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The Ramblings of an Unsuccessful Writer


The Ramblings of an Unsuccessful Writer

Being published is terrifying

Please read it all, it will make sense at the end – Thank you.

Writing is my religion, paper is my temple; now kneel before my God, pen! Your words are senseless, copy – copy – copy – copy. The rules of this writing game, is to take what others have done and rewrite it; what idea is your own though?

Now I am one of those writers, afraid to approach a Publishing House or a Literary Agency because I am fearful of what others will think about my work. I have thoughts pressing against my brow most days, so this blog is a lifeline to the writing world for me. I don’t consider my writing to be good, great or phenomenal, but how I see it is my words do their job, there are thousands of writers out there, with fancy educations and warped minds better than mine who deserve it more than me, so I don’t mind waiting a couple of decades.

I have read so much and in doing so have character built myself; I know who I am now. Yes, I am a little fuzzy on the details and road journey, but I am here with a pen or keyboard, whatever writing tool is available. But I know one thing, I have my own mind!! I do not see Vampires falling in love with humans and thinking, I can have a better take on this story; I MUST WRITE IT AND IT SHALL BE BETTER!! That’s a Stephanie Myers thing, she made that bigger than most orgy stories and it has gone down in history. A clever lady she is, tapping into a market and going for gold. Well done, little Miss!

See for me, I like The Minds Narrative, for example…

“Should I write now? Not too sure Alex, I mean you haven’t slept in thirty-six hours, dawg. Get some shut-eye and blast back on that page, dude. I care about you man, don’t want to see you wander off away back onto the darkland. Write it and they shall come!! You’re a good guy; show them later what’s really inside of your heart. Now get to bed, you ugly fool.”

Yes, I talk to myself in my head and it is very therapeutic to know I am on my own wave length. But I am getting off topic. Let’s get back to the writing aspect.

If you want to be taken serious, you are going to have to amaze the world. Show them something different. But it has to RELATE to people’s lives.

NotEasilyDistracted

Whether it is dark and emo = Twilight

Sassy and sexy = Any Jackie Collins novel

And so on and so forth. You need your niche! Find it and utilize it to the fullest extent of you.

See mine is dark humour wrapped in a cocoon of pain with a silver lining showing it face every once in a while. My niche.

But I am not saying everyone who types or write is a terrible writer; know where your writing wants to go. If you want the big writing contract (Like most of us do.) Write for it. If you just want to write for general purpose, to ease stress or bare a little piece of your soul, then show it. But know where you want to go.

PUT IN THE WORK NOW AND LIFE WILL BE LESS LIKE WORK!!!

blah1

Some days I don’t even know what I am doing, should I be giving up this pursuit of a lit agent? I mean I have the tools and ideas, but I have the urging feeling when I think about doing it, yelling DON’T DO IT, STEP AWAY FROM THE SEND BUTTON!!!! And I don’t, I scurry back off into my corner to scribble all the while people could be taking my dreams.

I AM SUCH A HYPOCRITE!!!

I won’t even follow my own writing advice.

I am lost, lost in a world full of everyone else. But to be honest, I can write a good game, but some days I am not even playing; hence the blog a broken writer.

I’m not sure what I am doing here, I write and people tell me my work is wonderful or awful, I don’t mind but I am just think about my end game, the final trick I will magically reveal.

I’m just babbling now!

I think my blog is broken, I do wish for more views on my wordpress blog but I get I can’t have it all. I can have the skill but no eyes to read it. And if that is my niche in the writing industry for me, I guess I will have to take it.

And another thing, I am getting weird emails from people who are being really abusive; friends just say is jealousy. But these online bullies might be right; I might be a poop sack or deserves theirs pens jamming in my breathing tube. (It’s called a windpipe, my friend; if you had picked up a book you would have known that.) And some other emails are people saying I have stolen their thunder or some S*&t like that. If I have I am sorry!!!

I’m not a bad guy, only confused about this whole writing life and I would like to strive for more, but that slapped hand keeps brushing on by. I did have a dream the other night, where I did get a Literary Agent and she was so fine. Hey, maybe I could write about that???

But I would like to state that my blog has almost reached that glorious number of 100TH POST!!! WHOOP WHOOP!!!! (Man, there are a lot of exclamation marks in this blog post!)

