TyCobbsTeeth's Blog, page 21

Today I sit weary, for sleep left unpaid, Today more cheery, for the progress I made, Now armed with notes, from my slumbering thoughts, Dark thunder clouds build, for two brutal attacks, For it’s almost time, for the epic climax. –TyCobbsTeeth

With a push of one finger, the button depressed, clicked, and popped back out. The bright glow from the monitor was sucked into blackness, leaving a few flickers on my retina, like flashes from a camera. Feeling defeated, I stood from my desk and shuffled slowly through the darkness, leaving the hum–from the hard drive spinning down, behind me. […]

Originally posted on Eleventh Stack:
Have you ever heard of the Bulwer-Lytton Fiction Contest? It was founded in 1982 by the English Department of San Jose State University, partially in honor of Edward George Bulwer-Lytton (the novelist who composed the mother of all bad opening sentences) and partially because the creator, one Professor Scott Rice,…

That’s right — for those of you who know, and are — for those of you who did not, but will — and for those of you who are about to find out, and might — this is your call to arms.

You have less than twenty seven days — a little more than three weeks. That time will go quickly so you must make use of it. There has been a challenge put to you. A challenge to every writer–every would be and could be writer.

<<>>

NaNoWriMo (na-noh-RY-moh) — short for National Novel Writing Month, is a fantastic event that has been running since 1999. The event is an annual ‘internet-based’ creative writing project that which runs for the month of November. NaNoWriMo challenges participants to write 50,000 words of a new novel, between November 1st, and the 11:59 PM deadline on November 30th.

Are you up for the challenge?

You have less then twenty seven days to plan and frame your book, jot your notes, stock up on coffee, tea, or RedBull –whatever fuels you.

C’mon! Everyone has a novel in them. Who knows–you may have ten. You just need a little coaxing, and a little help to get it out.

Get signed up today @ http://nanowrimo.org/ –time is a wasting.

TyCobbsTeeth:

Fantastic story –reviewed by, Rhapsody in Books Weblog

Originally posted on Rhapsody in Books Weblog:

Throughout American history, some citizens have had more rights and privileges than others.

When the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, fear and prejudice towards the Japanese reached a fever pitch. These attitudes extended to both citizens and non-citizens of Japanese descent living in the United States.

In 1942 Roosevelt signed Executive Order 9066. Under the terms of the Order, approximately 110,000 people of Japanese descent living in the US were removed from their homes and placed in internment camps. The US justified its’ action by claiming that there was a danger of those of Japanese descent spying for the Japanese. However more than two thirds of those interned were American citizens and half of them were children. None had ever shown evidence of disloyalty.

The internees were transported to one of ten relocation centers in California, Utah, Arkansas, Arizona, Idaho, Colorado, and Wyoming for up to 4…

View original 605 more words

You have to get to the beach and walk to the waters edge, before you can pause. From there you can let life wash over you in its waves, savor the experience of each one, and then reflect on each as it ebbs.

Sometimes the waves will pull you in. You may fall, and you may get wet. Whether you laugh or cry as you dry yourself, you will have experienced.

-TyCobbsTeeth

4:30AM — “Comin’ to you, on a dust road. Good lovin’, I got a truck load.” sang my phone — “I’m a Soul Man” replied my semi-conscious mind. “Oh crap. Hit phone before sleeping wife hits you.” My mind realized, as consciousness burned through my sleepy haze, like the sun would soon do to the morning fog outside. I rolled over quickly, and fumbled blindly for my phone. My dopey fingers, drunkenly fondled the little rectangle, in search of the buttons. Finally, with the help of my squinting eyes, I disabled Soul Man. “Mmmm, good song.” I thought as I sat up and tried to focus through the twelve shades of black.

Music, coffee and the recognition that it was Friday fueled my trip to the office. Once there, I sat in my cubical for a moment, somewhat pacified by the fact that tomorrow was Saturday, but uninspired about the prosaic day that lay ahead. I bent over, hit the power button on my computer, stood up and hunted for my coffee mug. As I inspected the sludge at the bottom of my mug, the PC sang me a little jingle, to let me know it was ready for me to log in. I offered it my credentials and then headed to for some coffee.

“Right, yesterday’s ‘issue’.” I remembered on my way back to my cube. There were several emails yesterday, regarding an problem…a vulnerability that could exist on our systems. Although I work in IT, my job was not to patch or maintain the systems, but ensure they were secure.

