Showing posts with label Adam Gonzales. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Adam Gonzales. Show all posts
Thursday, August 6, 2009
looming.
Everything on ink-link is being put on hold for right now. The founders of ink-link (Adam Gonzales, Chris Avila, and Nick Vera) have come up with something far grander than we ever imagined. It is coming, and it is coming soon. The proportionate size of its epic-ness cannot be even described through words. Keep checking back to see more!
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
new ink-link members wanted.
We at ink-link have decided to add two new members to our team to create an even wider sense of diversity. At the moment we have all decided that a female author would add something to the group that we could not otherwise achieve. We are also looking for another male author as well. You can be a poet, a short-story writer, a novelist; it does not matter. The only requirements we ask are availability to meet at least twice a week to talk over projects and ideas, and residency in the Arizona Chandler/Gilbert area. Please notify us if you are at all interested and send us an excerpt of one of your works so that we can see if you are what we are looking for. We will be notifying our new members as soon as possible! Keep checking back. Thanks! -ink-link inkorporated
steampunk project (project #2).
Our Sci-Fi project has officially ended and we have all been pleased with what we have come up with. As our next project, we have decided to do a Short-Story in the genre of Steampunk. Steampunk is classified as ANY genre with the added ingredient of industrial presence. For example, the movie Wild Wild West is a Western in the genre of Steampunk. Our project will be single space 12 font up to five pages long, and we will not share our exact stories with each other in order to secure originality. Who knows? We may get a fantasy, alternate history, and western from tyhe three of us but all in the genre of Steampunk. So! Have fun and check back from us. We will be posting our stories as soon as Nick gets back from Chicago, so it'll be a few weeks. Keep checking back though! Thanks! -Adam
Saturday, July 4, 2009
xetragade.
So this is my first Sci-Fi type short story that I have ever written. It is not your stereotypical Sci-Fi in the sense that the only real Sci-Fi feel you get is the fact that it's in the future and there is a mention of robotic technology. Everything else is what it is like today. This project did not take me as long as I thought it would and I had a TON of fun working on it. Please enjoy, and let me know what you think!
Xetragade
By Adam Gonzales
The deep movements beneath the murky water sent soft ripples across the glassy pool. The Dutch spectators leaned forward in their seats trying to get a better view of what was held in the slick fiberglass-enforced tank, clutching the bottom of their seats until their knuckles throbbed white. The churning bubbles that flitted across the top of the almost black water were eyed by the many rows of families and business men that filled the cold white bleachers. A sudden loud beep rang through the air and continued at a steady pattern of exactly thirty beeps per minute, but the spectators did not even so much as bat an eyelid. Probably they were too engrossed in what lay at the bottom of the pool, but it was shocking still that they seemed so unfazed by the abruptness of the strident noise. The sky was orange and dusty, and despite the hollow rushing of the wind and the precise pattern of the beeping, the crowd remained absolutely silent. Time put itself on hold as the half-eaten bags of popcorn and hot dog wrappers fluttered slowly beneath the feet of the seemingly lifeless audience. Even the children, usually restless and bursting with uncontrollable energy, had been tamed by the moment; their eyes dark and wide, locking onto the calm surface of the glossy water, waiting for Xetragade to show itself.
* * *
The scientists at Muiden Harbour had been busily piecing together the mystery that was Xetragade for years. Hidden under the tourists’ noses within the walls of a small warehouse near one of the docks, the scientists had poised secrecy with productivity. Although the government had established the testing to last only three years, the Xetragade Initiative proved to be difficult to assemble correctly and was thus granted an extended ten year development plan. It was not long before the rusty warehouse walls were replaced by the slick white of the plexi-steel, and that the testing facilities were moved under the new ocean theme park that was being erected. Not that the scientists objected; it was quite fitting. For Xetragade to be accumulated under an ocean park was nothing short of ironic. The scientists knew that they would be able to experiment on the tourists above without their knowledge by placing slight traces of various serums within their purchased drinks, and without any harm. So when the park was erected, they made sure to attract as many tourists as possible. Everything in Muiden was perfect. Everything in Holland was perfect. And nothing could hinder the progress of Xetragade.
Then there was the announcement of Holland’s resignation from the U.N. At first it came as a shock that could barely be compared to anything that had happened before to the Dutch people. But when the rest of the U.N. slowly followed suit, the people of Holland quickly shifted their emotions from astonishment to fear. There had been rumor of an international epidemic, but mostly it was thought to be gossip and propaganda. The U.N., acknowledging some sort of viral scare, had apparently decided that due to the evident chaos that was going to flood the world, it was only right for each country to focus on their individual survival. Media buzzed, people yelled, but still there was no answer to the question that rang in everyone’s mind: what was the epidemic? Government officials had mentioned little about what was suspected to be the threat, but many had whispered something about the fish. To the people of Muiden, Holland, fishing was a way of life. So when word spread that the cause had been aquatic, there became a steady decline in the market. Not that it mattered; the decline in the market simply reflected the decline in government stability. Confined trepidation was soon shifted into uncontrollable bedlam as more and more of the Dutch people found themselves wondering if they would make it through the night alive.
It was not long before world officials declared the Viral Rotsje Epidermal Piscus Virus, or VREPV, the cause of the mass panic. Although the origins of the virus were not detrimental to humans, it had been discovered that the German authorities had been developing viral weapons using different viruses ten years prior, including VREPV. Originating from a fusion between the non-lethal Viral Hemorrhagic Septicemia Virus and the deadly Toxic Epidermal Necrolysis, VREPV was incurable and impossible to destroy. At first it had been confined to the workspace of the German scientists, but after the government’s disbandment of the test facilities, it had been discovered that the viral experimentations had been tossed into the North Sea, where both Holland and the U.K. received their main supply of the fish market. Trade between the U.K. and the rest of the world ensured that the infected fish in the North Sea were globally expanded. Smaller landlocked countries that did not necessarily find themselves in the fish market, such as Hungary, Botswana, Nepal, and Paraguay were more or less safe until the Spread of 2026. At first only the countries that bordered the ocean had been affected—it was not until later when the virus was discovered to be transferable by touch that landlocked countries had been receiving massive breakouts via human hosts. It was spreading, and it was spreading fast.
