My goal is to become a voice actor (preferably in video games and anime, but I am up for other opportunities too). One way I am working towards this goal is by reading and recording my own writing in order to practice and improve at the recording process. These pieces that I have turned into new audio recordings include a Bible journal for Nehemiah 13:11, and also the third chapter from the first arc of my fantasy/sci-fi series "New Adventurers: Enter The Pirate & Crew!" Please listen and enjoy via the links below, and I welcome and appreciate feedback!

Nehemiah 13:11 - Restoration (Bible Journal) - https://audiomack.com/roses311sublime/song/nehemiah-1311-restoration-bible-journal

Original written post: https://theprose.com/post/443158/nehemiah-13-11-restoration-bible-journal

A Nice Pirate Walks Into A Bank (Chapter 3 of New Adventurers: Enter The Pirate & Crew!) - https://audiomack.com/roses311sublime/song/a-nice-pirate-walks-into-a-bank-chapter-3

Original written post: https://old.theprose.com/post/409460/a-nice-pirate-walks-into-a-bank

50 years ago, I left Vietnam after serving in the U.S. Navy — fixing radios, playing Ping-Pong, and sweeping floors. I wrote about my experiences in “Orange Socks & Other Colorful Tales." It's a collection of funny, sad, and poignant stories. Here's a link to a sample chapter:

http://www.jslstories.com/about

It’s a beautiful morning … The sun is out … Birds are chirping … Husbands hug wives; Moms kiss their kids … A perfect day. Then “BAM!” Flight 11 hits the World Trade Center—the first domino has fallen.

* * *

Let’s say you’ve a written a story, but something seems missing. It could be the “Inciting Incident”—that first domino.

In “Hamlet,” a king is killed, starting a chain reaction that leaves Denmark in ruins—and a bunch of people dead. “Romeo & Juliet” ends even worst. Ah, that Shakespeare guy. What a writer.

But it’s not just the Bard who knew how to ruin somebody’s day.

In “Die Hard,” John McClane wants to reconcile with his wife. If Hans Gruber picks another building, John and Holly might reunite without incident. End of story.

How about “Star Wars”? If Darth Vader doesn’t stop Leia’s space cruiser, she delivers the Death Star plans without incident. End of story.

Want more examples?

• Bruce Wayne’s parents don’t get shot: No Batman.

• Bruce the shark goes to Brazil: No “Jaws.”

• Lucy, Edmond, Susan, and Peter never visit Narnia: No Lion. No Witch. No Wardrobe.

But wait, there’s more. What if …

• Harry Potter never learns he’s a wizard.

• The tornado doesn’t take Dorothy to Oz.

• Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth never meet: No Pride. No Prejudice. No nothin’…

So, writers, do yourself a favor: Ruin somebody’s day. Start a chain reaction by knocking down that first domino and let the others fall where they may.

Ker-plunk. Ker-Plunk. Ker-Plunk!

Copyright 2021

VIDEO: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pI8MgWhEqxk&t=23s

My goal is to become a voice actor (preferably in video games and anime, but I am up for other opportunities too). One way I am working towards this goal is by reading and recording my own writing in order to practice and improve at the recording process. I am going to try to record and share a couple of my audio pieces each week. Please listen and enjoy, and I welcome and appreciate feedback!

Setting The Stage For An Unknown Plan - For Now (Chapter 1 of New Adventurers: Enter The Pirate & Crew!) - https://audiomack.com/roses311sublime/song/15135514

Original written post: https://theprose.com/post/409028/setting-the-stage-for-an-unknown-plan-for-now

1 Corinthians 15-19-20 - Words For Doubts (Bible Journal) - https://audiomack.com/roses311sublime/song/15135537

Original written post: https://theprose.com/post/435772/1-corinthians-15-19-20-words-for-doubts-bible-journal

Doctor Sic's Plot- Pirating The Pirate (Chapter 2 of New Adventurers: Enter The Pirate & Crew!) - https://audiomack.com/roses311sublime/song/15135559

Original written post: https://theprose.com/post/409168/doctor-sic-s-plot-pirating-the-pirate

Sitting on my deck this morning with keyboard and coffee at my fingertips, I reached a milestone, wholly arbitrary though it might be. I have (I think) written half of a novel.

I sketched out the first rough plan for The Ghosts on the Glass a little over a year ago, so that I could get something together for the Trident challenge. I outlined 24 chapters and estimated 50,000 words, which was too short, so I magically bumped the number to a still-short 70,000 words and crossed my fingers that I’d find them along the way.