Holding my mug close to my chest with one hand, I breathed in the intoxicating aroma, as I guided the mouse with my other. I sifted through the new messages, and sipped the warm black elixir. It looked like the issue was more prevalent than it seemed yesterday. There was an emergency coordination meeting called to address the problem. I spent the next few hours dealing with ongoing work and prepping for the meeting. I then dug through some sediment on my desk, grabbed a notepad, double-checked the meeting location, and headed off.

With the usual cast of characters assembled, we began. I sat back and watched, almost as if watching a TV drama. Several people on teleconference reported on their findings and progress, as those around the table took notes and asked questions. The seriousness exhibited by most in the meeting was almost spellbinding, but lightened by the guy next to me. A french Canadian that never took anything seriously. He nudged my arm, showed me a note, and laughed. Although he was amusing it was hard to take him seriously. How can you take anyone seriously, if they’re never serious. The control freak, who was trying to dictate the direction of the meeting –as he always does, shot the clown a look –as he always does. It was predictable, but entertaining, as it always is.

I watched the meeting drone on, wondering, “Are they really this excited by the danger that loomed, compelled by the urgency of the situation?” It didn’t seem so. To me, it was so grey, like I was sitting in a smoke filled room, as they almost pried acceptance from one another. They were grasping for rationale to avoid, rather than confront the situation. I considered whether it was more messed up that they tried to micromanage every aspect with such seriousness and scrutiny …or that I was detached, and more intrigued by their interactions.” Ha, I don’t know, but when I was asked for my input, I blurted the only thing that made sense …from a security perspective. “We don’t have enough information. If you weren’t able to fix the problem, unplug it. Unplug everything you’re not sure of, until we have more information.”

Such a decisive statement seemed to put them on their heels. Once they were continue operations, the thought of making a full stop to correct the issue before continuing, seemed jarring to them. There was some back-peddling before they established a new plan to acquire ‘more’ information. A happy medium was struck, to unplug computers that they could not vet, by end of day. The meeting dispersed.

Was it wrong for me to be more interested in wrapping up, taking the top down on the Jeep, driving home with he sun and the wind on my face? Is there something wrong with me that I want to get home and write about the guy next to me? The guy who sets his pen and notebook so square, who sat with perfect posture, and maintained eye contact with the teleconference screen the whole time. Am I odd to be so interested in the features of his face and the expression that he held –and continue to hold the whole time? The power struggle that waged on, like a tug-of-war, between the meeting organizer and the control freak, should not have interested me more than the topic itself, right?

Heh, I don’t know, but I am so happy to be out of my cube, back home –have walked my dog, relaxed with my family, and now sit here with you, sipping a bourbon.

Cheers!

TyCobbsTeeth

While thumbing through a message on his cell phone, David Cameron bit into his freshly toasted bagel. The crisp edge gave way to warm chewy dough. It was the cream cheese melting in his mouth that almost took the bite out of the message. It was his boss alerting him to a crisis. He groaned, “not a pre-coffee crisis.” David licked a bit of cream cheese from the corner of his mouth. He glanced at the clock on the stove and wondered how bad traffic was going to be. Still in sweats from his run on the treadmill and needing to shower, he decided to dump the coffee he had just poured. He set his bagel down and turned to let his barking dog in.

“Curly, what are you bark… WHAT THE?!”

The morning sky, a brand new blue, promising a clear sunny day just twenty minutes ago, was now black. Billowing charcoal plumes filled the air. The vast cornfield that bordered his yard was now angry flames licking his lawn like the red sea pounding on the shoreline. Curly, his two-year-old labradoodle, was barking furiously at the blaze for encroaching on his property.

David was out the back door and across the lawn so fast his feet barely touched the grass. He had Curly scooped up and was heading, top speed, between the houses for the street. By the time he hit the sidewalk, he could hear sirens in the distance. His sock feet, soaking wet from the dew, leaked out into puddles around his feet as he looked down the row of houses to his right. The Bradley’s house, just six lots down, was on fire and the whole family looked on in horror from the curb.

David put Curly in his car and scuttled across the grass to the Kane’s house next door. He pounded madly on the door with one hand while ringing the bell with the other, but before it was answered he was off to the next house; the Murphy’s. Everyone else was outside already, but Able Kane and the Murphys were all members of a coveted sect of society, who could sleep as long as they wanted; the retired.

As he reached the Murphy’s door, the scream of the sirens neared. David was banging and ringing as Able Kane stepped out on the stoop of the house that David had just finished accosting. He looked over while holding his housecoat together with one hand and trying to tame what was left of his thinning hair with the other. “What in tarnation?” was all he muttered before running back inside. Andy Murphy swung open his door abruptly and presented David with a look of indignation. The open door allowed a wave of sight and sound to wash over him as emergency vehicles ripped past. The look of realization on his neighbor’s face was all David needed; he was off and running back to grab his pooch.