And I couldn’t have done it without you peeps. Some of you have read my work; THANKS GUYS! And some have just clicked the like button, thanks, I think!

BAD HANDWRITING!

So today I am going to Watch season 1 and 2 of New Girl, because this show is fantastic and I am kind of addicted to it. I know I am a guy, I have girly TV fetish, get over yourselves.

If you have read this, I usually know; because you comment about my work and all my goofy wording. So have a nice day!

Keep that pen busy or just work towards your goals in life.

Smell the roses too. It’s good to just stop from the hustle of life.

I’ve been your rambling writer.

Alexander Kennedy

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Filed under Blogging, Books, Life, Literacy, Literary Agent, Misc, Writer, Writing, Writing #2

Finding Inspiration to Write


writers-block

Can’t find inspiration to write?

Well step right up, I have a dose of “What-Was-That!” …This will knock your socks off.

Let me start off by saying, I know the feeling. I am in the same boat sometimes; probably why I drink most-of-the-time. But hey, I am a writer; the life behind the pen comes with a glass of whiskey.

Yes, I know the life of a writer is a depressive one, the outcasts who see too much. I guess that is what they will say for some us when we are laid to rest. To you there is nothing special, I beg to differ. You are a unique machine, if you are anything like me. I write everything I see.

For example.

“The clouds raced overhead as I walked up the flyover. Do they know something I do not? What’s chasing them?”

Yes, I write my own footsteps within my head, the more remedial the better because it is an everyday task we all share and see and once you have shared your words and someone can relate or share a similar experience and bond is made between them and your words.

Inspiration is all around us. My niece waddled up to me “Uncle Lex, I want to be dragon!” This blew my mind and I couldn’t stop laughing. But it amazed me; she wanted to be a dragon. Yes her favourite movie is “How to Train Your Dragon” It is an awesome movie. But that raised a question within my head and a story started to form about a little girl who finds a dragon egg and the egg hatches and the baby dragon thinks the young girl is its mother. So they both share an adventure. It could make for an epic story, don’t you think?

But you can find inspiration, it finds you in different forms, you just have to be ready to catch it when it shows itself.

Now you are probably sitting at your desk, making your pen do somersaults or drawing pointless faces to waste the time. The best thing you can do is write something; write about your feelings on paper. Write about all your problems right there – The bad things that have happened to you. Let your pen show you what you can only think about because you are too afraid to talk about it with people. Write about what makes you smile or the things that make you down. Make sure you go into description when writing so it sounds like a story. At this point I promise you a story will be created not only on paper but in your mind; now you will find your own muse. YOU! I will show you what I mean in my next blog called “Love in the Time of Mental Illness.”

It is always the smallest of things that stop us making the biggest.

Just take it slow. But if you can dream it, you can have it!

Now stop messing around and start writing. Sorry, but you need to be pushed because you are not working to your full potential, are you?

GO WRITE!

I want to read something amazing and when you’re done, link it to this page so everyone can have a read.

Keep those pens busy!

Alex

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Fairy Tale Writing For Teens & Adults – The Tale of the Not-So Grateful King – Written By Alexander Kennedy


Here we have another small tale for people who love fables.  About an ungrateful king who doesn’t know what he has gotten until it is gone. But Alex has promised he will be posting another “The Serial-Killer” Story later on today or Friday night. Like, comment and subscribe.

The Tale of the Not-So Grateful King

There once was a king of Sluinn who was in love with the most beautiful black haired maiden in the land. He made the young maiden, Lucia, his queen, post haste; as he knew that he could love no other and nothing as much. At this time he was a gracious king, he helped feed his kingdom, he kept a clean and prosperous land which no other line beyond had, all his lands people loved him.

One day as the king and queen rode horse-back in the woods; an assassin sprung an attempt on both their lives. The blackened mask of the assassin had the emblem of a scorpion; he was from the evil tribe of Pion, far beyond the snowy mountains of the north.

“What do you want? Guards! Guards!” Lucia chants.

The king motioned his horse in front of the Lucia’s to protect her. The assassin drags his sword from his holster, taking swings at the king’s feet.

From out of nowhere a spiralling blade propels from the bushes, sticking into the hired-knives neck, killing him.

The guards finally arrive, circling the king with their spears and swords. A ruffled man exits the cobwebs of branches, without a care in the world upon his face.

