Monday, December 28, 2015

3 Things I Learned from Star Wars Episodes 1-3 AND WHAT NOT TO DO WITH MY WRITING....

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Salivating and pondering over the new Star Wars movie has almost, ALMOST, made the sad, hollow, shell of the past disappear from my memories, but the more I thought about the new movie, the more I thought about the prequel movies....and the more I thought about what I hated in these movies.

Sure, if you had labeled these movies anything else other than Star Wars...like Space Battles, or Fight of the Galaxy, or whatever, it wouldn't have had the expectation the original episodes 4-6 had. But they did happen, and although there were moments of fun, lightsaber-wielding action, there were painful moments where in the theater you wish you could have hit the fast forward button to skip to the next battle.

So, in the refrain of my last week's post, I present, Da Da DUM - 3 THINGS ABOUT STAR WARS EPISODES 1-3 AND WHAT NOT TO DO WITH MY WRITING. 

Because the great flaw in these movies is the creation and development of the characters themselves, I will again focus on the characters, and how the writing did not do them justice, nor did it help the characters reach their potential.

1) Characters acting out of character: Anyone could easily pick out Jar Jar Binks as one of the most hated characters in Star Wars, but if you examine all the characters in episodes 1-3, there is a horrible development that made them do things that just didn't fit. The biggest, blaring disparity to me is the relationship of Anakin to his mother, which eventually contributes to Anakin's downfall as we all know. In the first movie, Anakin obviously loves his mom, and granted he is only a little boy, you could argue there is some kind of attachment, and the act of him leaving his mom on the planet breaks his heart and ours a little.

Fast forward to the future though, where his mom has been taken by the Sand Raiders, where Anakin eventually discovers her, which leads his down the path of slaughtering all the little guys and inching that much closer to the dark side.

All of that is doable, something I can swallow, but the glaring fact that if Anakin really was so attached to his mom, where were his efforts to save her before this point. He had almost a decade to hire a space pirate or a bounty hunter or somebody with a lot of guns to go in, grab his mom, and plant her on a nice little resort planet. Anakin was a war hero...he could have negotiated with Palpatine, could have worked with Obi-Wan to convince him to save the mom. But he didn't....and the real issue is that up until this point, there is no attachment to his mom. No emails, no Facebook pokes, nothing that would even give us any reason to understand why he cared so much.  It was just a contrived plot point to attempt to push Anakin to become Darth Vader. BUT WHY COULDN'T WE SEE MORE OF THAT INTERNAL STRUGGLE? Then it would've been believable our dear war hero boy wonder Anakin could have stooped so low.


2) Love chemistry that is unbelievable, even in a galaxy far, far away: To set the stage, please see this stunning example of how this love story got so hot...there are about two more hours of them sitting on this freaking balcony going gaga over each other, so I will spare you the pain...


Again, this is a perfect example of the plot of the story and where it needs to go that dictates what the characters say or do. Granted, the plot forces the characters to act, but in this example, the plot was making the character act in a way that was out of their nature or personality. The characters should inherently have their attributes and it is the plot that brings out their best or worst attributes, but in the case of Anakin's and Padme's love story, they weren't acting naturally, but just because the director wanted them to have children to fall in line with his overall story, they had to fall in love, and unnaturally they did. Many have said that George Lucas didn't care about episode 2 and just wanted to get to the meat of episode 3, and that was clearly evident by the dialog between these two. That, and it just went on...for far too long. It's hard to fall asleep during Star Wars, but this subplot sure made a good case for it. In short, for writing purposes, character interactions in general, and love stories in particular, need to have characters that relate to each other on some level, need to have dialog that conveys their inner desires and is strengthened by the plot (not dictated by the plot) and needs to not be dragged on until we are all beating our heads (KISS - keep it short and sweet).

3) Characters that serve no purpose don't belong in our story! Jar Jar Binks...need I say more? Rumors were that Jar Jar Binks was suppose to be a Chewbacca kind of character, but he only served to infuriate people, and on top of it, served no purpose other than a distraction. I suppose I am of the old school of thought that I hate characters that do not necessarily contribute to our overall resolution of our plot. The less is more adage comes to mind. Meaning, instead of introducing extraneous amounts of characters, wouldn't it be more productive and of more value if as a writer we focus on improving the conflict surrounding our main protagonist/antagonist? One example is the introduction of Count Dooku as a villain, which would be perfectly reasonable, and provided some good battles such as this famous one:


However, others have pointed out, and I am in complete agreement, that raising Darth Maul up as the main person we love to hate would've been a better use of an antagonist. It seemed like Darth Maul might have died too quickly, and then another villain (Count Dooku) was hastily introduced to fill that role. Would it not have been better to have another conflict which didn't end in Darth Maul's death, but an arm-chopping battle, which almost kills both Anakin and Darth Maul, but really sets the stage for an epic battle in the next movie? Like many superhero movies, we see time and time again the good guys fighting the same bad guys, and no one dies, or they die and come back to life again, only to fight another day. AND WE LOVE IT! Because when it comes to writing, we love conflict. I think that diversification of your primary characters versus making a divers array of characters is a much better use of literary talent. Plus it enables us to really focus on that one character instead of spreading ourselves too thin.