Any thoughts he had of running in to grab a few things were dashed by the fire’s progression. The red sea had now crashed over the shoreline and was washing against the back of his house.

As he stood across the street from his place, David realized this was the last time he would be looking at the home he had grown up in. In his sock feet, holding his dog in his arms, he watched helplessly while the flames moved methodically from the back of the house to the side. They were nibbling away at the bottom edge of the siding, the same way he ate the edge off of his Oreos. He noticed an orange glow inside the main floor windows and then the drapes disappeared unceremoniously. The fire drew his attention back to the side of the house as it became impatient with nibbling and decided to devour the rest of the side at once. The flames quickly ate their way up through the soffit and into the attic. Moments later the whole house erupted into a fireball. Some structural shifting made the dog flinch in his arms and a window shattered causing Curly to jump.

David felt like he had just run ten miles in full combat gear, carrying a fifty-pound rucksack. He felt gravity pulling down on him; there was a vice compressing his chest, and spots were jumping around in front of his eyes. He shook his head, blinked his eyes, and focused on the new noise occupying the airwaves.

“I Need Everyone To Clear The Area Now! We Are Clearing A Five Block Radius Immediately!”

The blaring megaphone voice, although startling, brought lucidity. People; most of them his neighbors, were all moving past him and towards the corner of the block.

“David! Wake up boy. C’mon, we’ve got to go.”

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I love to feel–to truly feel. Why else are we here, other than to feel, to live, to experience happiness, anger, sadness? Humans flock to concerts, movie theaters, fair grounds and the like — in droves. Why? Because they want to feel. People want to feel the range of emotion they don’t get during routine life.

I love to be happy. Being happy gives me energy, I radiate, and it makes me want to share my experience with others.  –Everyone wants to be happy.

Being sad is more of a personal thing. When I’m down I want to be by myself. Why is this? Do I relish the loneliness? Does it enhance the feeling? Everyone gets selfish with their sadness. When they get that warm ball in their throat, and the burning in their eyes …they scurry off to their room. They seek solitude. They take it someplace where they can experience it by themselves.

For generations men have been taught to suppress emotion and deal in rationality. It was not until recently that men have been encouraged to feel, talk about their feelings, and understand them.

I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty f’n far from ‘understanding’ my feelings. I do however, express them more. Maybe I’m in the transitional generation. More recently, I’ve tried to enjoy them. Happiness, sadness, anger …HA, I guess that’s one I’ve always enjoyed — in a way. Sadness, not so much.

I’m not alone in my retardation with understanding feelings.

You’ve all heard the statements, “I can’t help how I am feeling“, or “I don’t know why I feel so angry“. A lot of feelings that men experience are morphed, exhibited, or at least explained, as anger.

Enough about why. It’s 1AM and I’m gonna crash. Feelings are great. Yeah, all of them. Happiness is wonderful, but the clarity anger can evoke is amazing, and the creativity you can milk from sadness …well, try it –if you haven’t.

Don’t fear the feel. Let feelings wash over you, experience them, and enjoy them.

If you’re a writer, a musician, artist, or whatever …you can learn from feelings.

Your brain gives you as many feelings as it does thoughts, so use them.

Cheers!

TyCobbsTeeth

tycobbsteeth:

That was a really great letter.

It conjured up a lot of feelings I have, and have had. Recently, I had a …let’s say, a cardiac episode. One of the things my doctor–instructed–me to do was, remove caffeine from my diet. Until that time I was enjoying three large coffees a day. Mmmm, to hear it gathering in your cup, to embrace it with both hands, hold it to your chest in a tiny hug, and breath in it’s intoxicating aroma. That’s not an easy thing to give up. Like you, years ago, I corrupted her, with lactates and sweeteners, but once I accepted her–completely–I learned to enjoy …no, appreciate. Nope …savor. Maybe relish? Ahhh …revel in her full, black, unadulterated beauty.

Several flavors of tea tried to take her place for the next few months, but paled in comparison. I thought, for a second, that Bengal Spice tea could help me through the pain of my loss. Her spicy aroma was formidable, even sexy, but fleeting.

Alas, my transitory affairs with …tea, did not last, and I am back with my true love.

Thank you.

I really enjoyed it …to the last drop. Cheers!

TyCobbsTeeth

Originally posted on Venturing East:

Dear Coffee,

Make yourself comfortable at the dining room table. Take a seat. Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble, so relax your steaming breath. I have so much to tell you.

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