Skin rotted throughout the world, no one was safe. Controlled news broadcasts stated that the rotted skin flakes in the air could dissolve and travel on the air currents from place to place. At night government trucks would sweep the streets, spraying disinfectant into the air. It was a futile attempt, as everyone knew it was, but the presence of the government kept families from giving up entirely. Time went on and slowly the population began to dwindle. Soon every door remained locked, every window chained. The brave could be seen making fast trips to general stores in search of clean food and clothes. But, as it always does, the inevitable stuck loud and hard. Every family, every businessman, every government official of Holland found themselves slowly shedding their skin. The point of fear and panic had faded into grim acceptance, and the streets were soon filled with a silent huddled mass of a dying people. No one talked—no one saw the point. There would be an occasional gurgle of laughter from a small adolescent on the street, but it would quickly fade away when the child peered into the lifeless eyes of his elders. The only sense of life came from the caw of the birds in the sky and the desperation for clothes. Clothes were they only comfort that the people had; it was thought that it could be possible that if one was protected by clothes that their skin would stay intact longer—failed attempts at menial security, definitely, but it was all that the people of Holland had.
The people began to become more and more lethargic, until they were so lackluster that they did not even notice the government’s disintegration. Everyone was still human, but there was no life left in their eyes. Quiet spread across the world and the only thing keeping the human race from becoming extinct was the sole fact that the disease took months to completely devour a human host. The pain had become so customary that the only acknowledgment that the people showed of it was their habitual scratching and peeling of the skin. Many of the people of Holland had retained normal cerebral activities, but because of VREPV’s rapid deteriorating properties, there were some who had lost major amounts of brain tissue, rendering them almost mindless. But it was those who still understood the world around them that finally came upon the secret that was Xetragade. It had been widely known that there had been strange goings-on within the high white walls of the aquatic amusement park at Muiden. Noises could be heard nightly, quiet thumps, beeps, and screeches barely audible to the human ear. Almost two months had passed since the government’s fall when the people finally had the mind to investigate. It was not a raid; no it was something far less than that. Just a simple inquiry into what was supposedly a vacant theme park. So a slow procession of businessmen, tired adults, and small children trudged into the brilliantly white gates of what was known simply as Whale World.
Dressed to the teeth in the finest clothes, the people searched for the hushed sounds of a persistent beeping while their skinned gradually peeled away. It was when they came upon the large tank that once bore host to the Harbour’s famous killer whale, that the people pinpointed the source of the sound. Towards the back of the arena was a heavy steel hatch ingrained into the cement ground. Every two seconds a beep could be heard resonating from beneath the door. But the people dared not open it. For standing over the door were three men dressed in white, rubber, radiation suits. Their faces were obstructed by a glossy silver visor, and there only sign that was given of their humanity was the loud breathing that could be heard coming from their respirators. The people were too drained and languid to even consider running, but the fear on their faces showed their desires. The men in the suits stepped forward, and one pointed directly to the large tank of water. He spoke in a deep and airy voice that frightened the people; they had not heard any form of speech since the government had sprayed the streets.
“There is Xetragade. There is your savior.”
That was all he said. He spoke, and then he directed them with a gesture of his hand to the bleachers. Nothing more, nothing less.
And so the people waited. They clung to the edge of their seats and watched intently as the bubbles in the black water rose slowly to the surface, as the sky turned a dusty orange, and as the popcorn bags scattered beneath their feet. The men in the white suits stood just outside the hatch with their arms neatly crossed. The door flung open and the muffled beeping beneath became suddenly loud and clear. Thirty beeps per minute, one beep every two seconds. A fourth man rose out of the hatch, and looked to the other three. Although his face could not be seen behind the slick silver visor, his posture said enough. It was time. They all walk slowly and deliberately down the hatch and closed it tightly behind them with a loud click. They had known the time would come, for after all that was why Xetragade had been fashioned; that was its purpose.
All throughout the rest of the world, similar actions were being taken. Aquatic theme parks that had been constructed ten years prior to the Spread of 2026 were luring in remaining sentient infected via soft and soothing noises. They would find a hatch. There would be men in white suits. And always there was promise of a savior.
“There is Terragade. There is your savior.”
“There is Celtagade. There is your savior.”
“There is Aussigade. There is your savior.”
Always the same. Three men greeted, one man led them down into an airtight hatch. It was not something that had been planned by any means, not in the normal sense at least. The Gades had been a precaution, a simple means to stop such an epidemic. They were not planned on being used, but the time had undeniably come. Arenas around the world were filled with people who felt promise in the air. Arenas around the world were filled with people who watched dark pools of water with intense deliberation. Arenas around the world were filled with people who saw the bubbles rise. And arenas around the world were filled with people who were going to die.
The teams of scientists had kept themselves globally connected with remote radio locators, and had carefully kept their spaces beneath the aquatic parks clean and sterile. None of them had been diagnosed with VREPV, and none of them had let loose the secret of the Gades. They had busily filled their labs with food, clothes, and all the necessary products to last them until VREPV had ebbed away with time as soon as the epidemic had been confirmed. Everything was sanitary, everything was usable. Nothing was sullied. And so they had, together, planned the rebirth of the human race with precise calculation. After doing tests on flakes of dead skin they had discovered that VREPV receded after completely destroying the epidermis; cells in the air were only able to spread the virus because they were still clinging to living skin. So the scientists had planned their wait so that they could live after the virus had vanished. But their supplies were beginning to wane, and the people were still not dying fast enough. So the Gade Initiative was called into effect. The purpose of the Gades was to destroy viruses that harbored no host, not humans. But with resolute ambition they had been reprogrammed to terminate hosts of virus so as to further the process of VREPV’s dissolution. With the infected gone, there would once again be promise and hope upon the face of the earth.
At approximately 3:42pm Central European Summer Time, the Gades rose out of the water. They had been built in the image of fish with arms. Making them aquatic ensured to protect them from the harshness of weather and cruel human eyes. Their sleek and dark texture was frightening to behold, but still the people in the arena in Muiden, Holland did not move. Maybe the virus had taken its toll, or maybe the people were contented in knowing that their pain was about to end. Whatever the reason, the Gades found no resistance against their programmed objective. They were ready. It was time.
Dust rose into the orange sky as the clock moved its hands to 3:45pm CEST. That was how long it took. No struggle, no crying, no pain. The Gades had slumped quietly back into the water where their optical intakes flashed red just before they shut down. A still quiet spread across the planet and for the next fifteen months not a single human form walked its surface. The Gades had done what they had been made to do. The Gades had saved mankind.