To reiterate, I believe the reason why these movies were so harshly criticized by fanboys like myself lies in the problem of character development rather than plot development so much. They acted out of character too often, created unbelievable love stories, and in general introduced superfluous characters where focusing on the ones that were killed off would've been a better approach.

Agree or disagree? Let me know, thanks!

-C


Saturday, December 19, 2015

3 Things About Writing I Learned from the New Star Wars...really....

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Alright you scruffy-lookin' nerf herders (sorry if you're not a Star Wars fan). I saw the movie this weekend, like many other who contributed to the $200+ million that's been made, and I absolutely loved it. Jaw-dropping planetary landscapes, stunning music score, and some really sweet good guys, but I'm obviously not here to talk about that (It's not the proper setting).

What I will talk about is three things about characters that we as writers need to incorporate into our writing, a la Star Wars. 

There may be spoilers, so don't read ahead if you don't want it.

I repeat, there more than likely may be some spoilers ahead, but read on at your own risk...

#1) Create good guys that you can see progress from start to finish (even if it's a multiple book series). Perfect example...our little girl Rey, who starts out as nothing but a lowly scavenger on a planet that's akin to our beloved Tatooine (not a va-kay destination). While she starts out as really a selfish, scared, little girl, she becomes the sweet lightsaber-wielding jedi woman that knocks evil Kylo Ren on his butt, and quite possibly slices off his luscious locks he has no doubt been nurturing his whole life. She progresses, and it isn't a long stretch. It isn't like those attributes and values weren't existent in her before, but through the conflicts that came about in the book, those qualities were able to peek out, and eventually redefine her as a character. Same goes for our characters...we don't want to completely pull a 180 degree stretch, but maybe a 120 degree turn. We need to make it so those qualities are somewhere buried within our character's souls, and use the events that we write to make those qualities redefine our character, either for better or worse. It would be a completely boring novel to have an altruistic do-gooder remain that way to the very last punctuation mark, because we like progress - it's human nature.

#2) Create bad guys who have weaknesses, and use those to define their toughest moments. Perfect example - Kylo Ren. He is the epitome in my opinion of the perfect evil guy. Someone who fights against their light, someone who is human. I don't want to see a story that involves some evil bad guy who was just born from the womb as a mother-killing evil creature who never wants thought about some good thing he/she could do. It makes our antagonist so much more relatable if there is a subtle backstory, even a hesitant move during a conflict to make us think twice about our hatred for that character. I love questioning if I really think a character is truly good or truly bad, and Kylo Ren shows us the internal struggle he's having in defining himself as the ultimate bad guy...which leads me to the final character point.

#3) Don't be afraid to kill off your most beloved characters, even if they are a stunningly charming and handsome scoundrel.  One of the arguably most tense moments (even more tense than blowing up the big planet-killing planetary base) is the moment that our antagonist activates that one switch point that redefines him as a bad guy. Our dear sweet Harrison Ford (AKA Han Solo) attempts to sway his son (BIG SPOILER), Kylo Ren back to the light, and the intensity is felt as that lightsaber is held on by both father and son, only to end in Han Solo's untimely (but desired from a literary standpoint) stabbing death. You feel as though a piece of your soul has been wrenched from you and thrown down to the bottom of the space station pit along with Han, or Mr Solo. That only makes me crave the ultimate destruction of my bad guy that much more, it solidifies in my head that even though there is some light in that bad guy, he is just too bad, and must die in the end. The worst thing would be to have a reader come to the end of a book where the antagonist has been dealt with, only to wish it had gone the opposite way, and that the good guy would have died. Emotions invest us, and as writers, we need to portray that with our characters, even in death.

So there you go...as a means of doing firsthand research, if you haven't seen the movie, I would highly recommend you go see it in the name of literary research while you chow down on bottomless popcorn and make a slob of yourself in the dark. They have a perfect formula for their characters, and I think even if your novel has a weak plot, if your characterization is strong enough, it can tip the scales to make it a great novel.

So go watch a movie this week!

-C

Tuesday, December 15, 2015

On a more personal note.


The first real snowfall. Nothing marks the true descent of wintertime like seeing frosted windowpanes and flocked trees lining the icy streets. Along with this time of year comes a bit of reflection for everybody though, closing the year, wondering about lost hopes or goals, and if everything came to fruition or not.

For me, I've been feeling a little...lost. I'm sure it's common for a lot of adults to feel this way, especially around a holiday that used to have so much richness and excitement about the day that Santa comes. We try as parents to live vicariously through our children, but it seems to only give a faint stroke of what we used to feel in their shoes. I've tried to stare at the lit-up Christmas tree, listen to endless hours of Christmas music, and hang the stockings with care, but it only seems to be a shell of the former best day of the entire year.

Whether it's because each Christmas present you buy for yourself ultimately just drains your bank account more, or whether it's because the new flavors of something new have waxed old, I don't think I can diagnose what the real cause of Christmas blues would be. Life is good right now, everyone is healthy and happy, but I can't shake the feeling of being lost...

So let me offer up maybe one solution to the problem. I think with Christmas, there tends to be a lot of nostalgia, and maybe looking forward to the next year, but little thought is given to the present, which is ironic considering Christmas is full to the brim with presents. I think the sense of being lost can come about as a result of forgetting who you are right at this moment.

What is your favorite color?

What is your favorite food?

What do you want for Christmas this year?