The king bypasses his supposed guard and trots up to the scruffian with so much pride stance within his stare.

“My name is King Orwin, I rule Sluinn and everything that has colour within our beautiful world. You have saved mine and my wife’s life, name your price and it shall be granted.”

“My name is Gossoon sire and all I ask is a few pennies to see my belly get full tonight.” He pleads with his hands together.

“My fellow saviour, I have left my pouch back at Castle Grey, we have no money here. If you return back with us I will fill your pockets with as much gold and bread as you can carry.” The king proclaims with a bow of his head.

“My gracious king, I am on a path home, I have not seen my family within ten years, and if I return with you it will be another day too long. Forgive me.” Gossoon bows his regrets.

“Well you will not go free without a token.” The king insists.

“Sire, I will be arriving back here within one year, if possible I can collect my reward then?” Gossoon gulps in hope.

“I now know that the tribe Pion are advancing an attack because of this attempt and you have saved my life. Within one year, you can return and ask me for anything within my world and it shall be granted, young Gossoon.” The king, queen and troops turn and hike back towards the castle and Gossoon continues on his travels.

A war broke out within Sluinn between the king’s army and the tribe Pion. It raged on for several months. But in the end, the king was victorious. He had now become the wealthiest man upon the planet, his country size doubled. And it was all because of one man’s kind nature to save another human being.

Now the king had become so powerful and rich, he had also gained paranoia and an anger problem, thinking people were going to try and steal what he had taken in conquer. It had reached the eleventh month of the year and the king started to over think everything, believing the stranger who saved his life so long ago, would come and bow at his feet and ask for his full bank.

The king commanded his guards to arrest the stranger on sight and bring him forth to the king. As the twelfth month gleamed and died, the stranger travelled back to Sluinn to collect his reward. He was captured and chained and dragged to the king’s court to be heard. Gossoon was thrown on the floor. The king sat next to his wife Lucia within giant golden thrones.

“You have come to take my money, haven’t you stranger?” The king hisses.

“Sire, no, you asked me to return to claim my reward, so here I am” Gossoon stammers in fear.

The king rises from his cushion and looks down with an odious stare, pointing at Gossoon.

“You will receive nothing, you deserve nothing, you are to be banished for eternity, and if you return back to my kingdom you will be beheaded. Do you have anything to say?” He addresses.

Gossoon shed one tear and looks upon the queen; she rests ever so quietly as both their eyes connect in gaze.

“Sire, from this day on I hope you find yourself, once something that means so much to you is gone, you will try your hardest to get it back. But I will leave with something that has no weight or colour within your world, something that does not belong to you.”

“If it is not mine, you can have it, now leave and never return!” The king bellows.

Gossoon is picked up and lead from the castle. The king sits, gripping onto his armrests with apathy tapping on his fingertips. The queen leans over.

“Husband, I am feeling rather lightheaded, I think I may take my leave from court and go to bed, my love.” She says ever so gently.

The king leans in for a kiss.

“Yes, my dear. Have your bed maids escort you to our room and I shall be there soon.” The king whispers.

The queen stands and shuffles herself out of the side door, five maids cluster behind her.

That night the king flings his sheets open and creeps into bed next to his beauty. He looks upon her face, thinking he could never love something or someone so much. A kiss upon the lips for the queen.

The queen awakens, squinty eyes at first, she shoots up bright eyed.

“AAAAHHHHHHH! Who are you? Who are you?! Where am I?” The queen falls out of bed and with the balls of her feet she scrapes backwards to the corner of the room.

“My love, my love. It is me, the king.” He pleads with her to know him.

“I have never laid eyes upon you, sir, or this place.” She cries.

“You do not remember me? Is there anything you do remember, my love?” He sobs.

“One thing, I will leave with something that has no weight or colour within your world, something that does not belong to you and I have already taken it; only those words, sir.” She replies rather hypnotized.

Moral of the story, you don’t what you have got until it’s gone and something’s in life are worth so much more than others.

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Science Fiction Writing For Teens & Adults – The Experiment (Part 1: The Train-Wreck) – Written By Alexander Kennedy


This is a three part fantasy/romance story of a how a young woman after a train-wreck finds and falls in love with a young man who was an abandoned military experiment, which was left in the deep cold and cruel forests of North America. Enjoy! Please, Like, Comment, Prv/Message and Subscribe.