Xetragade
By Adam Gonzales
The deep movements beneath the murky water sent soft ripples across the glassy pool. The Dutch spectators leaned forward in their seats trying to get a better view of what was held in the slick fiberglass-enforced tank, clutching the bottom of their seats until their knuckles throbbed white. The churning bubbles that flitted across the top of the almost black water were eyed by the many rows of families and business men that filled the cold white bleachers. A sudden loud beep rang through the air and continued at a steady pattern of exactly thirty beeps per minute, but the spectators did not even so much as bat an eyelid. Probably they were too engrossed in what lay at the bottom of the pool, but it was shocking still that they seemed so unfazed by the abruptness of the strident noise. The sky was orange and dusty, and despite the hollow rushing of the wind and the precise pattern of the beeping, the crowd remained absolutely silent. Time put itself on hold as the half-eaten bags of popcorn and hot dog wrappers fluttered slowly beneath the feet of the seemingly lifeless audience. Even the children, usually restless and bursting with uncontrollable energy, had been tamed by the moment; their eyes dark and wide, locking onto the calm surface of the glossy water, waiting for Xetragade to show itself.* * *
The scientists at Muiden Harbour had been busily piecing together the mystery that was Xetragade for years. Hidden under the tourists’ noses within the walls of a small warehouse near one of the docks, the scientists had poised secrecy with productivity. Although the government had established the testing to last only three years, the Xetragade Initiative proved to be difficult to assemble correctly and was thus granted an extended ten year development plan. It was not long before the rusty warehouse walls were replaced by the slick white of the plexi-steel, and that the testing facilities were moved under the new ocean theme park that was being erected. Not that the scientists objected; it was quite fitting. For Xetragade to be accumulated under an ocean park was nothing short of ironic. The scientists knew that they would be able to experiment on the tourists above without their knowledge by placing slight traces of various serums within their purchased drinks, and without any harm. So when the park was erected, they made sure to attract as many tourists as possible. Everything in Muiden was perfect. Everything in Holland was perfect. And nothing could hinder the progress of Xetragade.
Then there was the announcement of Holland’s resignation from the U.N. At first it came as a shock that could barely be compared to anything that had happened before to the Dutch people. But when the rest of the U.N. slowly followed suit, the people of Holland quickly shifted their emotions from astonishment to fear. There had been rumor of an international epidemic, but mostly it was thought to be gossip and propaganda. The U.N., acknowledging some sort of viral scare, had apparently decided that due to the evident chaos that was going to flood the world, it was only right for each country to focus on their individual survival. Media buzzed, people yelled, but still there was no answer to the question that rang in everyone’s mind: what was the epidemic? Government officials had mentioned little about what was suspected to be the threat, but many had whispered something about the fish. To the people of Muiden, Holland, fishing was a way of life. So when word spread that the cause had been aquatic, there became a steady decline in the market. Not that it mattered; the decline in the market simply reflected the decline in government stability. Confined trepidation was soon shifted into uncontrollable bedlam as more and more of the Dutch people found themselves wondering if they would make it through the night alive.
It was not long before world officials declared the Viral Rotsje Epidermal Piscus Virus, or VREPV, the cause of the mass panic. Although the origins of the virus were not detrimental to humans, it had been discovered that the German authorities had been developing viral weapons using different viruses ten years prior, including VREPV. Originating from a fusion between the non-lethal Viral Hemorrhagic Septicemia Virus and the deadly Toxic Epidermal Necrolysis, VREPV was incurable and impossible to destroy. At first it had been confined to the workspace of the German scientists, but after the government’s disbandment of the test facilities, it had been discovered that the viral experimentations had been tossed into the North Sea, where both Holland and the U.K. received their main supply of the fish market. Trade between the U.K. and the rest of the world ensured that the infected fish in the North Sea were globally expanded. Smaller landlocked countries that did not necessarily find themselves in the fish market, such as Hungary, Botswana, Nepal, and Paraguay were more or less safe until the Spread of 2026. At first only the countries that bordered the ocean had been affected—it was not until later when the virus was discovered to be transferable by touch that landlocked countries had been receiving massive breakouts via human hosts. It was spreading, and it was spreading fast.
Skin rotted throughout the world, no one was safe. Controlled news broadcasts stated that the rotted skin flakes in the air could dissolve and travel on the air currents from place to place. At night government trucks would sweep the streets, spraying disinfectant into the air. It was a futile attempt, as everyone knew it was, but the presence of the government kept families from giving up entirely. Time went on and slowly the population began to dwindle. Soon every door remained locked, every window chained. The brave could be seen making fast trips to general stores in search of clean food and clothes. But, as it always does, the inevitable stuck loud and hard. Every family, every businessman, every government official of Holland found themselves slowly shedding their skin. The point of fear and panic had faded into grim acceptance, and the streets were soon filled with a silent huddled mass of a dying people. No one talked—no one saw the point. There would be an occasional gurgle of laughter from a small adolescent on the street, but it would quickly fade away when the child peered into the lifeless eyes of his elders. The only sense of life came from the caw of the birds in the sky and the desperation for clothes. Clothes were they only comfort that the people had; it was thought that it could be possible that if one was protected by clothes that their skin would stay intact longer—failed attempts at menial security, definitely, but it was all that the people of Holland had.The people began to become more and more lethargic, until they were so lackluster that they did not even notice the government’s disintegration. Everyone was still human, but there was no life left in their eyes. Quiet spread across the world and the only thing keeping the human race from becoming extinct was the sole fact that the disease took months to completely devour a human host. The pain had become so customary that the only acknowledgment that the people showed of it was their habitual scratching and peeling of the skin. Many of the people of Holland had retained normal cerebral activities, but because of VREPV’s rapid deteriorating properties, there were some who had lost major amounts of brain tissue, rendering them almost mindless. But it was those who still understood the world around them that finally came upon the secret that was Xetragade. It had been widely known that there had been strange goings-on within the high white walls of the aquatic amusement park at Muiden. Noises could be heard nightly, quiet thumps, beeps, and screeches barely audible to the human ear. Almost two months had passed since the government’s fall when the people finally had the mind to investigate. It was not a raid; no it was something far less than that. Just a simple inquiry into what was supposedly a vacant theme park. So a slow procession of businessmen, tired adults, and small children trudged into the brilliantly white gates of what was known simply as Whale World.
Dressed to the teeth in the finest clothes, the people searched for the hushed sounds of a persistent beeping while their skinned gradually peeled away. It was when they came upon the large tank that once bore host to the Harbour’s famous killer whale, that the people pinpointed the source of the sound. Towards the back of the arena was a heavy steel hatch ingrained into the cement ground. Every two seconds a beep could be heard resonating from beneath the door. But the people dared not open it. For standing over the door were three men dressed in white, rubber, radiation suits. Their faces were obstructed by a glossy silver visor, and there only sign that was given of their humanity was the loud breathing that could be heard coming from their respirators. The people were too drained and languid to even consider running, but the fear on their faces showed their desires. The men in the suits stepped forward, and one pointed directly to the large tank of water. He spoke in a deep and airy voice that frightened the people; they had not heard any form of speech since the government had sprayed the streets.
“There is Xetragade. There is your savior.”