Basic questions beget basic answers, but they have the simple effect of realizing the things that make you truly happy. For me, it's my family, my girls, writing, and just enjoying good food and playing games together. That's what makes me happy. Everybody is different, so it's important to ask yourself these basic questions, and then redefine who you are. With the passing of each year, we change just a little bit, and it's easy to lose yourself completely if you aren't careful.

So, this Christmas year, enjoy the snow, don't think about the future or how you're going to afford that princess castle or new bike. Just live in the moment, which is why I've chosen to write this post right now, as a means of living and experiencing joy right now. I would encourage you to do the same this Christmas!

-C

Monday, December 14, 2015

Upcoming dates for Aspiring Writers like myself!!!


So, if you're in the same sweaty,worn shoes I'm in from trying to write and send manuscripts, and basically cheese your way into the lives of agents/publishers every where, you're looking for any opportunity to get ahead.

One of those ways, that many aspiring writers might know of, is the Twitter pitch. Basically, if you're not aware of it, every so often, the great writing Gods come down from Olympus and bestow upon a lucky few the gift of instant submitting of your manuscript without even sending a query letter. The catch...you have to write a darn good pitch.

Just finishing up with #pitchmas, in which the Top 50 winners will be posted on the blog, it can be an exhilarating, yet hair-pulling sort of time. But I wanted to reference some of these contests, just in case you haven't heard of them...

#Pitchmas - Mid December - Consists of two portions, where writers will submit a 35 word pitch about your manuscript via email to be judged, and if judged worthy, your pitch will go live on a blog for editors/agents to see, where they can hand pick what they like. Great visibility! And decent odds. The second part takes place in the following week, and involves submitting a 140 character Twitter pitch (with the hashtag #pitchmas) where you may or may not grab the attention of the powers that be. The nice thing is that you can submit twice an hour, and it goes all day! It is a huge opportunity!

#SFFPit - For Sci-Fi/Fantasy, also just recently took place in December. It takes place twice a year, and consists of submitting a twitter pitch with the hashtag of the same. It's a good opportunity because there will be less submissions, since its restricted to the two genres of Sci-Fi and Fantasy.

#Pit2Pub - Starts Feb 3rd next year. Same idea as #SFFPit, but open to all genres.

#PitMad -  From Brenda Drake, this is one of the bigger Twitter pitch parties nowadays, and represents an excellent way to get noticed, though you will have less opportunity to tweet, as twitter feeds are getting clogged like a bird fed too many gummy worms. Same rules, don't forget your hashtags! See the schedule below for 2016 dates.

From the blog -- 
2016 Schedule:
March 17, 2016
June 9, 2016
September 8, 2016
December 1, 2016
These pitch parties are fun, and I repeat, they are exhilarating, but can also be the most stressful thing ever while you wait to hear back, or see a little heart icon pop up that an agent liked your pitch. 
Good luck to all, may the odds be ever in your favor and that sort of thing! I can only hope Santa will leave me an agent request this year...

-C

Wednesday, December 9, 2015

The First Chapter of I Am Unbroken - For Your Review...


Hello there,

 I just wanted to share with you all the first chapter of my new book I am Unbroken, a contemporary paranormal fantasy centered around sixteen year-old Gavin Ashmore as the curse bearer keeping a sadistic spirit known as Cain at bay. Please let me know what you think (message,comments, etc) PLEASE!


