I made a playlist for you on www.8tracks.com

If we had been in high school during the 90s I probably would've given you a mixed tape, but since this is 2011, you can go online to listen to it.  Sadly this means that you don't get my primitive artwork along with the music, but alas, life isn't entirely fair.  Give me a chance, and listen to the whole playlist.

http://8tracks.com/4lli/subtlety-isn-t-my-forte

So here I am, putting my feelings out there, something I never do, because I think you're worth it.  And you aren't a scrub.

Short Story 1

Despite the delay in posting, here's my first short story.  Side note, went to Raleigh this weekend...had a great time.

Day One:  5/22/11

Challenge: Story is set during a jailbreak.  A window is used at the beginning of the story.

16 by 20 inches.  That’s how much sunlight streamed inside his concrete hell and warmed his weathered face.  His eyes flickered shut and he inhaled deeply.  Rising slowly, he began to stretch.  No one had ever called him “lithe” for a number of reasons.  The first being that it was unlikely anyone from the trailer park community of Lovett he was raised in had ever even heard the word.  The second reason being Tobias was a brick wall of country bubba.  Standing at just over six and a half feet, no one would ever imagine him possible of agile movement.

He walked to his shelf, a careful assortment of meaningless prison tchotchkes.  He dragged his arm along the length in frustration, destroying the collection.  A paper crane took a swan dive onto the unfinished floor.  A deck of cards involved themselves in a game of pick up that would not happen.  With a guttural yell, he brought his ham of a fist against the wall.  Nothing cracked.  Not bone, nor plaster.  They had come to an agreement.

Pulling a Marlboro Red from his hiding spot in the desk, he grabbed a matchbook figurine off the floor, happy to see at least one limb was still strike-able.  It was exquisite.  He took a long drag, enjoying the way it burned his throat.

He exhaled, no longer worried about the ramifications of getting caught smoking.  The animals had taken over.  Everyone was screwed.  The alarm system was still going off, sending out a long, low warning siren.  Forty-five minutes had already passed.  The cliché of inmates running the asylum crossed his mind.  He chuckled without humor.  Soon.

He grabbed his weapon, ashed his cigarette, and headed for the chaos.  Or at least, he tried to.  He made it as far as the hallway.

“Warden, what are you doing?  Get back in your office!  You know they’re getting closer.”

Tobias Skinner laughed, shouldered his AR 15, and turned around.  “I’m counting on it.”

Short Story Challenge

I've decided to take on a bit of a challenge.  I'm going to try (read: emphasis) to write something each day for a week.  Items will be posted in all their unedited glory.  Using an online writing challenge generator (http://www.seventhsanctum.com/generate.php?Genname=writechallenge), I will tackle whatever comes my way.

Cheers.