That was all he said. He spoke, and then he directed them with a gesture of his hand to the bleachers. Nothing more, nothing less.
And so the people waited. They clung to the edge of their seats and watched intently as the bubbles in the black water rose slowly to the surface, as the sky turned a dusty orange, and as the popcorn bags scattered beneath their feet. The men in the white suits stood just outside the hatch with their arms neatly crossed. The door flung open and the muffled beeping beneath became suddenly loud and clear. Thirty beeps per minute, one beep every two seconds. A fourth man rose out of the hatch, and looked to the other three. Although his face could not be seen behind the slick silver visor, his posture said enough. It was time. They all walk slowly and deliberately down the hatch and closed it tightly behind them with a loud click. They had known the time would come, for after all that was why Xetragade had been fashioned; that was its purpose.
All throughout the rest of the world, similar actions were being taken. Aquatic theme parks that had been constructed ten years prior to the Spread of 2026 were luring in remaining sentient infected via soft and soothing noises. They would find a hatch. There would be men in white suits. And always there was promise of a savior.
“There is Terragade. There is your savior.”
“There is Celtagade. There is your savior.”
“There is Aussigade. There is your savior.”
Always the same. Three men greeted, one man led them down into an airtight hatch. It was not something that had been planned by any means, not in the normal sense at least. The Gades had been a precaution, a simple means to stop such an epidemic. They were not planned on being used, but the time had undeniably come. Arenas around the world were filled with people who felt promise in the air. Arenas around the world were filled with people who watched dark pools of water with intense deliberation. Arenas around the world were filled with people who saw the bubbles rise. And arenas around the world were filled with people who were going to die.
The teams of scientists had kept themselves globally connected with remote radio locators, and had carefully kept their spaces beneath the aquatic parks clean and sterile. None of them had been diagnosed with VREPV, and none of them had let loose the secret of the Gades. They had busily filled their labs with food, clothes, and all the necessary products to last them until VREPV had ebbed away with time as soon as the epidemic had been confirmed. Everything was sanitary, everything was usable. Nothing was sullied. And so they had, together, planned the rebirth of the human race with precise calculation. After doing tests on flakes of dead skin they had discovered that VREPV receded after completely destroying the epidermis; cells in the air were only able to spread the virus because they were still clinging to living skin. So the scientists had planned their wait so that they could live after the virus had vanished. But their supplies were beginning to wane, and the people were still not dying fast enough. So the Gade Initiative was called into effect. The purpose of the Gades was to destroy viruses that harbored no host, not humans. But with resolute ambition they had been reprogrammed to terminate hosts of virus so as to further the process of VREPV’s dissolution. With the infected gone, there would once again be promise and hope upon the face of the earth.
At approximately 3:42pm Central European Summer Time, the Gades rose out of the water. They had been built in the image of fish with arms. Making them aquatic ensured to protect them from the harshness of weather and cruel human eyes. Their sleek and dark texture was frightening to behold, but still the people in the arena in Muiden, Holland did not move. Maybe the virus had taken its toll, or maybe the people were contented in knowing that their pain was about to end. Whatever the reason, the Gades found no resistance against their programmed objective. They were ready. It was time.Dust rose into the orange sky as the clock moved its hands to 3:45pm CEST. That was how long it took. No struggle, no crying, no pain. The Gades had slumped quietly back into the water where their optical intakes flashed red just before they shut down. A still quiet spread across the planet and for the next fifteen months not a single human form walked its surface. The Gades had done what they had been made to do. The Gades had saved mankind.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
bleeding sun preview.
This is a preview to the fifth book in my book series, The Tarterrior Series. The book, called Bleeding Sun
is probably my personal favorite because of the interactions bewtween the two characters of Kala Roote and Alsenoth Ongeller. This scene is one of the first in the book, so please enjoy!
Bleeding Sun Excerpt
By Adam Gonzales
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Alsenoth was trying to convince Kala otherwise.
“Yes, Alsey.”
“And are you sure that your room filled with light after you woke up from your nightmare?”
Kala gave him a look. The look, rather. It was funny how she was able to unexpectedly demand control with her eyes. She was two years younger than Alsenoth—thirty-three—and yet she was still able to make him feel smaller than her in every way. He knew he was fighting in an argument that he could not win.
“I just want to make sure, Kala. Stimdärt abilities are difficult to control. It’s tiring and you’re going to have to be under extreme agitation while you train. So….” He paused.
Kala gave him a curious look. “So, what?”
Alsenoth looked distractedly to his side. “So I’m going to have to hit you.”
Kala’s eyes widened. “What!?”
“Yes, err…. See? I told you this wasn’t a great idea!”
“Right. To agitate me you have to hit me? You can’t yell at me or something?”
“That’s not how it works, Kala. And I’m not going to yell at you.”
“But you’ll hit me.”
Alsenoth growled in irritation. “Kala, we can do this another time. I mean you can even just wait until we do your regular sword training, if you want.”
Kala smile. “Ugh! Fine! Hit me, then!” She bent her knees, folded her wings across her back, and stuck her neck forward. A big grin on her face, she tapped her cheek with her left hand. “Come on, Alsey! Right here!”
Alsenoth shook his head, his eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to hit you now, Kala. I’m not dumb enough to just—”
“No, come on! Seriously, hit me!”
“Kala if this is some sort of joke—”
“Hit me!”
Alsenoth threw his fist against Kala’s cheek. She flipped around and snarled, placing her claw against her face. When she turned back around to face Alsenoth, her eyes and pupils were a deep shade of ruby; a clear sign of Stimdärt power. Her cheek was cut from the impact of the punch and blood was trickling down her face.
“What did you do that for?”
Alsenoth was flustered, taken completely off-guard. He widened his eyes in fear—horrified that he had actually hurt his best friend. “But you asked me to hit you! Insisted, if I rightly recollect! Are you okay? I mean, I didn’t mean to hit you that hard!”
He bent down and knelt at her side. She had an angry look on her face. “I know I told you to, but I didn’t think that you’d actually do it; I was trying to prove a point!”
“I’m sorry Kala. I was just trying to help you tap into your Stimdärt abilities.”
Kala sighed. “I know. I’m not mad. I’m just…shocked at how much it hurt.”
Alsenoth raised his brow. “Oh, is that all? I thought you were mad at me?”
“I can be if you’d like,” she pouted with her face and gave Alsenoth the look.
Alsenoth just chuckled. “I’m sorry Kala, but it was either that or cutting you.”
Kala lifted her claw off of her face to reveal her bleeding cheek. She flashed him a sarcastic smile. “Oh we wouldn’t want that now, would we?”
Alsenoth grinned. “No, of course not. But either way it still worked.”