PART 1 -- LIFE
Chapter 1 – Birthday Wishes and Birthday Curses

From somewhere close by a rooster was crowing…
A big white chicken morphed into my dream and suddenly I was a farmer being chased by a big white, fluffy chicken.  Something just didn’t click.
“Gavin…” An airy voice called out from some distant land.
With a sleep-numbed hand I plopped it onto the source of the rooster crowing. My phone must have been crowing all morning – the battery was already down to half.
“Gavin,” the voice called again softly. “Wake up…it’s your birthday…”
March 7th.
And then it hit me just as a wave of chocolate permeated my senses – snapping me awake like smelling salts. I creaked open one of my eyes to the hilarious sight of my mom holding a flaming cupcake.
One step closer to eighteen – it couldn’t come soon enough…
“Mom,” I muttered, half-embarrassed, half-grateful. “We don’t have to do this you know…I am sixteen after all…most kids my age have already gotten pregnant and gone on MTV…”
“Well,” my mom replied, rubbing my hair in a maternal sort of way. “You will do neither of those while I’m around…especially the MTV thing…it’s too cliché these days...”
I couldn’t keep the smile from creasing my face. Though she was my mom, it always seemed like our relationship was much more mature than that.
“You got it Sue,” I conceded, leaning up halfway out of my knotted Pac-Man bedspread.  She always hated when I called her that. “Shall we get this over with then, a happy birthday song or fireworks or something?”
The wax had already spread across where the frosting should have been, leaving only a tiny stubble burning.
“Not before your wish mister! And you know my first name…it’s M-O-M…I gave up my real name when you came into the picture…”
“Sure thing M-O-M” I replied smugly. The only reply was a sudden pillow to the face.
I wish today would be different…
I repeated it, what must have been a million times in my head, because I wanted it so badly to be true. Ever since my dad left, and my step dad stepped into the picture, my life had taken a turn for the mundane and torturous.
And with a quick processional happy birthday song, I blew out the candles, engraving my wish in my mind.  With a quick curtsy, my mom ran out of the room, yelling for me to get ready since I was late already.
I scooped up one of my red band tees tossed over the bed post, and smoothed my shaggy dark hair while examining myself in the mirror. I looked deeply into the green eyes that stared back at me.
I wish today would be different…
Strike one to my wish came as I was walking down the hallway toward the stairs, when suddenly a jabbing pain came out of nowhere. That could only mean one thing.
“Happy birthday d-bag!” Connor Sherman called out as he threw a high velocity punch into my arm.  Connor stood slightly taller than me, either because of his blond, poofy hair or his stuck-up-in-the-air nose.  But he was the spitting image of my step dad Tom.
“Thanks Con-stipated,” I called out – it was the only thing I could come up with at the time. “And good luck scoring a point tonight in the big game…I think you’ll need it…”
I couldn’t wipe the smugness off my face as I met his fierce glare threatening me – though it startled me when walking into the kitchen the same exact loathing stare sat across from me behind the morning newspaper.
“You’re late…” Tom growled, returning to the headlines. “You think it’s your birthday or something princess…”
“Well actually,” I started, only to be cut short.
“Now you’ll have to skip out on the most important meal of the day, what a shame…the bus will be here in three minutes…your fault boy…”
I surveyed the enemy with narrowed eyes – letting my hand reach for a green banana out of spite. Tom Sherman was the devil, well at least the mayor of Devilville…he was bred from a long line of politicians that demanded perfection, or the appearance of it if nothing else. Of his siblings alone, there was a mayor, a couple congressmen, and a governor of some state in the East.
“Well hey,” I said unpeeling my stubborn, green banana. “Your son might get his first point at the game tonight… maybe you can make it a father-son sort of thing and keep your first campaign promise…”
The paper slammed down on the table, making the coffee cup splash projectiles of brown liquid on Tom’s face. I knew I had struck a new low.
“You…better…go…now…pay…later…” was all the fuming politician could mutter.
And like a prey that’s been let go by its predator, I swooped up my backpack and slammed the door. I knew I would pay for it later, but a battle won is a battle won. Insulting my step dad’s mayoral campaign run was just the start of another regular day here in Shady Oaks.
Strike two for the birthday wish…
The big yellow bus was already waiting down the block, and I could tell Phil the driver wasn’t happy at all to see me. He gave no inclination to let me in, and started to pull away as I knocked on the door. I held on though as he started, and rather than suffer a lawsuit, he ceded, giving me an annoyed glare as I walked up the stairs into the bus.
For some reason, he hadn’t ever liked me - neither did a lot of adults around here - possibly due to the rumors that had spread that I was a thief, delinquent and a future candidate for the state pen.
Looking around the bus, you would have thought you had stepped onto some teenage movie about high school, because even though the cliques are normally bad in high school, at Shady Oaks High, everybody belonged to a clique, and those cliques did not under any circumstances associate with one another.
You had the jocks and cheerleaders, who it always seemed were wearing their red and blue preppy jerseys and uniforms day after day.  The guys tossed a ball back and forth while the cheerleaders gossiped in a corner, pointing fingers at other students in the bus.
Then of course there was the antithesis to the jocks – the nerds.  Donned in matching sweater vests and thick bottle glasses, they were huddling their calculators together in debate about some mathematical theorem.
The drama students were next, with the leading actor among them – Charles Heston.  Said to be descended from Charlton Heston himself, he stood performing a very convincing monologue from Macbeth, even holding a dried skull as he did so.  
And then there was the back corner of the bus. My clique.  The full-length seat sat completely empty.  My clique of one.  Someone had to fulfill the role in high school, though I didn’t necessarily want it in the first place – it just kind of happened one day.
I was “the loner.” 
