I've often thought that many aspects of my life would make a great book. I've also often thought about writing a book. Whether autobiographical or not. And for some unknown reason, last night while watching my G-men fuck up the falcons I decided to start writing. And what I have so far flew off my pen onto the paper. I am posting this for a few reasons. The main reason being to get feedback. Whether negative or positive. What would be amazing if there is an english teacher (or someone of equivelent grammerical knowledge) who could run through it and critique and correct my grammer and punctuation. I plan (we'll see what happens) on making this thread for my book. So when I write the next part, I'll post it. However, I've often scratched projects dues to lack of inspiration. 7 times out of 10 my inspiration for artistic things (writing/poetry/drawing/music) comes out of nowhere and when I try to tap it I wind up having less than normal. One thing I would like to point out beforehand is that I haven't totally decided how I want to narrate..... first or third person....present or past tense. So it kinda jumps back and forth.... but its not hard to follow (I don't think...hope not). Also, I do not have a title yet. I'm open to suggestions. I've been throwing around, "The Greater Whole", Heres a little pre-ditty........... I'm 22 and have made a lot of poor decisions in my life. Many of those decisions involving drugs. Whether it be good or bad, most of my good and bad memories come from the time when I was doing the worst. And when I try and think about specific memories from that time, I think aobut one pretty main thing. Here goes....... hope you all like it............ <---thats a symbol i use for a dream/thinking sequence +*+*+<----that indicates a separate paragraph containgin info *****<---that indicates my name.... you don't get to know it PREFACE: I've heard drug abuse classified as a habit and an addiction. Both can, respectively, be considered an acceptable term. HOwever, the two are different parts of a greater whole. You see, drug abuse is a country of its own. Ruling over a conglomeration of individual states. Webster's defines habit in this context as a noun: a setted tendency or usual manner of behavior. Having a habit is not always a negative concept. In this case though, it is. And once again, it is part of a greater whole. In the state of addiction, a habit is a city within. Webster's defines addiction as a persistent compulsive use of a substance known by the user to be harmful. Or much more specific: a noun-a compulsive need for, and use of a habit-forming substance characterized by tolerance and by well-defined physiological symptoms upon withdrawl. I myself was addicted. I myself am adicted. I was addicted to alcohol. I was addicted to painkillers. I was addicted to heroin. I am addicted to methadone. I have always been addicted to nicotine. In passing I've said, "Come one man, I gotta feed the habit!" Or, "I don't make nearly enough to support this kind of habit." I've been asked, "What methods do you employ to cope with addiction?" Or, "If you don't stop using now you will become addicted, again." See what I mean? Both terms can be used quite successfully. In addition, a hab it can be part ot an addiction. In my case for instance, I had a habit of saving 90% of my dope baggies and leaving them out where the Man could see them. My dictionary defines the Man as a noun; any authority figure, in any situation, in which an individual has reason to answer to, fear, or worry about said authority figure. I.E: cops, boss, parents, girlfriend, etc... I was addicted to heroin for only 3 years. Yeah right, ONLY 3 years. The worst 3 years of my life. Although in many aspects it was the best. I am 22 years olf an my fondest memories are from those 3 years. Mt recurring dreams stem from incidents that occured during that period of my life. When I try to sit and think about my addiction I think about this..... CHAPTER ONE Friday: Empty ciggarette packs. An empty terrarium missing nothing but my gecko, Cadillac. Dog shit. Cob webs. A pile of videos tumbling over themselves to the ground. Broken window blinds. My father. No matter where I look this place is still not my mother's. I've never wanted anything as much as how badly I wish she'd forgive me and let me come back home. Well maybe there is one thing. I close my eyes and I think about the first time I did heroin...... It's April 20th and I'm drunk again at another party. In my mind this party is somehow better than the others because its 4/20!! Time to smoke more weed than usual and get into another fight with my girlfriend! Awesome! MOre than half the people here have already left and it's gotta be atleast 2a.m. I only have 2 Magic Hats left and about a half a gram of coke. My buddy, the noble ingnoramoose Lucas, my ride, is wating to get going but being the good kid that he is, he won't leave without me. Under the back porch of the raised ranch is a huge semi-circle of various empty chairs surrounding