“What do you mean?”
Alsenoth stood up and looked at her. “Well for one thing, your eyes are all ruby—which, might I add, makes you look very pretty,” Kala shifted at this remark, “And secondly, if you look at your claws you’ll see that they’re shining.”
Kala looked down. Alsenoth was right: bright yellow light was swimming lazily around her claws, twinkling in the sun’s rays. She looked up happily to Alsenoth, a giant grin on her face—the same smile that had always reminded him of the sun. “See, Alsey? I told you I wasn’t joking! Now do you believe me?”
Alsenoth smiled; more to himself than to Kala. “I never said that I didn’t believe you, Kala. There’s no way that I could never believe you.”
is probably my personal favorite because of the interactions bewtween the two characters of Kala Roote and Alsenoth Ongeller. This scene is one of the first in the book, so please enjoy!
Bleeding Sun Excerpt
By Adam Gonzales
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Alsenoth was trying to convince Kala otherwise.“Yes, Alsey.”
“And are you sure that your room filled with light after you woke up from your nightmare?”
Kala gave him a look. The look, rather. It was funny how she was able to unexpectedly demand control with her eyes. She was two years younger than Alsenoth—thirty-three—and yet she was still able to make him feel smaller than her in every way. He knew he was fighting in an argument that he could not win.
“I just want to make sure, Kala. Stimdärt abilities are difficult to control. It’s tiring and you’re going to have to be under extreme agitation while you train. So….” He paused.
Kala gave him a curious look. “So, what?”
Alsenoth looked distractedly to his side. “So I’m going to have to hit you.”
Kala’s eyes widened. “What!?”
“Yes, err…. See? I told you this wasn’t a great idea!”
“Right. To agitate me you have to hit me? You can’t yell at me or something?”
“That’s not how it works, Kala. And I’m not going to yell at you.”
“But you’ll hit me.”
Alsenoth growled in irritation. “Kala, we can do this another time. I mean you can even just wait until we do your regular sword training, if you want.”
Kala smile. “Ugh! Fine! Hit me, then!” She bent her knees, folded her wings across her back, and stuck her neck forward. A big grin on her face, she tapped her cheek with her left hand. “Come on, Alsey! Right here!”
Alsenoth shook his head, his eyes narrowed. “I’m not going to hit you now, Kala. I’m not dumb enough to just—”
“No, come on! Seriously, hit me!”
“Kala if this is some sort of joke—”
“Hit me!”
Alsenoth threw his fist against Kala’s cheek. She flipped around and snarled, placing her claw against her face. When she turned back around to face Alsenoth, her eyes and pupils were a deep shade of ruby; a clear sign of Stimdärt power. Her cheek was cut from the impact of the punch and blood was trickling down her face.
“What did you do that for?”
Alsenoth was flustered, taken completely off-guard. He widened his eyes in fear—horrified that he had actually hurt his best friend. “But you asked me to hit you! Insisted, if I rightly recollect! Are you okay? I mean, I didn’t mean to hit you that hard!”
He bent down and knelt at her side. She had an angry look on her face. “I know I told you to, but I didn’t think that you’d actually do it; I was trying to prove a point!”
“I’m sorry Kala. I was just trying to help you tap into your Stimdärt abilities.”
Kala sighed. “I know. I’m not mad. I’m just…shocked at how much it hurt.”
Alsenoth raised his brow. “Oh, is that all? I thought you were mad at me?”
“I can be if you’d like,” she pouted with her face and gave Alsenoth the look.
Alsenoth just chuckled. “I’m sorry Kala, but it was either that or cutting you.”
Kala lifted her claw off of her face to reveal her bleeding cheek. She flashed him a sarcastic smile. “Oh we wouldn’t want that now, would we?”
Alsenoth grinned. “No, of course not. But either way it still worked.”
“What do you mean?”
Alsenoth stood up and looked at her. “Well for one thing, your eyes are all ruby—which, might I add, makes you look very pretty,” Kala shifted at this remark, “And secondly, if you look at your claws you’ll see that they’re shining.”
Kala looked down. Alsenoth was right: bright yellow light was swimming lazily around her claws, twinkling in the sun’s rays. She looked up happily to Alsenoth, a giant grin on her face—the same smile that had always reminded him of the sun. “See, Alsey? I told you I wasn’t joking! Now do you believe me?”
Alsenoth smiled; more to himself than to Kala. “I never said that I didn’t believe you, Kala. There’s no way that I could never believe you.”
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
sci-fi project (project #1).
Nick had the privilege of choosing our first writing project. We are taking on the challenge of writing a Sci-Fi piece under the strict rules that it cannot be more than four pages single spaced. This way you can see how each of is gets a beginning, middle, and end within the same amount of space. We will be posting at the end of next week, and each of our pieces will be COMPLETELY different due to the fact that neither of the other two will see what the others have written until it has been posted on the blog. Check back at the end of next week for our projects, and keep checking back daily to see works that we have already written and that will be posted on the site. Thanks! -Adam
the courting of the sun and the moon.
This poem was for a project in my Creative Writing Class that turned into something a little bit more. I enjoyed writing this poem SO much. It is reflective on two characters from The Tarterrior Series, which I am currently writing, and I hope to be able to make it into a song on my Finding the 88 Keys on How to Write Piano Music blog. I hope you enjoy it! Thanks!
The Courting of the Sun and Moon
By Adam Gonzales
Why is it that when the Sun goes down
All the lights in the sky don’t stay around
Well the Moon is there and wears his white clothes
And he shares her light that much he knows
And why is it that the Sun returns to the sky
But the foolish Moon decides some nights to hide
The Sun never fails to shine her light on the earth
So why does the Moon chose to hide from her
Well the Sun never sets it just shines elsewhere
But it’s true that the Moon might just disappear
And the Sun won’t complain she’ll just lend him her light
So if he comes out he can shine bright at night
Yes it’s true that the Moon wears pure white clothes
For the Sun cleans them well so that he can show
How much he loves life even if he is scared
So he shows her his love and the life he’s prepared
Now the Moon has stepped up, he shines bright all month long
And all because he lives off her sweet song
Her rays warm him all through the day and the night
And he vows to forever be her true satellite
The Courting of the Sun and Moon
By Adam Gonzales
Why is it that when the Sun goes downAll the lights in the sky don’t stay around
Well the Moon is there and wears his white clothes
And he shares her light that much he knows
And why is it that the Sun returns to the sky
But the foolish Moon decides some nights to hide
The Sun never fails to shine her light on the earth
So why does the Moon chose to hide from her
Well the Sun never sets it just shines elsewhere
But it’s true that the Moon might just disappear
And the Sun won’t complain she’ll just lend him her light
So if he comes out he can shine bright at night
Yes it’s true that the Moon wears pure white clothes
For the Sun cleans them well so that he can show
How much he loves life even if he is scared
So he shows her his love and the life he’s prepared
Now the Moon has stepped up, he shines bright all month long
And all because he lives off her sweet song
Her rays warm him all through the day and the night
And he vows to forever be her true satellite
the death of isaac brunelle.