I smiled though as I sat in my seat, enjoying my semblance of a throne.  I was the loner, but of all the things I could have signed up for, I definitely didn’t want to join any of the other cliques.  At least I could be myself in my own clique.
The bus was now leaving Shady Oaks Suburb, and I took one last glance backward at what always appeared to be a spectacle to me.  Like clockwork, the various politicians, lawyers, and wealthy-to-do’s made their way with coffee in-hand to their earth-friendly, white compact cars.  Everybody paused on cue, blew a kiss to their waiting spouse, and everyone slammed their car door shut at exactly the right time.  It could’ve been a new Olympic sport…synchronized farewelling.
It was a veritable yuppie town.
I wish today would be different, I really do… I thought one last time as the bus rolled off to Shady Oaks High.
-----------
I was on my way to second period biology class when things started to change, just a small switch, but a change nonetheless.
The halls were a crowded confluence of commotion as students and teachers alike rushed off to their various classes. The halls were decorated for the upcoming spring fling dance with paper hearts and streamers in a red and pink flurry.
In an instance the halls were cleared, that is except for myself and “the three kings” of the school.
Mike Young, Chance Slater, and of course my stepbrother, Connor Sherman.
I thought they were waiting for me...it wouldn’t be out of the question...but as I passed them they didn’t even twitch a muscle in my direction.  Instead, I could see their next target for bullying and embarrassment.
A skinny, curly brown-haired boy walked through the halls as if he were about to be swallowed up by them.  He eyed each poster cautiously through his square-lensed oversized glasses, and didn’t even seem to notice the three giants that waited for him with bated breath.
They smiled as he almost ran full into them.
“Oh hello there fellow students,” the boy chirped as he tried to dodge by them, completely oblivious to their dangerous motives.
“The elementary school’s that way twerp,” Chance Slater said as he pointed down the halls.
“Ah, well I’m sixteen, so I’m right where I need to be actually - thank you for inquiring though...”
“Here let me help you kid, make sure you don’t get lost,” Slater said as he wrapped his arm around the boys small shoulders. 
I could tell they were up to no good by the tone of Slater’s voice.
“See you gotta be careful at this school, there are some pretty rough dudes,” Connor said to the boy who looked at the trio with curiosity. “And that’s why it’s your lucky day...you see we can offer you protection...for a small fee of course...”
“I don’t understand what you mean,” the boy said.
“Let me put it this way,” Connor said. “Either you give us whatever meager amount of money you have, or we pound you a new face...capiche?”
“Oh, I see,” the boy said hollowly. He seemed genuinely hurt that they had betrayed his instant trust.
“So you gonna give us your money kid?” Slater asked, tightening his hold on the boy’s shoulders.
The boy stammered a little. “U-uh, I really don’t carry any...I bring my own lunch to school...so you’ll just have to move on...sorry...”
“Hmm....yeah I don’t think that’ll work for us...we don’t take I-O-U’s,” Slater said, grabbing both the boy’s shoulders.
“Don’t do that,” the boy whispered quietly, yet threateningly.
“Do what?” Slater said.
And with that Connor threw a punch into the boy’s stomach, which much to the dismay of the others only let out a soft thud. The boy hardly even reacted to the pain - he must have had much stronger ab muscles than anyone had anticipated.
“Come on Connor,” Slater said as the giant Mike Young looked on in quiet dismay. “Give it to him...stop being a pansy...”
Connor shook out his arm, which was obviously throbbing with pain at the moment.
The boy turned his head as Connor readied for another punch, this time looking to aim for the boy’s face.
I couldn’t stand anymore of it, as they sat laughing over a boy who was obviously more disadvantaged in terms of size. Who knew what they were capable of?
As Connor reached his arm back, I grabbed it from behind, drawing a bunch of shocked looks from the other two who faced him. The boy just narrowed his eyes with confusion that I was actually helping.
At least puberty had been kind enough to me to make me equal to the size and muscles of these guys with half the work.
“Hey guys,” I said. “You are really impressive, beating up on someone half your size and twice your intellect.”
“Shut up, Gavin,” Connor said as he tried to wrench his arm free. “We’ll deal with you later...”
“Oh I look forward to it,” I said. “So why don’t you let this kid go, and you can pencil me in...say four thirty...that way I can still catch some dinner...and you three can baby your wounds before watching the Bachelor...”
“Yeah, he’s not worth the trouble anyway,” Connor said. “Gavin here has a crush on our little friend, better not scrape him up too bad...he might get touchy...”
I threw Connor’s arm back to him as Slater released the boy.
The boy just stood there with eyes as wide as the moon as I walked away.  He seemed speechless that someone would help him.  I mostly did it because I couldn’t stand the three idiots who made themselves the kings of the popular people.
“Uh thank you...” Max said from somewhere behind me. “No one has ever done that for me. What’s your handle anyway?”
“Sorry what?”
“Your handle…your name?”
I crinkled my eyebrows as I stared at him. “I’m Gavin Ashmore.”
“Well Gavin Ashmore,” Max said extending his hand for a handshake. “My handle is Max.”
“Yeah,” I replied. “Good to meet you Max, who has no last name just like Cher.”
I stepped into class, only to be pushed out of the way by the three I had been dealing with - they made it a point to get in the classroom before me. The teacher gave me a disapproving glare at my tardiness, but Mr. Van der Waal was an old man, and he cared very little for confrontation.
As I took my seat far in the back of the room, I noticed the same mousy boy come trudging into the classroom, far from comfortable.
Mr. Van der Wall eyed him curiously and then said, “Okay class!” He was slightly deaf from fighting in the war, so he always talked much louder than he knew. “We have a visitor today, who will hopefully take up a permanent residence here should you all behave...now, what was your name young man?”
“Er..” The boy fumbled for words. “M-m-max…Frinkel…er…berg…son…” The last part he almost proposed as a question.