a wet, red plastic cup covered sheet of ply-wood sitting on 2 makeshift sawhorses. Hovered around the light emerging from the downstairs bedroom window under the porch are 3 of my buddies from school, sitting around a small circle table smoking on a Gene Simmons head hookah with 4 tubes. I more than freely answer "Surely" when I hear my friend say, "Come on over here and hit this shit!" Who am I to argue?? While coughing out a raunchy hit of stale, low-grade marijuana smoke I notice my surroundings dim as a sillouette appears in the window. The screen slids up a little bit and our gracious host says, "Yo, *****! Come go line for line real quick before you take off." "I'm leaving?" I jokingly respond. I'm totally down to get down but I really don't want to get up at this moment and walk the 30 some-odd feet to the sliding back door. So I lazily decide to go through the 'off-limits' door that goes to the basement laundry room. I definately hear some sex in there but the people inside don't know that. Stepping in I get a glorious glimpse of a pair of breats I had pictured in my mind so many times since my first day of high school 2+ years ago. "holy shit! I'm so sorry! I didn't know you guys were in here." I say trying to hide a smirk as I ever so slowly continue through the laundry room while my eyes are firmly glued to the girl on the washer. "Get the fuck out!" the undeserving jerk-off shouts to me when he commences as I am still making my way through the room. I (sadly) finally reach the door that leads to the downstairs hallway and my buddies bedroom and I open the door. Walking through the doorway I step slightly to my left to let light in and turn around to get a nice mental snapshot when I notice she is looking right at me. While getting nailed by some loser dude she locks eyes with me and winks. Fuckin A. I want to smash my bottle over the back of this guys head and jump in so bad. Nonetheless, reluctanly I leave the laundry room and walk down the hall to Eric, the party thrower's bedroom. Stepping in the doorway I laughingly say to him, "Do you know theres people fuckins on your washing machine?" "Damnit, still?!?!? I told them to go to their car or leave!" Eric yells as he storms out of the room to go bang on the laundry room door. I feel like an asshole now because they won't be able to finish cause I said something. That feeling soon moves out of the way and laughter takes over while the only other person in the room explains to me how he was also lucky enough to have walked through the 'off-limits' door. +*+*+(This other person, whom I barely knew at the time will unfortunately become a huge part of my life. And many other people's as well. For he is the spawn of Satan. He willingly and purposely gets people, usually kids, to become addicted to heroin (like him) so he will always have business and in turn, heroin for himself. He can't stand himself so he has to bring other people down aswell. Especially those in recovery. He can't handle the fact that someone is strong enough to quit because he isn't. But don't think he's a dick simply because of drugs. He's a natural scum-bag.)+*+*+ Eric comes back and we bullshit for a bit and start doing lines of blow and smoking some herb. This time its actually good herb. While (forebodingly) watching Tool's music video for 'Stinkfist', for some reason I remember that Luke is outside waiting for me. So I leave and go grab him to cmoe and get down. When we return I see the back of Eric's head as he rails a decent sized line. I notice the cokes darker hue as Eric passes the straw to the Antichrist. Who did not pay or throw down. I interject immediately and ask, "Did you throw down?" He laughed and said, "Yeah, I mixed it up a little bit." I knew what that ment and so did Luke. Who may be simple at times, but is not afraid to be himself. +*+*+(Even though his 'self' eventually tunred out to be a junkie like me and everyone else.)+*+*+ Luke turns to me, tells me he'll be waiting in the car, and leaves without saying anything to the Antichrist or Eric. I don't want to make a scene or act like I was anything but cool. I'm only 16 these guys are like 20 something. It's corny but true....peer pressure is a bitch. I have been thinking about trying D cause I've been eating/snorting painkillers for like 9+ months. I've seen how much some of my 'friends' like it so fuck it. I'll get down. I've always thought I would try everything at least once. Eventually the c.d. case and snaffer get passed to me and I don't break stride like a champ. I feel, and taste the difference. Obviously. I taste the opiates...yet it's a pure taste I've never experienced. I'm already spun, drunk and stoned so I doubt I'll feel anything. I still taste a lot of coke compared to opiate taste so he probably mixed it up unevenly. I bet he mixed it so his line was filled with mine and Eric's coke and his dope and our lines were nothing but our coke..... yet missing some. I continue to rationalize to myself for about 3 minutes until I feel it. A