This story is VERY dear to me. It was an assignment for my Creative Writing class, but it turned into something MUCH more. This story is semi-reflective on something that has happened to me and I really enjoy the emotional depth that it holds. Please let me know what you think as I hope to turn this into a full-fledged book AFTER I have written my eight book series. Until then, I'm not planning on touching it. Thanks!
The Death of Isaac Brunelle
By Adam Gonzales
It was the day I died in every direction.
I’m sure I had it coming—in fact I knew I did; I had been asking for it. But as it goes with all things that we wish for, it didn’t turn out the way I thought it would.
It was early November. The trees were molting the last of their fiery leaves and the wind was getting cold enough to slice through skin. I was walking through the brazen colors of my grandparent’s orchard when I noticed Collette sitting on a wooden stump just past the row of trees. Her hair was smooth and straight, only curving upward at the ends. The breeze rushed against her face, sending tendrils of blonde strings to pass in front of her amber eyes.
I walked up to her, offering her my brown hoodie. She gave me a quick nod as I sat down in the orange pile of leaves next to her, and pressed the jacket to her cold cheeks. “It smells good,” she said happily.
“Huh. Haven’t noticed.”
Clouds were forming up above and the wind suddenly decided to speak louder. I was fine in my torn jeans and short-sleeved shirt, but even with the extra warmth of my jacket Collette began to shiver.
“We can go inside, you know.”
She looked at me, water forming in the corners of her eyes. “No. I’m fine.”
We sat there for awhile, letting the leaves whip up against our faces until my curiosity overcame my indifference. I cocked my head to the side, my short brown hair standing up at the back. Furrowing my brow I pulled my legs up against my chest as I turned to Collette.
“So. Why’d you come to the orchard? It’s quite aways from your house. Four blocks, isn’t it?”
“It’s pretty here. I like the trees.”
I rolled my eyes. “Right. Pretty enough to walk practically half a mile to see. I know you better. Why’d you really come?”
Collette’s eyes wandered from tree to burning tree, but I could tell that she was thinking of something else. I stood up, looking down at her with my arms crossed. It was usually easy to read Collette’s thoughts from her facial expressions, but this time she was blank. That really upset me. She was definitely hiding something—and she never did that to me. I pouted with my face.
“Seriously. What’s wrong?”
“Well…”
Her eyes lost their glaze and stared at me with a shadow of concern. ‘Great,’ I thought, ‘I did something stupid, yet again.’
“I heard something about you, Isaac—from Piers.”
Suddenly I felt real cold. If we were talking about Piers, only one thing could be coming. And I wasn’t sure that I was ready to talk about it just yet. I abruptly started shaking, and I was certain the weather had nothing to do with it.
“And?”
She gave me a look. The look, rather. It was funny how she was able to unexpectedly demand control with her eyes. She was a year and a half younger than me—seventeen—and yet she still could make me feel smaller than her in every way. I knew that the conversation was going to end as messy as possible.
Six months earlier I had realized something: I loved Collette. Not the same kind of love that I’m sure other people felt where they would woo and dote over their “catch,” as it were—and certainly not the physical attraction that some believed to be love. No, this was something else entirely. It was just a stronger sense of what I had felt about her before. She was my best friend, and had been my only real friend for quite some time. In fact I was willing to stake all my money on the fact that she knew more about me than even my mother. But the problem was she didn’t know how I felt about her yet. Unless Piers had been a fool and told her.
Piers.
Sad as it was, Piers did know how I felt—although I hadn’t intended for him to ever figure it out. I certainly hadn’t told him, he had just put two and two together. I guess I’m not as subtle as I think I am. But Piers wasn’t the whole of my problems. In fact, he wasn’t the problem at all. The problem was with two people: Claire and Lloyd.
Almost a full eighteen months ago, when she and I had started our friendship, Collette had been in love with me. I had known it, Piers had known it, everyone had known it. The problem was that I liked Collette’s sister, Claire. Truth be told I made such a big deal about liking Claire and everyone made such a big deal about me needing to go out with Collette, that when the time finally had arrived when I realized I loved her I was too stubborn to admit it. I’m not one for being wrong, so I took it as a stab at my dignity when I came to the understanding that everyone had been right. I guess that’s me: the one who goes against the crowd just for the sake of it. I didn’t want everyone to be right, so I had dumbly pretended otherwise.
The other problem was Lloyd. Collette had given up on waiting for me and had found a boyfriend. He was a nice guy—tall and funny—but I guess I looked at it differently; my eyes were clouded. Some part of me was jealous, yes, but there was another part—the part that was her closest friend—that feared for her. I didn’t want anything to go wrong for her; I just wanted her to be happy. And unlike me, she hadn’t tasted how quick the milk could turn sour. So I grew angry with him. For no particular reason other than the fact that he could turn on her. Soon everyone knew it. Except Collette.
“How long have you…” She looked at me expectedly.
I turned away, my face getting the full blast of the wind. It chilled me and my cheeks grew red as I grunted. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Isaac.”
I turned back towards her, my eyes hollowed. “Six months.”
“That’s not what I meant, Isaac. I already knew about that; you’re not that good at hiding your emotions.”
My brow furrowed, showing my confusion. What else could she possibly be talking about? Then it hit me. Lloyd. She did know about my hostility towards Lloyd. My heart sank. There was no way in hell’s fire that she would forgive me for that.
As soon as I had found out about Lloyd, I had suppressed my jealousy towards him in order to mask my feelings for Collette. But as time dragged on and Piers learned of my anger, I told him things. Just simple things that I thought about Lloyd and things that I didn’t want to happen to Collette. Things about Lloyd’s past, and how he would make the same mistakes he had done once already. Things like the way he had mistreated his previous girlfriend and had seduced her into doing things that even he himself didn’t want to do. Things about how he was known to treat people in his anger, and my fear that Collette would be treated the same way. I know that he was good to her in spite of his past—that he hated what he had done in his past, and that he truly was changing—and obviously there was some hate behind those words, but I never thought of them as anything else: just words. But I was known for putting too much emotion behind my words. I knew there must have been animosity behind them, and I knew that the snide remarks I had made would not be taken lightly. Piers must have thought so, too.