The Experiment (Part 1: The Train-Wreck)

My name is Jamie-Leigh; all through high school it wasn’t the name I wanted, Jamie Leigh, Jamie-Leigh, aim those legs, aim those knees at me, at me. The taunts from the boys really put me on the lunch room map, but I am still thankful for my parents to give me a name, rather names. So thus I am here, standing in line for a train ticket, to go and visit the rents. My big bag of junk by my side, the same bag that jolts into my holey jeans and cuts at my leg, I have no other bag to carry all this junk. Shades on and set to maximum darkness, like a boss, trying to keep my cool to this endless waiting, it’s probably some old dude paying a thirty dollar ticket all in pennies, awesome, I could probably set off now and be there by foot by the end of this waiting.

“Next Please.” The weirdo behind the glass flicks his fingers at me; do I look like a dog? Don’t answer that. “What would ya’ like, hun?” He sparks a smile looking for an indication of the possibility of being that guy. No chance.

“One ticket to Maine, please.” I reply shoaling my scrunched-up money forward, my shadow eyes reflect and repel his smile from me; I do still have my straight face on today. He’s not for me, too much manly men in this world, I have dated his type before; I am the one who gets bored after or during the first date, after or during sex.

I sit down in my appointed seat, hulking my bag next to me;  the window will be my travel show on television and Taylor Swift will be my close friend, who lives in my I-pod, making me feel better about all my problems, she does her job well when I feel crappy.  I love to just sit and watch people, not stalkerish, for example, like the woman shouting at her crying child, must be hard to be a mom, or the business man trying to act his way through life and finally the slutty woman trying to gain a watch to her new boobs and thin exterior, she must have recently split-up and is on the prowl, ready to pounce and rebound on some helpless sack; the business man looks like he’s not looking at her, over his paper. People are funny things.

I breathe on the window and draw a smiley face with my finger. As the train pulls out I catch a glimpse of myself, did I really come out looking like that? Yes, I am a petite woman, Yes, I have mousey-brown bedraggled hair, awesome, I bet everyone thought I looked like some tramp; no, I don’t wear a lot of make-up, but being 22 that is a good thing, right? To not be something you shouldn’t.

Taylor Swift, you legend, I loved that song. We are on our way home, but travelling through all of that laid snow should delay us. The business man and female player have finally found each other, grazing legs and eye screwing, I bet she is telling him about how no man has ever really satisfied her and all she is really looking for is someone who is there for her when she needs and he is eating it all up, thinking he could be that guy and all his words are working so well, while he is trying to hide his wedding band. Naughty – Naughty.

I look out of the window, trying to see wolves through the conifer trees as the train begins to slow. I hated this ride when I was a girl. The forest ran for so long and it was all you could see for miles, vast, that was the word my mom used when talking about the wilderness. The snow is coming down nice and heavy, Christmas has gone, get on with summer already. I look over at the two strangers, sucking the face off each other, I pretend I don’t notice but I do. It dulls me, shouldn’t I be having fun like everyone else, with someone who loves me for me, even if it makes them crazy. I prop up my face on my hands staring into the red striped fabric on the opposed seats. Taylor, please put me back in a good mood, 22, I love this song.

The train slows pace, it must have hit a snow wall or something, would have been funny to see a cow on the track. Trying to look in through the trees is hypnotic and rather tiring to the bored eye. A sigh. The forest swallows souls, so many trekkers have come to an abrupt end just walking through, but I guess at this angle everything is fine. My eyes are heavy just like the snow. Catch you all at the finish line called home. Black.

I jerk forward. Everything is okay; the metal rail on the table cushioned my blow.

“What the hell!” I shout.

Everyone on the train is looking out of the windows, as the world reels itself past us. Every person on the train looks on in horror. This is one of those moments when my stalkerish spider-sense becomes handy, to know when everyone else around you looks scared, you should be too. The train creeks like floorboards as more speed is shown; trouble must have its hoists on us all. The whole train jumps, sending everyone into the air then off their seats, the cheaters help each other up, I am in the middle aisle; people begin to scream and shout for help, pulling helplessly on the lever of pull to stop, not only is it helpless but useless in the same hand. The whole train tips like a kid has gotten fed up with his toys, a dip in my stomach. Somersaults and tipple tails, it’s all gymnastics in nasty events. Black, again.