tsunami of euphoria caused by a landslide that crashed into my ocean. The wave began at my toes and is rushing up my legs through my body while decimating the effects of any other substances in me like a storm surge meeting a sandcastle. Slowly my eyes close.... life is great. I wake up 4 minutes later feeling like I've been dreaming for hours. Now I'm really high but the other durgs have made a comeback. My eyes are 1/8th the way open and toasted from the herb. My face, lips, toungue and teeth are numb from the coke. I am so amazingly down, yet, I can't keep my legs stilll. For about 15 minutes I proceed to melt into the basket chair while listening to Eric talk and the Antichirist bullshit. I think to myslef, "Damn this guy never gives it a rest. Fuckin shut up!" My thoughts transform into a vivid daydream of me shooting the Antichrist. While enjoying my fantasy I begin to feel quite nauseous. I gotta get out of this room. I stand up, I make my thanks and say my goodbyes as quickly as possible without hinting to anything being amiss and walk out the room, go through the laungry room and go outside to the back yard. Unfortunately, the sexy naked girl is no longer there. I spark a Marlboro and don't inhale the first 2 drags. On the third drag I take one of those really deep breathes that feels like your lungs summit a mountain of ribs and pushs them down into the earth. That always calms me down. So I make my way around the side of the house to the front where all the cars are parked and Luke is patienly waiting. I'm about half way up the slow inclince when with .02 seconds notice I turn my head and throw up about 9 beers and half a pepperoni pizza. I laugh when I notice 2 completely whole slices of pepperoni in my pile of vomit. I spit a bunch of times, blow a pair of snot rockets, wipe my face on my hoodie sleeve and continue my trek to the car. After what seems like a really long time I reach Lukes white, '91 Toyota Camry, open the passenger door and collapse into the seat. Sitting behind the wheel Luke says to me, "You know...you can be really fuckin stupid sometimes." It took me too long to realize what he really meant. As soon as the car starts and the radio turns on I hear a caller requesting 'Dreams' by the Allman Bros. I've only really been inot the Allman Brothers for a few years but this is my favorite song on my 'Decade of Hits 69-79' cd. I only live 5 minutes down the street so I don't get to hear the whole song. I didn't hear most of it anyways because I was in a wicked good nod the whole ride. Even though between the both of use we've heard this song a billion times, the ride goes without communication. Honestly, for all I know I just didn't hear anything he said eaither. As Luke pulls into my sloped driveway in front of my condo that sits in the middle of a row of 10 he puts the radio on mute and says, "Take it easy, *****. Gimmie a calll tomorrow or whenever.... we'll get up and burn." "Alright bro." We shake hands. "Thanks a lot for the ride, man." I say as I try not to stumble out of the door onto the pavement. I nuge the car door slightly so it will close on its own from the tilt off the car then Luke backs up slowley and pulls away. I walk 3 steps to my small patch of grass I might sometimes like to call a lawn and lay down on my back. As I look up at the stars i begin to nod again. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Well thats what I wrote last night in about an hour. I work a lot and dont have nearly as much free time as I would like so I don't know when I will continue it. But whenever that may be, I will post it here again. If this book was a movie, where I left off would still be in the first scene. Any feedback is greatly appreciated. -cmr-
Its got potential, I think you're being a little excessive with words though. Try to convey what you whant to say in as few words as possible. If you convey what your trying to accurately enough, you don't need to tell the reader everything. It's called the iceberg theory, and used by most american writers. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iceberg_Theory Readers get bored fast with stuff that is, or seems, unimportant. So this section for example: What seems important to me is the song (symbolic?), the silence (mood/characterization), the muting of "dreams" (symbolic?), and the fact that the driveway is sloped (symbolic of the begining of unevenness or a fall). So if we try and cut it down we get this: The Allman Bros. "Dreams" comes on after Luke starts the car. It's the only sound in the car for the five minute drive. He mutes it as we pull into the sloped driveway of my condo, saying You should read up on how to write dialogue grammatically correct too. But otherwise, it sounds like a good start. Just remember to constantly revise what you write to make it clearer and simpler. What kind of theme or idea are you trying to get across in the story? That flirting with drugs leads to addiction which screws up your life? Some kind of Requiem for a Dream parallel?
