do you have left to rely on but the mighty hand of power? A power that, seemingly, superseded that even of God.

This was over a decade and a half ago. Nearly 7 years ago, we formed the resistance. By death from Blight or bullet, I eventually became the leader of the resistance.

I suddenly noticed I had slowed down when an Enforcer pressed the ball of his gloved hand into my back and pushed.

"Keep moving," he said apathetically. I turned my head to look back at him but he was already off pushing others along. I continued forward at a faster pace, down the streets, across waterways, and eventually the crowd began to thin as individuals filed into their respective homes.

Eventually it was just myself and my friends Anna, Keith, Matt, and Cueball, just as it was every week. Cueball looked at me with his single eye and nodded; we walked calmly to where there were no Enforcers in sight and, finding our well-placed manhole, stopped.

Anna leaned down to the fingerhole in the manhole and dropped a small rock into it.

"Mmmmm, who's there?" a haggardly sounding voice issued from below.

"Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band, Teddy," Anna said to the man inside the sewer. He groaned and approached the manhole. A lone eye gazed at the woman for a moment and the manhole slide sideways.

"Welcome back, gang," the man said in a much smoother voice, once he had established our identities for certain. He looked like a bum, as usual, to make sure that no one not in the resistance got in. He reached under a sleeping bag, pulled out a massive automatic rifle, and kept watch after we headed down the wide, dry sewer. This part of the sewer had been dry and abandoned even before the Government, so it made a perfect home for our ragtag band of freedom fighters.

Eventually, the cramped sewage pipes gave way to raw underground tunnels. But on this day we were not going to toil in our underground lair living out some halfbaked lives. We were no longer settling for random acts of terrorism and violence, no; today, the resistance movement would end and the resistance culture would begin.

I was not afraid to die. I remembered America and the world as it was, and dying to get it back would be worth it. I had much to do before dying, however, like getting a good last meal and probably using the restroom.

I walked through the complex to the mess hall. It was all cold food, since a fire could suffocate us without proper ventilation and smoke would give us away. I made sure to grab a candy bar, though; a Butterfinger, one of my favorites from my youth.

I sat next to my wife Anna and began to eat.

"Are you ready?" I said to her as I ate.

"I've been ready for 15 years, Ben," she said as she slurped a can of cold soup. "I'm willing to do whatever it takes. But if you die, by God, I hope I do too. For one thing, I could never live without you, and I could never run this show."

I smiled. "I love you too, honey." We finished our meal, savoring it, for it could very well be our last. We reminisced about our childhood, about high school, about the Internet and television.

Our last day on Earth could not have been sweeter as my dear Anna and I made love in the little dead-end cavern that we called home for nearly 7 years. We savored it like we savored our meal, and there was no doubt that I could take on the entire Government as long as I had her. In those moments we grew the closest we could ever be, for death brings us all to that point whether we like it or not.

The alarm sounded. It was a soft, pulsating buzzing sound, complete with red flashing lights. Before I went off to the armory with my love Anna, I had to make a stop to the restroom.

It wasn't much. Natural erosion in the rock created holes big enough to relieve ourselves in. I stood against one of the walls, unzipped, and emptied my bladder into one of the larger holes. Suddenly, from behind me, I heard a voice.

"Ben?" a man's voice said. He was in one of the crude stalls we had set up over the holes in the rock.

"Yeah?" I said, still urinating.

"Remember what it was like before the Government?" he said, and I recognized his voice. He was one of the earliest members, about my age.

"Yeah. Grew up in the South and I was in college when the Treaty was signed and the Blight hit. What about you?"

" California, out in LA. I kept going to college after the Treaty, but the Blight killed... everyone. Including my entire family."

"I'm so sorry," I said, zipping my pants and leaning now against the wall.

"It was tough, but every event in my life culminated in this moment." I heard him pull his pants up and he exited the stall. "I would do anything to get back the world that my parents knew... that I knew."