Mr. Van der Wall responded with flailing Einsteinian white hair. “Frinkelbergson eh…must be German then,” he muttered quietly while scratching his chin. “Well have a seat…anywhere you want really…we were just about to dive knee deep into Chlamydia…”
One more thing about Mr. Van der Wall is that he always had a tendency to say things in exactly the wrong way without ever being the wiser.  The class snickered at his last comment, and then simultaneously stopped as he turned around again to speak.
He was stopped short though as every single student in the class waited with bated breath as Max picked his seat.  It was essentially the choosing of his clique here in Shady Oaks High, the shaping of his destiny…
The jocks of the class looked at him with menacing glares, deciding already that he was fifty pounds underweight, and one foot too short to compete with them.  The nerds peered at his chest pocket, looking for their standard calculator and pocket protector, and finding none, turned their eyes downward to avoid his gaze.  Finally the drama kids, with Charles Heston at the lead, gave varying gestures of something stinky, unimpressed by Max’s unconfident and non-flamboyant introduction.
But nobody, no, nobody could have predicted what Max Frinkelbergson was going to choose next…
There was just one chair sitting next to mine, crowded on one side by a wooden bookshelf. It had never been used, not even looked as a possible sitting place by anyone. That was until today...
“Good day, neighbor,” Max said gleefully, apparently unaware of the lines he was crossing. Max extended his hand toward me, which I only took numbly, dumbfounded by the situation.
It was against the code.  The loner code, if there really was such a code, specifically stated that there was only one loner…everybody knew that there never could be two loners…it was just unnatural.
And so the class stared for about another minute with Max obliviously humming to himself until Mr. Van der Wall regained his composure and began lecturing on Chlamydia.  Flustered, he asked the question, “Now who here in this class has ever had any experience with Chlamydia?” and received a handful of hushed words in reply.
I had no idea what to make of my new “neighbor.” I had always been a loner here, and had plans to leave the school as a loner...I wasn’t just about ready to give up that status I had grown so accustomed to, even if I had saved him from a beating.
I was determined to rid myself of this new and unforeseen threat...
As soon as the class bell rang for lunch, I decided to get to work on my new project - scaring away Max Frinkelbergson from wanting to be anything remotely like a friend with me.  Max followed some distance behind me, carrying a huge tupperware full of a bunch of tiny tupperwares, so I waited for him to catch up.
“Hey, so neighbor,” I started. “Since you’re going to sit by me in class, you should know about all the rumors...and they are definitely true...especially the one where I actually tied a senior boy up to the flagpole by his whitey tighties so hard his legs actually fell off...yep, true story...”
It wasn’t actually true…not one bit…but it was one of the contributing rumors to the fear that had spread about the name, Gavin Ashmore.
Max looked back at me unamused. He replied, “You know, I have had my share of wedgies, believe me, tied to the locker, the chalkboard and even once, yes, I was tied to the flagpole…and the only thing that fell off me was my toenail because it got stepped on by the bully on the way up the flagpole…so I don’t think it is really all that feasible.”
I was slightly deflated, but held to my resolve. “I am a loner, Max…that means there is only one of us, so you’re just going to have to scoot along and fight your own clique, but you are not allowed to be a loner like me. I’ve claimed that one!”
 “Oh, okay, I understand now…You are a loner...a mean loner too...so I should just leave you to your thoughts then right?” Max questioned.
“Now you’re getting it...”  I replied.
Together but separate, we entered the cafeteria, now in full swing, with all the various grades pushing their ways to the front of the line like a rock concert. Seniors first, of course.
I made my way to my table, conveniently pushed to the wall, at least twenty feet from the nearest table. Students stared at me, half in fear, half in curiosity as they wondered if I was really the mean old loner they had all heard about.
I unpacked some leftover pizza and started to munch on it, when I heard a familiar humming noise coming from somewhere to the left of me. I didn’t want to look but I couldn’t resist. I knew who it was.
Not more than three chairs down from me, sitting on the same table, sat Max Frinkelbergson, unpacking his multitude of tupperwares as he hummed some unknown tune.
I gagged a little when I looked at what he was eating.
Max grabbed three raw slabs of steak from his Tupperware and folding them between two pieces of bread immediately began to chow down.  Wondering how this kid was still alive, I could only watch in disgust as the raw meat juices splattered on the table.
“Your food’s a little…er…fresh…and can you at least sit one chair farther down from me, so it doesn’t look like you’re my friend…come on…scoot…farther…there you go…”
He was truly an enigma, I thought as I took a bite out of my ordinary slice of pizza. Neither nerd, nor jock, nor any of the other fifty cliques at the school - He definitely was his own unique genre of person.
Maybe he qualified as a loner after all...
Max replied, his mouth still half full, “Oh, my apologies, I did not even realize we were sitting on the same table...My mistake! Imagine that..” He chuckled dryly.
“Whatever, just turn the other way, so it doesn’t look like we know each other...”
And that was how the rest of the afternoon played out. Max was constantly by me, but not with me as we went from class to class - if there was a chair in the back, he always accidentally picked the chair next to me. If there was a locker I was standing by, he was always around the corner, pretending to read a book.
Needless to say, the rest of the afternoon slipped by quietly until the last bell rang.  Not another word was heard from Connor, Chance Slater or Mike Young.  But you could tell the entire school was whispering about the encounter with them as I stepped onto the yellow school bus.  Suddenly, all the loud gossiping turned to hushed whispers.
I settled in at the back of the bus, already flipping my ear buds in when all of the sudden I heard that voice, and try as I might, I couldn’t make it go away.
“Why, hello again neighbor,” Max said, sitting so close to me it made me bounce off the chair a little.
