I spent the last 48 hours within a state of intoxication, like a tornado swirling around and turning my world upside down, my mind was saturated with a blur. At last when the winds died down, I kept hearing his last words. Words that haunted me…
“A word of caution: Never, ever speak to demons, even if they speak using a language built out of your own weaknesses.”
It wasn’t truth my mind was contemplating, or focused on, it was the man whose words impacted me so deeply, so completely, that I’d remember them all, but not much else.
Within my mind the meal was pleasantly set, and now my thoughts were feasting on meat and drink, but my stomach needed relief from liquid abuse and my natural-born hunger.
If only I could remember where I last placed my clothes?
Finally, after finding my little pile of clothes, I quickly check my pocket for the vial of holy water. Instead I found another empty vial of scotch, and a few odds and ends that I had picked up along the way, and, aw yes, here it was…The ultimate weapon against the undead. I shook it a bit, just to hear if I could, how much was left in the vile.
Like a pocket of loose coins gangling together, new thoughts commingled, they came out from their hiding places within my mind. New thoughts of different what if’s. Could it be true? Could there be some yet newly undiscovered reality, a new use for this ultimate weapon–could it by chance also solve a nights worth of drinking scotch? I didn’t quite know if it was the head ache or the attempt of thinking so deeply that rushed me to such thoughts. All I knew was I needed relief, and the sooner the better.
I unscrewed the vile top, my hand trembled at the thought, what if it didn’t work? Would I have wasted it so easily, so quickly, when at some point I may need all I have to face an overwhelming force–a mob of blood thirsty undead? Will I be able to survive them should our paths cross? Or will I look with dread and regret, when the last drop of holy water falls short of it intended mark; all the while thinking I shouldn’t have…
I used a moments worth of my remaining life’s time contemplating this vial, with its clear substance and it many potential uses. How many times must I still use it in order to keep my head attached–my thoughts attached and thinking still? Either I must find more of this magical water, or I must muster the courage yet needed in finding more of my kind–other unaffected humans. Together we may yet stand–divided we certainly will surly fall to what seems like will be my present fate, to fight to the last drop….
I was no longer willing to live in hypotheticals driven on the fumes of liquid courage . Opening the door to the hide away I dashed out into the cool damp night, meeting my future on my terms.
I called out indiscriminately to the black of night:
To all who are alive, yet are one dying. Thither I speed to twist and turn the knob of deaths door. I call out to the earth and sea half-held by the night, as my newly minted power that gives me flight. Stare with dread into the craggy sockets of the abyss, and marvel at its resemblance, its shape of your very own prison in another man. This world, a graveyard it will become. Damp, musty soil of its sharp, yet distinct whiff of today, that decays under it own weight of ignorance. It’s been far to long, and greatly limited, where I could not take part….but now, I stand before you, no longer a mythical read from some book–but an invited guest to it end.
I had plagiarized different writers with this little speech. but I rationalized, who had influenced whom in the first place? A spirit full of life yet to live, or one who had drowned himself in lost hope?
I could just start this story off with the phrase: I see dead stories everywhere. There you go! And that’s exactly how it’s going to be started off. It is befitting, after all, you’re probably wondering what a “Storykill” is right about now? Well another writer of sorts coined the word. Much of this post is not a copy but an idea duplication of sorts. After all we’re both Seahawks football team fans and have to live with the aftermath of an epic storyKill.
Exactly what is a “Storykill”? To describe it I guess, it would have to be similar to buzz-kill or killjoy, storykill described as Seth said it, is that feeling left behind that haunts you when choices alter the course of your narrative—propelling you to that not-so-happy-ever-after that would have defined your story as a tragedy. It is those epic fails so often we’re reminded of by family, friends, or our ex’s, that truly haunts us.