He had told his friends about what I had said, and they all had taken it as serious ideas and comments rather than expressed emotion. And so my words spread. Apparently they had even reached Collette’s ears. I knew this wasn’t good, and I knew—given her stubborn personality—she wouldn’t hear me through.
“I heard what you said about Lloyd.”
I gave no reply.
She suddenly looked up at me, sadness in her face and tears in her eyes. It ripped me apart to know that I had done this to her. “Why?”
There was nothing I could say. I just stared blankly at her, my heart to full of regret to even try to explain what had happened.
“Well,” she said sniffing, “I want you to know that what you said reached my mother—and Lloyd’s, too. They both agreed that we should stay away from each other—people have been saying stuff about him, and it’s hard for me to be near him without hearing people say how mean he is.” She inhaled deeply. “So I’m going to ask you for a favor. I-I-I don’t want to do this—really I don’t—but it sort of happened because of you, so I ask: please stay away and don’t talk to me. Okay?”
I nodded grimly and tried to hide the tears in my eyes.
“Okay then,” she said getting up. She left my jacket on the stump and waded her way through the piles of lifeless leaves, crunching them under her short black boots.
I watched as she made her way past the line of blazing trees, past the rows of fire, until she found the cold grey cement of the sidewalk. I had lost my best friend. I had lost my heart’s beat. I had died.
I had deserved it.
I silently let my tears fall as I pulled my jacket into my arms and sat on the tree stump. I let the cold bite my face until it became too much and I had to pull the hoodie to my cheeks. I inhaled deeply. Collette was right; it did smell good.
The Death of Isaac Brunelle
By Adam Gonzales
It was the day I died in every direction.I’m sure I had it coming—in fact I knew I did; I had been asking for it. But as it goes with all things that we wish for, it didn’t turn out the way I thought it would.
It was early November. The trees were molting the last of their fiery leaves and the wind was getting cold enough to slice through skin. I was walking through the brazen colors of my grandparent’s orchard when I noticed Collette sitting on a wooden stump just past the row of trees. Her hair was smooth and straight, only curving upward at the ends. The breeze rushed against her face, sending tendrils of blonde strings to pass in front of her amber eyes.
I walked up to her, offering her my brown hoodie. She gave me a quick nod as I sat down in the orange pile of leaves next to her, and pressed the jacket to her cold cheeks. “It smells good,” she said happily.
“Huh. Haven’t noticed.”
Clouds were forming up above and the wind suddenly decided to speak louder. I was fine in my torn jeans and short-sleeved shirt, but even with the extra warmth of my jacket Collette began to shiver.
“We can go inside, you know.”
She looked at me, water forming in the corners of her eyes. “No. I’m fine.”
We sat there for awhile, letting the leaves whip up against our faces until my curiosity overcame my indifference. I cocked my head to the side, my short brown hair standing up at the back. Furrowing my brow I pulled my legs up against my chest as I turned to Collette.
“So. Why’d you come to the orchard? It’s quite aways from your house. Four blocks, isn’t it?”
“It’s pretty here. I like the trees.”
I rolled my eyes. “Right. Pretty enough to walk practically half a mile to see. I know you better. Why’d you really come?”
Collette’s eyes wandered from tree to burning tree, but I could tell that she was thinking of something else. I stood up, looking down at her with my arms crossed. It was usually easy to read Collette’s thoughts from her facial expressions, but this time she was blank. That really upset me. She was definitely hiding something—and she never did that to me. I pouted with my face.
“Seriously. What’s wrong?”
“Well…”
Her eyes lost their glaze and stared at me with a shadow of concern. ‘Great,’ I thought, ‘I did something stupid, yet again.’
“I heard something about you, Isaac—from Piers.”
Suddenly I felt real cold. If we were talking about Piers, only one thing could be coming. And I wasn’t sure that I was ready to talk about it just yet. I abruptly started shaking, and I was certain the weather had nothing to do with it.
“And?”
She gave me a look. The look, rather. It was funny how she was able to unexpectedly demand control with her eyes. She was a year and a half younger than me—seventeen—and yet she still could make me feel smaller than her in every way. I knew that the conversation was going to end as messy as possible.
Six months earlier I had realized something: I loved Collette. Not the same kind of love that I’m sure other people felt where they would woo and dote over their “catch,” as it were—and certainly not the physical attraction that some believed to be love. No, this was something else entirely. It was just a stronger sense of what I had felt about her before. She was my best friend, and had been my only real friend for quite some time. In fact I was willing to stake all my money on the fact that she knew more about me than even my mother. But the problem was she didn’t know how I felt about her yet. Unless Piers had been a fool and told her.
Piers.
Sad as it was, Piers did know how I felt—although I hadn’t intended for him to ever figure it out. I certainly hadn’t told him, he had just put two and two together. I guess I’m not as subtle as I think I am. But Piers wasn’t the whole of my problems. In fact, he wasn’t the problem at all. The problem was with two people: Claire and Lloyd.
Almost a full eighteen months ago, when she and I had started our friendship, Collette had been in love with me. I had known it, Piers had known it, everyone had known it. The problem was that I liked Collette’s sister, Claire. Truth be told I made such a big deal about liking Claire and everyone made such a big deal about me needing to go out with Collette, that when the time finally had arrived when I realized I loved her I was too stubborn to admit it. I’m not one for being wrong, so I took it as a stab at my dignity when I came to the understanding that everyone had been right. I guess that’s me: the one who goes against the crowd just for the sake of it. I didn’t want everyone to be right, so I had dumbly pretended otherwise.
The other problem was Lloyd. Collette had given up on waiting for me and had found a boyfriend. He was a nice guy—tall and funny—but I guess I looked at it differently; my eyes were clouded. Some part of me was jealous, yes, but there was another part—the part that was her closest friend—that feared for her. I didn’t want anything to go wrong for her; I just wanted her to be happy. And unlike me, she hadn’t tasted how quick the milk could turn sour. So I grew angry with him. For no particular reason other than the fact that he could turn on her. Soon everyone knew it. Except Collette.
“How long have you…” She looked at me expectedly.
I turned away, my face getting the full blast of the wind. It chilled me and my cheeks grew red as I grunted. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Isaac.”
I turned back towards her, my eyes hollowed. “Six months.”
“That’s not what I meant, Isaac. I already knew about that; you’re not that good at hiding your emotions.”
My brow furrowed, showing my confusion. What else could she possibly be talking about? Then it hit me. Lloyd. She did know about my hostility towards Lloyd. My heart sank. There was no way in hell’s fire that she would forgive me for that.