"That's why we're here, Vince," I said, patting him on the back. I walked him out of the restroom and we met up with my wife outside the armory. It was dark inside, with just the red flashing lights for illumination. I took a deep breath, grabbed my wife by the hand, and armed myself. A long line of rebels went out the door and shimmied along the rocky corridors outside, hoping to snag a gun for themselves in the coming assault. There was a trap door down a long, dark, rocky path beyond the armory that led up into an abandoned warehouse; the assault would begin here, and, with the conversation I had just had fresh in my mind, I knew just what I was fighting for.

piggie flu

Mon, 19 Oct 2009 18:27:36 GMT

so last week, the swine flu hit my house. thankfully (knock on wood) i didn't (haven't) get it (gotten it yet). on heather's fall break, no less, so the days we finally could spend some more time together, we weren't able to see each other at all. :(

i can't wait for thanksgiving break/christmas break. i don't get to spend alone time with heather near as much as i'd like. monday and wednesday we get about 5 hours each, friday maybe 8, saturday about the same, and tuesday i go to her house which means we don't get a moment of alone time. it may seem a lot to you people who have LDRs or work and do school and other stuff all the time (horrible idea if i do say so myself, at least from an engineer's perspective, since i'm working full time as it is with class and homework), but it isn't enough in the least bit. coupled with the fact that she feels sick half the time, we only get to actually spend maybe half of that time together in the end since she'll stay home from nauseousness, a cold, or something else. i hate how she's sick everyday. :( is that normal? why is she sick literally every day? she's always complaining about nausea or sharp pains in her stomach. she's going in for a colonoscopy in a month but other than that there's nothing that can be done. i just hope it doesn't get worse, since it's been like this for about 8 months now.

love

Tue, 13 Oct 2009 00:39:08 GMT

it's hard to quantify. when it comes to me, love is:

when she squeezes me so tight and nestles her head in that space between my head and my shoulder that fits her perfectly.
when she whispers "i love you" into my ear, then looks into my eyes and hugs me or kisses me.
tickles fights that always end in a passionate kiss.
looking at her peaceful form after she dozes off on the couch with me.
never having to let a fight fester overnight.
wrestling on the floor and racing up the stairs.
coming up to her and wrapping my arms around her waist while she looks at herself in the mirror.
knowing she's always, ALWAYS there when i need her.
feeling that skip in my heart when i see her early morning texts and when i see her for the first time in a long time.
that first long kiss after a week apart.
cleaning up my room with her.
cooking with her!
her gorgeous green eyes that always betray her emotions.
making her smile even when she's upset.
never going away dry-eyed when she cries.
feeling the press of her lips hours after we've last kissed.
the smile i get when i take her plate or hold the door open for her.
the smooth, firm grip of her hand when i need to be ensured that everything is going to be okay.
never having to go without someone to talk to for a day.
hearing her voice every night before i go to bed

oh, sure there's more! but that'll tide me over for now :) i love you heather hedge! 5-5-07! (so long ago!)

once upon a time

Sun, 11 Oct 2009 05:16:14 GMT

my brother brought all his friends home after homecoming. i sat upstairs and talked to them and it was actually really fun. but now i realize how much i miss having my own friends.

i think the reason i don't have any friends at college is because i feel like i can't connect with them. when i was living in the dorms, i was just miserable and didn't want anything to do with anything. but now that i live at home, i realize that most of the people in my class (i'm not even going to refer to the thousands upon thousands of non-aerospace engineers) live on campus. they don't live anywhere near me, they all already have their own friends, i just got left behind i guess. i hated living on campus, it was the worst experience of my life on par with working full time doing manual labor... it was all about parties and being drunk and doing stupid stuff, it just made me not want to make friends with any of the people in my dorm. living at home is probably the best decision i've ever made.

i don't think i could've made any friends even if i wanted to, though. i didn't want to when i lived there and now i'm just kind of too far gone to make any now. there's only maybe 148 aerospace engineers in the class of 2012, not counting anyone who took the mandatory one-time-slot class over the summer or something else is going on that i'm unaware of... but there's already cliques within the class.

i guess i'd rather hang out with my old friends here in radford. maybe get invited to stuff by heather's brother. i dunno. i just miss having friends. i do want friends, but i'm afraid to even try. i'm painfully shy, but i love when people talk to me... i just don't like talking to them.

i guess the moral of the story is, if you go to virginia tech and you see me walking around, say hi to me. it makes my day when people talk to me, even though it's literally only happened three times. i can't imagine that any of my few readers go to virginia tech... but maybe if someone stumbles upon my blog that goes, be my friend. please! i'm bad at it!

i also would like a couple for me and heather to hang out with. that'd be cool. i'm going to bed now though, and i'm gonna do lots of homework tomorrow so wish me luck all... college. sigh.