Ok. I’m just now recovering from the tragic Supper Bowl Seattle Seahawk’s loss. In short a “Storykill”. The hawks had one of those unreal seasons after coming off a supper bowl win the previous season. But after an iffy start to the season, my hecklers were starting to beat me down. “The hawks are just a lucky team and not all that good.” “We gave you that last one buddy.” Those were the kinds of things said to me, with that last one said to me by a Denver broncos fan. A 49’ers fan said,” the hawks are a JV team now!” Wow! It was hard, but I have been a fan of the hawks from the beginning, through all of those embarrassing losing seasons, so it’s hard to discourage me.
The hawks this season made it a habit to be a second half team. They came back from a sure losses in the 3rd or 4th quarters of what seemed like the last 8-10 games of the season. They took that style of play right into the supper bowl. In fact right into the last seconds of that game. Friends became discourage watching the games, throwing up their hands, thinking all was lost. But then it happened–or so I thought.
After one of the most unlikeliest catches of all time (in any sport ever) the hawks end up on the 3 foot line—first in goal. Just 3 feet from the glory of winning two supper bowls in a row baby….they lose? Instead of handing the ball off to beast mode as they called their running back, they throw! They throw an interception. Some say they handed the win over to the other team (Who will forever remain nameless for me). I sat in shock. We threw an interception! We lost! How was that even possible?
Storykill struck, and struck the Seahawks hard. Every sports fan has their own stories of disappointments where their team let them down. Just a hand full of unlucky fans though have had to live through such an epic fail of this magnitude, laser etched or so it seems, into the memory banks as well as into the inter-web—creating ghosts that will mercilessly haunt them for the rest of their lives. After all it is just an entertainment, It’s just supposed to be a fun game.
I have had to repeat that more than just a few times—but yes it’s just a game. Why do sorties like this affect us so deeply? It is now a dead story—and those dead stories, right from the very moment of completion are also hardest to bury. It can be the same feelings anyone gets when your favorite character played by your favorite actor gets booted out of the story line. Sometimes by an unexpected surprise, a twist in the story line itself, and still at other times due to true life happenings. It’s the same feelings when the bad guys win in the movies, or in the office where you are working with inter office politics. Storykill’s don’t just happen on TV or in sporting events. They can hit close to home too. Fairytale weddings ending in divorce, causing splits, criticism and hate, and children’s pain. There can be also those children born against all odds with loving parents who struggle against those odds—only to see positive promise along with bright futures dim with drugs, alcohol, and addiction; or for that person who passing their final test in getting their degree; a degree where no one sees worthy enough to hire you. Life is filled with storykill’s, dead ends, disappointments that at least in our minds view “weren’t supposed to happen this way.”
Life is full of storykills, or stories that can kill the human spirit. Some believe, every person that they come in contact with when hearing their life’s stories, that life is unfair and needs to be equalized somehow? But where do we draw the line, and how do we quiet down the complaints, in an effort in separating the complaint of unfairness, to the stories of just dumb luck, and or the ill effects of just dumb choices made and their uncomfortable personal outcomes? Success in life isn’t an exercise of keeping score of what you have in comparison with what I have. Stop keeping score at the football games so to speak? Just how would anyone equalize the inequality in different appearances in supper models and the average person? When will we just see life as it is? Being unfair! Weather we like it or not life is just plain unfair. Plastic surgery may do the trick for some people? Even so life isn’t always perfect or fair—plastic surgery some times leads to more surgery–and plastic surgery doesn’t always age well for some people.
When we look around our lives, we can certainly find plenty of storykill’s, we may also have plenty of people who will constantly remind us of a few as well? But living life isn’t about measuring up to some lofty standard someone else set for us. Aren’t we all just trying to overcome life’s odds? Storykill’s are nothing more than a wrinkle in our life’s stories. Challenges presented to us to keep us from being bored with living. Making an effort, or making unequaled effort’s in overcoming those challenges is what keeps us young in spirit and in heart. Storykill’s aren’t the death of the author’s story as they intended it to be, but the reminder to the author that a new wrinkle has developed and a new chapter now needs to be written.
All the best.