“Uh, you again,” I replied, grunting.
“So,” Max started. “I was wondering if you know of any sweet phillies I can be acquainted with?”
My eyes grew another size. “Say what? You’re kidding me right...you mean hot girls that you can go out with?”
“That’s what I said,” Max replied unscathed. “Attractive females that can share a shake with me..whatever you people say...”
“Close enough, I guess...” I muttered. “And the answer is NO...the girls here are all way to shallow...they might look good on the outside...but it is only skin deep...”
“Well, what about that one over there?” Max asked. He pointed to the left side of the bus where the jocks all sat cuddling with their respective cheerleaders. The one he was pointing to was Olivia Jacobs, currently belonging to none other than Chance Slater.  Chance wasn’t on the bus this time though – he usually rode home with Connor and Mike in his Corvette.
“Uh, I’m not sure you wanna go there buddy…”
Max replied, “No I’m sure I do…I mean, she is gorgeous...long, beautiful legs and I heard she’s got some good jets too.”
I glanced over at Olivia.  She was very pretty, not Gavin’s type, but she was definitely pretty.  Long, flowing blond hair and azure sky blue eyes drew in a number of admirers.  Not to mention her status on the cheer squad as being a possible candidate for the cheer captain position made her one of the most popular girls in school.  It was only natural that she should be going out with Slater.  
“You’re pretty weird Max,” I replied. It was like he was about a hundred year old man stuck in a pre-pubescent teenager’s body. “Where are you from again?”
“Uh,” Max stuttered. “I’ve just been attending private school in Washington D.C. for some time...I hesitate to say this but I’m not quite up with the lingo.”
“Noooooo?” I replied sarcastically and sat back in the chair. “Well try to contain your hormones buddy, Chance and her are pretty serious, at least as serious as two popular kids vying for the prom royalty crowns can be.” 
Max narrowed his eyes in determination.  “We had a moment today after biology – I dropped my pen on the way out of class – she picked it up, smiled at me, and her exact words were ‘here you go cutie’ – it was just magical…”
Max sighed deeply.
“Wow,” I said, scooting away from Max who was swooning a little. “She pretty much just cheated on Slater with that romantic line…way to go buddy…”
“Oh she’ll be mine…by the end of the school year…you’ll see…I’ll make her fall in love with me or my name isn’t Max Frinkle…berg…son…”
I pretended to not be interested anymore by looking out the window as the bus pulled into Shady Oaks suburb.  Right on cue, the various “suits” were all leaving from their lunch breaks to head back into work.  They paused, each before getting into his respective car, and blew a kiss to their kids.
The bus came to a stop, a couple blocks from where my house was. “This is my stop, I’ll see you later…”
“Whatever!” Max said excitedly. “This happens to be my stop as well…I told you from the start that we were neighbors…”
My smile dropped at this new piece of news. “Oh,” I said. “I was hoping that was all metaphorically speaking and such.”
We exited the bus into the cool pre-spring air. Walking without saying a word until we were in front of our respective houses, Max turned to me one last time and said cheerfully, “Happy birthday neighbor...at least I hope it is...”
“It was definitely different,” I replied. “Thanks.”
As Max walked away to his house next door, I turned slowly to walk into my own house. As always, the grass was perfectly cut and the shrubs that lined the sidewalk were well-groomed. My eyes widened at the sight of my step dad’s car, still sitting in the driveway. That could only mean one thing...Tom had taken the rest of the day off work, and that usually only happened when he had a punishment to give me.
The sense of imminent danger I felt only grew when from around the corner of the house, three shadowy forms appeared.
“We’ve been waiting for you...” One of them called menacingly.
“Oh...” I replied quietly. “I guess you guys wanted to keep our date after all...how touching...”
Connor Sherman, Chance Slater, and Mike Young had been expecting me apparently.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From somewhere across the yard I could hear a bird chirping happily, oblivious to the dark gloom that was staring me in the face at the moment.
“So guys, I hope we can look past our little misunderstanding from earlier...it really isn’t good to pick on people with half your height...it could lead to bad posture, like scoliosis or something.”
Connor spoke first. “Yeah, whatever bro - you ruined our potential income for the week.”
“That’s why,” Slater said, “We have to make up for our lost earnings by pounding you over time.”
“Uh huh.” I edged back slowly now, sensing their ravenous appetites for revenge. I replied, “That’s too bad guys...let’s do this some other time...I’m already late for another punishment.”
And just as quickly as I turned to run, Connor reached out a tight grasp, tearing some stitches from my shirt. “Wait,” Connor said. “We still didn’t get to give you a birthday present...boys!”
“Er...” was all that I could muster in reply.
And in another instance, I felt my entire stomach being punched in by a miniature freight train. The usually silent, yet undeniably large Mike Young had nearly put his fist through me from the feel of it. I was sure my stomach was at least a mile behind my kidney now from the aching of it.  Mike was starting center for the football team for a reason.
I folded over like a chair, feeling my world swirl around me as muffled sounds of laughter floated overhead. My mind was exploding, demanding some kind of reaction from the rest of my body.
I could feel anger course through me, and finally I could grasp a thought my body could carry out.
With a reactive kick back, I threw my leg straight into Connor’s groin. Immediately I felt him drop to the ground in a mixture of shame and pain. The other two stood frozen as Connor released his hands from my shirt.
Though my insides felt like they were going to burst, the pain was quietly dumbed down in response to this latest victory.
“You son of a -” Connor started, but not before I turned to run. “Well get him you two, NOW!”
I ran full-fledged to the front door, only to find it locked shut, cursing my step dad for being so skeptical of people trying to sabotage his campaign. I knew the two beasts following behind would kill me before anyone could answer the door. So I decided to head the one direction where I could trust - toward Max’s house.