I manage to tear open my eyes; everything is distorted for a few seconds, wiping the snow from my face with a clean hand and pulling it back into focus, redness stains my fingers.

“I think I’ve cut my head, C’mon Jaim, let’s get up.” Psyching myself up.

Still in the sitting position, I look around; my surrounds do not look normal or familiar; that scares me more. For a minute I gain bearings.

“Is anyone there?!” I shout into disaster.

I loop my hair behind my hair and slowly pull myself up. The train is resting on its side, snow chucks in from the smashed windows that are now skylights.

“Hello!” There must be someone else here, please.

I climb over debris and lost luggage. My initial plan was to head for light.

“Please help me.” I faint woman’s voice comes from over near the gash in the roof of the train; I can see light but no person.

“I’m coming, just hang on.” I manage to reach the whole hole, the slutty woman is residing on her back, probably her favourite position, her legs in the train her body in the snow. Blood turns the snow, cherry slushy.

“My name is Alice, please, please help me.” Her tears say it all, but it is the tear across her belly raises a question. Now from watching E.R. and Grey Anatomy I know to stop a bleeding wound you must apply pressure, so I cup my hands over that slice of death.

“It’s okay; it’s not as bad as I can see.” Too much blood and it looks really deep. “I don’t know what to do, Alice.” Her bottom lip quivers, I don’t know if it is because of the pain or the freeze.

“We need to get help; do you have your cell on you?” She says gasping every other word.

“It was right beside me before the crash, but now, I don’t know.” I say trying myself not to cry and shiver.

“Okay, I need you to go look through someone else’s stuff and phone for help, can you do that?” Her gasps are really becoming erratic. I nod in agreement; I have no idea what I am doing.

“I will be right back, okay, just don’t try and move or anything.” I say.

I jump over her into the snow, I can see bag planted all over the forest floor; I sprint in big step into the forest. Darkness shrouds everything, nothing grows here but bad things live here. Push it to the back of your mind, Jamie, you are stronger than this.

I race for a black suitcase the contents of which have been spread all over the floor. I route around, nothing. My head spins around frantically looking for my next purse, God, I feel like such a kleptomaniac.  A pink handbag stands out more than others, so that is my next one. I race on over and turn the whole thing upside down, notebook, tampons, pregnancy test, make-up… A phone.

“Hello, is anyone else alive?!” A man’s voice echoes from the train wreck.

I stand to see if I can see, I let my guard down. A twig snaps behind me. A groaning growl puts the fear of Hell within me. I slowly turn, tree, tree, tree, tree. A Bear stands about twenty-five yards in front of me, his eyes fixed; he roars again, I am taken aback a few steps. He comes down off his hind legs and claws at the air. I look at my clothing, blood spatters everywhere.

I don’t think, I run through that forest like someone set off the fire alarm and this was no drill. I can hear him behind me, I forget to scream; the tears pour from me like they were their last time to show face. I jump over small dying logs and brush. He is getting closer and closer, I can almost feel his breath.

I try and look behind me, as curious as I am and fall, slamming myself into dead plants and dry leafs. I quickly turn onto my back and edge backwards on my balls of my converse shoes. The bear doesn’t relent in his attempt for food.

“HELP ME!” I have finally found my voice. Is this it?

From out of nowhere a gigantic tree comes spiking through the air, ploughing itself into the side of the bear, the scribbles of the braches rest at my feet. I sit there horrified, still scared and awestricken.

Questionable, I look in the direction where the tree laid roots. A young man stands there, half naked staring at me, out of breath, he looks so dirty. I don’t even think he knows its winter as the temperature is well below minus.

“Hi, we need help just over there.” I shout on over to him. He slants his head, almost like he had no idea to what I just said. He looks up into the trees and spots a squirrel jumping from branch to branch, smiling at it.

He takes one more look at me with that smile and takes off running into the darkness and scribbles of plant life. I stand, trying to look for the mystery dude. The bear takes back my attention; I look at the dead beast, laying under that trunk. The tree looks to weigh at least a few tonnes. How was that even possible? Who was that guy?

I race back to the train-wreck, phone still in hand. This day cannot get any worse.

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Filed under Fiction, The Experiment, Writer, Writing