Thanks to Seth Pierce who to my knowledge coined the phrase “StoryKill” and who I also quoted.
Some people say, “Blogs are for opinions”. I agree. But include, “If blogs are for opinions, then for everything else we have MasterCard and Wikipedia.
Ok! I could expand on that point some, but you get the picture.
We shouldn’t try to please everyone, is the real message. But what I have found, by stirring the pot we can also stimulate thought in the most stubborn of minds. A post maybe my thought for that moment…but that moment is now gone. It could just be my ADD acting up? Or it could be my love of playing games (devils advocate) that is. So in an instant my thoughts may have also changed? Perhaps your’s too? Such is the blessing of freedom–or dare I say “free speech” in the internet world filled with child like push button wonderment.
My writing is my virtual space, my online home. In telling people what my opinions are, or at times giving my explanations about those same opinions, or my this and that on some social commentary, new story’s, humor, or musings. The readers can create an opinion of their own about what was written. So in this light of giving an opinion, I guarantee that people will respond… No matter if it is good, bad, or indifferent. People often respond without even trying to type any responses, or without even knowing they’re responding at first. Their hidden response is made without even uttering an audible word.
Question: Is thinking about what you have read, a response to anything you read?
Is writing as self-destructive for you all out there, as my criticism of what I have written seems to be? Not that criticism is bad, in fact, it can be quite good. But what happens when the criticism is all bad, piled onto more bad thoughts of not being good enough? At these times writing seems a bit over done–like, like when your new writing ideas resemble to closely to siting in a hot-tub holding a toaster just above the water, wondering in your mind whether this is a great idea or a great shoulder workout?
Second guessing shouldn’t be the game at all? In fact just write what ever, then close it up, and review later on; day’s, weeks, or even months later you may find out that you now have a better idea on how to finish it up, polish it, or just a new perspective, new insight, and then a humble reworking of the orignal ends up as being an improvement. Isn’t that the goal? To improve.
Often ideas come to me, but putting them down onto paper seems where the story falls flat. Kind of like that pick me up music, that seems to always be playing on a certain radio station, until you turn it on? Just for that feeling of being picked up. Turning a good mood into a supper good mood through music, that’s the idea at least? Music influences people kind of like that, it is indeed spiritual, therefore influential. Instead, now, the radio is playing getaway from me break up music. Country music is a lot like that for me. They always sing about losing their wife, truck, dogs, and jobs….ect. But damn that’s depressing! If your feeling down and need a pick up, mood wise? Isn’t it time to play those songs backwards–getting all of your stuff and writing mojo back too?
Or how about, while stroking those inner voices in your head to slow down a bit with their presentation of those great story your writing, or blogging about, but then, you hit that proverbial brick wall! You know? Stories are coming at you at the speed of thought, and your fingers are moving across the key board as if they are set in concrete. Suddenly you realize writers block sounds like screaming seagulls fighting over a hot dog bun! Distraction over load! Distracted by everything?
Is that why I in vision most writers sitting in their underwear, on the couch, writing at will? Just seems that these kind of people have less distraction, and fewer people in their lives to impress. Not having to make any dissections like what kind of clothes to wear, I suppose has some feelings of freedom, less distracted, but leaves one’s nature totally reclusive. They don’t have writers block. What they have is a mental block and a closed off front door. They may fear the outside world, hiding behind closed off doors, rewriting reality into an imaginary one. Choosing not to be social, so they can blog the hell out of a post, write great stories, and the likes they….. Not comparing here, just observing mentally?
Out of the thousand ideas that I have written, then after a while rereading them, then picking that one that moves me or rekindles my creative juices, sparking that subject matter within my mind, and freeing my fingers to once again kiss those key’s on the keyboard with just a tad bit more passion. Always, seems to surprise me in the end. Besides reading older posts, ideas, and stories that you have written, will give you that full view reflection of how much your writing skill, or talents have improved over time? That may just end that screaming seagulls worth of writers block?
All the best.