A low rumble like two boulders rolling down a hill started as both giants scrambled frantically behind me, angrily yelling something that just blurred into the rumbling sound.
I reached the end of the walk without a problem, but just as I turned the corner I felt my foot slipping from beneath my feet.  A smattering of loose gravel lay between my foot and the sidewalk, and as I fell, I instinctively threw out an arm to brace the impact, pain rolling up my arm.
Even though I popped back up in a matter of seconds, it had given enough time for the two charging bulls to catch up to me. All I could do was brace myself for the impact that approached.
In what can only be described as an all-star lineman tackle, Mike Young came ramming shoulder-first into my side, sending shoots of pain coursing from my ribs. My air was cut short and I was sure my ribs had to have broken into thousands of pieces.
“STOP!” I yelled in a desperate attempt as we both fell to the pavement, grating my elbows and backs of my legs. It didn’t even matter to him that I threw punches into his back...he was impervious to pain it seemed.
What happened next seemed to take minutes although it was only a matter of seconds according to the clock...
As I crashed down to the ground, my eyes darted back and forth across the yard, taking in the scene. Connor’s bent form, collapsed on the lawn from the well-placed kick. Chance Slater reached out for some reason with a wild expression, yelling something that was inaudible to my ears at the moment. I could even see a dark streak out of the corner of my eye that must have been Max, frozen in time by the whole situation.
And then I saw something large moving towards where we lay on the ground. The ground vibrated like a miniature earthquake to my ears. My mind registered finally that it was a very large truck, seemingly heading full speed to where we lay on the ground. It couldn’t have been far, just a matter of feet away.
Mike Young, looked up, now aware of the pressing danger escalating toward us. With a quick dive, much unexpected from a man of his stature, he rolled toward the curb, trying to get out of the path of the oncoming truck.
The truck was now close enough that I could smell the gas fumes. I scrambled on my knees, my ears and ribs still reeling from the impact earlier, which ironically seemed like nothing compared to the much bigger delivery truck that sped toward me.
I glanced up to the driver, looking into his eyes. Only then did he realize something was wrong. He reacted frantically, slamming on the brakes with a horrible sound like a thousand banshees.
I managed to climb myself up to my feet, readying to jump out of the way, while the truck still came toward me. It was now close enough I could feel the heat from the radiator. I doubted whether I could get out of the way now - the brakes hadn’t slowed the heavy truck much.
I tensed my legs, preparing for the superhuman spring out of the way. But just as I was leaving the ground, I realized I was too late.  I could already feel the hardened metal that hinted of the oncoming pain.
I closed my eyes, now expecting the full brunt of the force - any hopes of escaping this beast now gone. Anything I could’ve felt from the bullies who now laid across the ground would be nothing compared to this last beating.
And then I half-regretted my wish for today to be different. I didn’t want this day to be my last day. But at least it was different. Living life without any color isn’t worth living.
It would come quick, I already knew that...
A flash came to my mind from Drivers Ed that if you let your body go limp before a car wreck, you have a much greater chance of surviving, or maybe I was just making it up at the moment. Whatever it was, I decided to try to relax, I’m not sure if I actually did though...
And then it happened, unavoidably so...
Hot metal grazed my arm, immediately sending searing pain up through it. Bones must have cracked, and skin must have been cut, but in that instance I just kept my eyes closed. It helped deaden the terrible sound the truck was making, now harmonizing with my own scream.
And then I felt the flying sensation as my body whipped itself up over the hood of the truck. It was a strange sensation at first - exhilarating, yet terrifying all the same. With body limp and eyes shut, I reveled in this last bit of excitement before I knew the end must come.
It lasted only seconds, and then nothing but total darkness surrounded me as I struck the ground, bouncing aggressively across the pavement. Loud thuds sounded, and pinpoint sensations of pain flew through the air with each bounce. The darkness continued to surround me - it almost felt like a flickering of a flame, slowly being snuffed out. My mind only seemed to exist now in some unwaking land caught between consciousness and dream.
I could feel myself stop against something hard in the road, my body completely unresponsive to my mind.  I knew it must be so, but I didn’t want to acknowledge it - I must be dying.
Coldness replaced the darkness. From somewhere far away, I could hear the muffled voice of Max yelling something to me. It was almost annoying - I just wanted to give in.
I tried to reply, but nothing responded.
All I could do was wait for it to stop.
My heart slowed - I could feel erratic beats coming from it now. Everything was chaos inside and out as the commotion from everyone running around synced what was happening inside my body.
Breathing became difficult, almost like it was being crushed out of me by a pair of vise-grips. As much as I fought, it wouldn’t continue.
And then my heart gave one last beat, nearly pounding out of my chest. It stopped, along with my breath.
And I knew I couldn’t turn back.
My body had lost the battle, and yet somehow I still existed to witness it.
The coldness and darkness surrounded me completely, threatening to engulf this last consciousness I held on to.
This was it...
I was dying.

I was dead.


**Thank you for reading chapter one of I am Unbroken. Please feel free to contact me for comments and more information regarding the full book, which is already finished. The book continues on as Gavin Ashmore (he doesn't really die) enters into the Otherworld, learning he is the Unbroken, a long line of curse bearers keeping the evil being Cain imprisoned. During his travels he will meet with hot guardian angels, spirits with amazing powers, and friends that will ultimately betray him.
**I am attempting to secure a book publishing deal, and hope to release the full book in 2016. Thank you for being a part of this.