I’ve got 45,000 words right now, and with my updated, more precise outline, I think I’ll land around a respectable 90K. It’s chapter 20 I just drafted. I hadn’t counted planned chapters in a while, but as I ticked through them, it looks like I’m presently slated for 40. All of which is to say, if my novel follows my plan precisely (it won’t), I’m precisely halfway. I’ve only attempted one novel before, years ago, and I didn’t make it nearly this far; this time, I’m really going to do it.

The unwritten pages no longer feel like a yawning void. I pick through my notes once and again and add to them, inserting fragments or tying future chapters to earlier threads. They’re slivers, but I have a feel for those chapters, and their emptiness no longer intimidates me.

That’s what I’ve learned the most about during this endeavor: working through the emptiness. Starting a fresh chapter, an empty Word doc feels vast, and copy/pasting my piecemeal notes helps only a little. I think through more interactions and narration and jot them down, come up with a line of dialogue or six, and I rearrange and remix it all until there’s a basic flow from start to end. Hopefully one of my drafted phrases can open or close the thing, but if not, I’ve learned not to worry about it. My first job is to fill the pages. I can perfect structure, phrasing, and transitions later. There’s no need to torture the newborn paragraphs to extort meaning: nuance emerges as I revise, organically. Michelangelo said the form already existed in the stone so that he only had to bring it out, but I’m no Michelangelo and I’m not whacking a chisel with a hammer. My writing requires shaping and smoothing and occasionally wholesale remolding just to find the form, and that’s alright.

Several of you in Proseland have mentioned an interest in reading the novel, and I appreciate your encouragement more than I can say. It’s not ready yet, but I’m working on it.

Here's the first assignment I wrote for my Creative Writing Class.

We were asked to define the characteristics of good writing.

The opening chord to “A Hard Day’s Night” by the Beatles is a dominant 9th of F in the key of C. It’s an edgy, crisp, metallic, strum that assaults the ear while vibrating the heart and spine—though not in an entirely unpleasant way.

The first Beatles movie opened with that chord.

“Clang!”

I remember. I was there. In 1964. Sitting in the rain at a drive-in theater with a vintage art-deco speaker held to each ear. Ended up with bronchitis. Small price to pay.

Why bring this up?

It’s like that line “You had me at hello” in “Jerry Maguire” (1996). That banging-clanging chord grabbed my attention. When the song resumed three seconds later, I was all-in. Into the movie. Into the characters. Into the story.

Muriel Rukeyser, American poet and political activist, once wrote: “The universe is made of stories; not atoms.”

“A Hard Day’s Night” is like that. Other examples:

“Hawaii” (1959) by James A. Michener

“Soul of a New Machine” (1981) by Tracy Kidder

"Diary of a Young Girl" (1952) by Anne Frank

“The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe” (1950) by C.S. Lewis

Each of these books offers an engaging blend of characters, conflict, victories, and defeat—a literary trail mix of textures and tastes, which (by the last page) give the reader a sense of satisfaction.

In April 2020, Rolling Stone published “100 Greatest Beatles Hits” under Elvis Costello’s byline. The No. 1 song? “A Day in the Life” (1967) which begins:

“I read the news today—oh boy

About a lucky man who made the grade

And though the news was rather sad

Well, I just had to laugh

I saw the photograph

“He blew his mind out in a car

He didn't notice that the lights had changed

A crowd of people stood and stared

They'd seen his face before

Nobody was really sure if he was from the House of Lords”

Though not my top Beatles song, I’ll say this: More than 50 years since I first heard it, “A Day in the Life” still haunts—and its epic 53-second E-chord at the end continues to resonate. In my opinion, the song exemplifies the essence of successful writing—enjoyable during the first go-around and like visiting an old friend thereafter.

Copywriting 2021

And there was silence

No words

Just absence of sentence

Like we had no license

To speak in constance

As life sometimes

Leaves us out of balance

Creating a clearance

That leaves room for a voidance

But

In the distance

There will be a defiance

Breeding

A distinct guidance

Assistance

That will rid us of silence

Thus

Creating a brilliance of conversation

That will match a fragrance in sweetness

And yet be full of substance and essence

For now

Let us be in coexistence

And the sharing of words

Today

Spell out incongruence

Let us enjoy

the incipience,

the commencement of ourselves,

into this experience.

My oldest piece of prose on Prose:

**********

It appeared suddenly. One moment Mira was enjoying a beautiful sunny day hiking, the next she was ensconced in thick fog. She reached out to touch it, then drew back. She could no longer see the lake or the tree tops; only the rocks at her feet and the twisted roots that threatened to do the same to her ankles. She walked slowly, gingerly, hoping she could feel her way back to the main path without ending up falling off a cliff, tumbling in the lake, or wandering aimlessly in the dark with the bears.