As soon as I had found out about Lloyd, I had suppressed my jealousy towards him in order to mask my feelings for Collette. But as time dragged on and Piers learned of my anger, I told him things. Just simple things that I thought about Lloyd and things that I didn’t want to happen to Collette. Things about Lloyd’s past, and how he would make the same mistakes he had done once already. Things like the way he had mistreated his previous girlfriend and had seduced her into doing things that even he himself didn’t want to do. Things about how he was known to treat people in his anger, and my fear that Collette would be treated the same way. I know that he was good to her in spite of his past—that he hated what he had done in his past, and that he truly was changing—and obviously there was some hate behind those words, but I never thought of them as anything else: just words. But I was known for putting too much emotion behind my words. I knew there must have been animosity behind them, and I knew that the snide remarks I had made would not be taken lightly. Piers must have thought so, too.
He had told his friends about what I had said, and they all had taken it as serious ideas and comments rather than expressed emotion. And so my words spread. Apparently they had even reached Collette’s ears. I knew this wasn’t good, and I knew—given her stubborn personality—she wouldn’t hear me through.
“I heard what you said about Lloyd.”
I gave no reply.
She suddenly looked up at me, sadness in her face and tears in her eyes. It ripped me apart to know that I had done this to her. “Why?”
There was nothing I could say. I just stared blankly at her, my heart to full of regret to even try to explain what had happened.
“Well,” she said sniffing, “I want you to know that what you said reached my mother—and Lloyd’s, too. They both agreed that we should stay away from each other—people have been saying stuff about him, and it’s hard for me to be near him without hearing people say how mean he is.” She inhaled deeply. “So I’m going to ask you for a favor. I-I-I don’t want to do this—really I don’t—but it sort of happened because of you, so I ask: please stay away and don’t talk to me. Okay?”
I nodded grimly and tried to hide the tears in my eyes.
“Okay then,” she said getting up. She left my jacket on the stump and waded her way through the piles of lifeless leaves, crunching them under her short black boots.
I watched as she made her way past the line of blazing trees, past the rows of fire, until she found the cold grey cement of the sidewalk. I had lost my best friend. I had lost my heart’s beat. I had died.
I had deserved it.
I silently let my tears fall as I pulled my jacket into my arms and sat on the tree stump. I let the cold bite my face until it became too much and I had to pull the hoodie to my cheeks. I inhaled deeply. Collette was right; it did smell good.
adam's bio.
Writing is Adam's life. He loves only two things more than he loves writing. Adam's life's goal is to get his epic fantasy, The Tarterrior Series out on the shelves soon and watch as its popularity spreads and grows. Unlike other authors he is in it to simply pass on a good story. The art, the fame, the money means nothing in comparison. Adam's inspiration comes from his best friend who wisely told him he was wasting his talent if he wasn't writing, so here he is! Adam finds that nothing can compare to the thrill that he gets when writing. Often, when he is not writing, he can be found either reading, singing, playing piano, or drawing. Most of his spare time is spent in writing his book series.
The Tarterrior series is an eight part story in which the origin and the lives of dragons are related. The story follows-for the most part-Wreaknatter Drudlok and his two threats to power, Alsenoth Ongeller and Markus Lumengar. The story, told through a narrative switch style, is the rise and fall of Wreaknatter, the evil Lord of Carthraith and how his actions effect the world of Tarterrior. Told in the span of 112 years, the story is split into three parts: The Overture of Wreaknatter (2 years), the Rise of Wreaknatter (95 years), and the Struggle and Fall of Wreaknatter (15 years).
Other than the Tarterrior Series, Adam is writing two musicals including The Merry Crew of Captain Kidd, as well as posting his written piano pieces on his blog, Finding the 88 Keys on How to Write Piano Music. Other than that the only MAJOR project he is working on is the book he is writing with his cousin Kit called The Boundless.
Founder of, and currently leading side-by-side with JC Carlson and Kevin McChesney, the improv group called the Reject Llamas, Adam is also well versed in the art of calligraphy and cartography, and has written nine languages all for his main book series. He owns a pet lovebird named Skittles and a pompous white Chihuahua named Holly. He loves to go camping, hiking, and spelunking, he's awesome at archery, and he LOVES Disneyland. If you'd like to follow him via twitter, he can be found at @alsenoth, and he hopes to be constantly posting for viewer's benefit!
He would like to thank all the people that have helped him in his endeavors to become a writer, especially Kaitlin Booth. He feels so lucky to have all the support that he has, and he gives his thanks!
nick's bio.
Nick here-
During a random late-night lunch with @chrisavila and @alsenoth (the other two writers in this blog) we decided to create the blog you are currently reading. It originally began with us just wanting to write blogs, yet we discovered a single flaw in all of our previous blogging attempts is that we all lack the continuous input of content (see also: lawlnick's blog). It was then that Adam proposed that we should create a sort of "joint-blog" where we all create content with goals that we raise for one another. For example, one month we'll all set the goal for us to write something in the science fiction genre; in august we could write a romance; in January we could write a one-act play.
Overall, the idea seemed appealing and we decided to start this up and continuously poke each other to keep the content up.
A brief bio about my previous writing and current life: I am mostly known for winning the 2009 Creative Writing Contest for CGCC. The short story, entitled "Snapshot", was both praised by the staff at CGCC and I was the youngest writer who entered to win. My picture was included
in the Arizona Republic, Gilbert Republic, and even in my own Hamilton High School's Paw Print. Aside from writing, I am one of the three officers of Hamilton High School's improvisational comedy team called "Urban Lemmings." I was decked out in drag and women's make-up, footwear, and blouse in "Final Vinyl". I enjoy acting and performance in general.
During a random late-night lunch with @chrisavila and @alsenoth (the other two writers in this blog) we decided to create the blog you are currently reading. It originally began with us just wanting to write blogs, yet we discovered a single flaw in all of our previous blogging attempts is that we all lack the continuous input of content (see also: lawlnick's blog). It was then that Adam proposed that we should create a sort of "joint-blog" where we all create content with goals that we raise for one another. For example, one month we'll all set the goal for us to write something in the science fiction genre; in august we could write a romance; in January we could write a one-act play.
Overall, the idea seemed appealing and we decided to start this up and continuously poke each other to keep the content up.
A brief bio about my previous writing and current life: I am mostly known for winning the 2009 Creative Writing Contest for CGCC. The short story, entitled "Snapshot", was both praised by the staff at CGCC and I was the youngest writer who entered to win. My picture was included
in the Arizona Republic, Gilbert Republic, and even in my own Hamilton High School's Paw Print. Aside from writing, I am one of the three officers of Hamilton High School's improvisational comedy team called "Urban Lemmings." I was decked out in drag and women's make-up, footwear, and blouse in "Final Vinyl". I enjoy acting and performance in general.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)