I think its great that you want to write! What would be amazing if there is an english teacher (or someone of equivelent grammerical knowledge) who could run through it and critique and correct my grammer and punctuation. To get some really great feedback and guidance, may I suggest signing up for coursework at a local college-I loved the lit/comp/writing classes I took and the resources are excellent! DCrist makes a good point of keeping it concise and still saying a lot. you wrote: "I continue to rationalize to myself for about 3 minutes..." we, as readers know you are rationalizing to yourself. ahhh, well good luck!
thanks for the advice. you guys sound like my 10th grade creative writing teahcer...... i always do that. i feel the need to 'over decribe' the situation because I know when I'm reading I love when the descriptive writing paints a picture in my head. however, I definatly understand the need for both detail and preciseness (not sure if preciseness is a word). another reason may be that i've lived everything i'm writing and trying to remember every little detail. my first thought when thinking about writing this is that I want it to be a movie. I think it would be a kick ass movie..... (much more than just what I've got) i definatley am new to diolague. i've practically never used it before. and my sometimes poor punctuation and grammer definalty shows up in that. i'm working on it though. just another reason why i posted it. I've writen a ass ton of short stories, poems and whatever and every piece has gone through an extensive editing process. My problem is that I can't really find a way to 'dumb' it down a bit without sacrificing what i think is important descriptions. what I posted is not a main part and its just a quick flashback to set the tone. The refernece to 'dreams' is a symbol of sorts. everything i've written is 100% true and that song was on the radio at that time. too me, that song represents the false sense of self I got when I was high. That song would be a decent part of my life. once again...my driveway really is on a slope...... but you're close. I was trying to symbolize the beginning or a long set of difficult situations. same thing with the incline walking around the house form the backyard. i appreciate the feedback and hopefully i'll finish...or continue one day. the best feedback, to me isn'y always positive. or more usually negative.... that helps me learn and get better for the future. thanks again -cmr-
Based on my observations, it seems that you're torn between writng a diary/log of these life events to preserve your memories and writing a good story based on these events. I think you should write log of all the events that you want to include in your book as they happened, without any embelishing or care for how it reads outloud, and then use that to construct the framework of your book. Truth is often more bizzare then fiction, and fiction is often more factual then truth; understanding that statement will help you be a better writer of both fact and fiction. As far as wanting to "paint a picture", you can do that without describing every detail. In the words of hemingway, "write like Cezzane paints." Here we have Cezzane's "Mountains in Provence": Everything is very simplified, yet theres still a definite feeling of liveliness coming from the painting. Let me show you a 6 word short story by hemmingway, so much feeling comes from these 6 words, yet it's shorter then the average sentence, but is in it of itself a complete story: "For sale. Baby shoes. Never worn."
working on it. I have a problem that I can only bang shit out when it happens. I find its much harder when I sit and tell myself to be creative. soon