The warmth of the day was gone. She felt a chill so deep she began to shiver. She could hear her heart beating in her ears. She stood motionless, trying to calm herself so she could listen, hear. Something. Someone. The air was so still. All life in the forest seemed to have ceased its happy song with the onset of the fog.

She continued her trek. She couldn’t see any of the markers on the trees so she had to hope she was following the path to the parking lot. She kicked herself for seeking the solace of the silent woods rather than staying in the main areas, but she had wanted to avoid the loud, joy-filled chatter of rowdy kids and barking dogs.

Minutes passed. There were more rocks and the path was climbing, not turning as she thought it should, but she was afraid to change direction. So she climbed. Then she saw some movement in the cottony air in front of her. She couldn’t breathe. She thought, what are you supposed to do when you see a bear? Climb a tree? No, they can climb trees. Run? No, they’ll chase you, and when they catch you, they’ll rip your throat out with bear claws so sharp your head will hang listless and bloody from your shoulders. Oh God! What to do? Lay down! That’s it! She lay down on the cold, hard ground and the shape came closer, bigger, louder. She could hear its ragged breath. She was terrified. She closed her eyes and thought, no one knows I’m here. I will die and no one will know where to look.

It stopped. She waited. She felt its warm breath on her face. And then it licked her. And someone said, “Hey, boy, wait up. What the hell?”

She opened her eyes and the biggest dog she’d ever seen was standing over her.

“Miss, are you okay?”

“Oh my god! A dog!” She started laughing uncontrollably as she sat up. “Yes, I’m fine. I thought your dog was a bear. I was playing dead.”

“Well, you’re probably lucky it was Mr. Bojangles here. Not sure a bear would have stopped at sniffing and licking.”

“Yeah, stupid I guess. I didn’t know what to do.” She dusted herself off. “Am I near the main road yet? I feel like I’ve been walking for hours in this fog.”

“It did come in quickly, didn’t it?”

“Yes, I was really surprised. One second it was all sun and blue skies, the next it was a bad horror flick.”

“Ha, yeah, well you’re going the wrong way. We have to head back toward the lake. Mr. Bojangles and I are heading that way. You’re welcome to tag along.”

“Thanks so much,” she said, glad for the company of the man and the dog.

Of course, not all beasts have paws and sharp teeth. Some rescue lost woman in lonely woods immersed in fog that hides blood and muffles screams as well as the splash of a lifeless body thrown in a secluded lake.

I have nothing to lose;

these black scraps flutter

and cluster and

I run as fast as the air will let me

Until the wind is heavier than the darkness,

so I let it pull me away, endless,

ending every moment

When I hold things, I always

drop them

broken pieces on the floor

I never cry over spilled milk

these white scraps run

and drip through the cracks and

I am nothing

The current, my dancing partner

guides my body like seaweed

until I soak it all up

and sink, heavier than the drag of the water

So it drops me at your feet,

the sand swallowing droplets from my hair

where your footprints are deeper than mine,

these silver and gold scraps are

lightning that sparks when hand meets hand

Your eyes are pieces of glass

breaking when you smile at me;

breaking and the water surges round our feet, so

we let ourselves go

These scraps of blue spiral

and flow with the currant

as we drift forever,

ending every moment

You pull me to my feet

in the morning

and the wind drags us where we need to go

and fingers joined,

our lightning adhesive

strong enough,

for now;

I have nothing to lose

except you

Original Poem

One Thing

I have nothing to lose

Bits of black

Cluster

And I am nothing

I run as fast as the air will let me

When the wind is heavier than the darkness

I let it pull me away

Endless

Ending every moment

When I hold things, I always drop them

Broken pieces on the floor

I never cry over spilled milk

Bits of white

Run and drip through the cracks

And I am nothing

I let myself fall and sway with the current

Pulling me where I need to go

Until I’m heavier than the drag of the water

It drops me at your feet

Droplets from my hair soak into the sand

Your footprints are deeper than mine

Bits of silver and gold

Lightning that sparks when hand meets hand

Your eyes are pieces of glass

Breaking when you smile at me

Rush of water surging around our feet

We let ourselves go

Bits of blue

Spiralling endlessly, flowing

With the current

We drift forever

Ending every moment

You pull me to my feet

Every morning

The wind dragging us where we need to go

Hand in hand

Our lightning adhesive strong enough

For now

I have nothing to lose

Except you