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Vestige Novel Chapter 2 (Reworked and Edited): Rena’s POV

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Chapter Two: Rena’s POV

How could this have happened? I watched still as stone as Amos and Constantine reach out and catch Jamie before she hit the ground. She had fainted. Much worse than that, she knew about the Dark Ones now. A dangerous force in the world that Vanessa never wanted her to know the existence of. What was Jamie doing in the woods at this time of night? My mind whirled as I ran my hands through my long dark locks.

            I had met her a few times before when I went to visit my old friend, Vanessa. Jamie was Vanessa’s seventeen-year-old adoptive daughter. As hard as this was going to be for the both of them, and more so for Vanessa, Jamie knew about them now, and something had to be done about it.

Amos and Constantine looked up at me with the same matching expressions on their faces of concern and shock. Neither of them had ever seen a human be so bold as to attack a Dark One without fear. I had never known humans were strong enough to actually take one down without dying in the process.

Gazing down at her now, a silent sigh of disappointment slipped between my lips. Jamie was still out cold. Her dark golden hair and her life drained face was covered in beads of sweat, matting strands of hair to her forehead.

“Is she alright?” I finally asked them, not bothering to check myself. Their guesses were as good as my own.

They placed her down carefully on the ground and looked her over. Amos put two of his fingers to the main vein on the throat of her neck to check her pulse. “She is breathing; unconscious, yet breathing. She will live to see another day.” He examined, his Spaniard accent clear in his voice. He met my gaze with worrisome eyes. “What should we do now with the girl? She has seen too much for human eyes.”

I knew what he meant.

Constantine’s eyes rounded and bulged at the same time we heard his sharp intake of breath.

“What is it Constantine?” Amos and I asked in unisons, stepping closer to him.

“Her arm! Look at the girl’s arm! Tell me it isn’t what I think it is.”

At my son Constantine’s request, I walked over and bent down hovering over Jamie like Amos and Constantine were now doing. He pointed a shaking finger to the nape between her upper and lower right arm. “There,” he pointed.

We followed his gaze and direction with our eyes. Amos positioned his flashlight on the section of her arm, so we could see it better under the fluorescent light. When the light shone over the area, we saw what Constantine meant. In the nape between her upper and lower arm were three distinct needle marks. They were surrounded by bruises and her veins were a vibrant violet color at the moment in hand.

It was clearly obvious to Amos, Constantine, and I what the marks meant. We all stood back up.

“The girl has been marked. She probably fainted from the pain of the change,” Amos shook his head. “She’s so young. They always are.” His gaze fell on her. “The world will never be the same for her again.”

Constantine nodded in agreement. “Because she is going through the change that must be why she had the strength to take down that Dark One. Strange, but intriguing. However, even those going through the change shouldn’t be able to be as strong as she was.”

It made complete sense if one looked at it that way. Still a newly changed Immortali shouldn’t have the knowledge it would require to defeat a Dark One or kill it, let alone one who’s still going through the change.

Amos yawned. The dark lines under his eyes were evidence of his exhaustion. We had been tracking the Dark One for days and chasing him for hours. Ours wards were waiting for us to return home.

“What should we do with her now? We can’t just leave her here and have humans find her. We would be risking exposure.” Amos was right. We couldn’t just leave her here.

I thought it over briefly though I already knew the answer. I knew the answer the second I realized that the girl was Jamie. “We will take the girl to her adoptive parent’s house and see where to go from there. Her house isn’t far from here. A few miles at best.”

Confusion was written in the furrowing of their brows and the stillness of their movements.

“You know this girl and her adoptive parents?” Amos wondered.

I nodded my head in her direction. “Yes, I do. Her name is Kathleen James McKenna, though she prefers to be called Jamie. Her adoptive parents are Mark and Vanessa McKenna of Trenton, New Jersey. They adopted her two years ago.”

Understanding flashed over their features the moment I said Vanessa’s name because they knew Vanessa as well.

Amos kneeled down and slid his hands under Jamie, lifting her off the ground, and put her into his arms without waking her up. She was still out cold.

Constantine’s eyes flickered down to the unconscious Dark One and up to me. “What should we do with him then?”

This was a job they could do without me for tonight at least. My current job was to make sure Vanessa knew what happened to her daughter. This is going to break her heart, I think sadly, but it has to be done. I held out my arms extended. “Give her to me,” I told Amos. He placed her into my arms, and I held her tight against my chest, so she wouldn’t fall. “I’m taking her to Vanessa. I’ll call you when I’m going to return. You two can deal with the Dark One without me for tonight. This is much more important than him.”

Neither of them contested my words.

Amos put his hand on my shoulder gently. “Be careful and return back safely to me, Renata,” he whispered. He worried too much. He knew that I was more than capable of taking care of myself.

Without another word to them, I carried Jamie back to her car on the side of the road. I found it easily in the night, and I put her securely in the backseat. I shut the door silently without waking her. Looking around, I see no one in sight for miles. Thinking over what I should tell Vanessa, I got into the driver’s seat, shutting the door, and I turned the key in the ignition. As the car hummed to life, I drove off on a new mission. A mission that I didn’t want to do, but I knew I had no choice.

Communicating your thoughts and ideas onto the page

Soul of Planet earth is in each of usWriting is simply a voice retelling a story to the audience in a way that is compelling, honest, and they can connect themselves to. Readers should feel engrossed in the lives of your characters, curious to see the outcome, and willing to take the journeys down many pathways with the characters. If writing does anything at all, it should move the reader to think deeply by giving them new insights and ideas into aspects of life that they already are going through, possibly could go through, or they will hopefully never go through.

All writing effects readers and should allow them to feel something. Writing should make readers feel, whether those feelings are happy, sad, angry, or what have you. Good writing should convey those moments in time with a clear view of all the circumstances and events and obstacles the characters go through on their many paths. Readers should see how the characters develop, change, and take solid shape from the beginning to the end, and at the conclusion, they should understand and feel that the characters were real, honest, and their choices were what they really would have done.

Characters are meant to be relateable, loved and hated, by the readers. They are essentially symbols for the many facets of humanity and inhumanity that we as people harbor in some respect within ourselves; the many shades of humanity wrapped up in creativity, imagination, and possibility. Readers should see this in the characters. However, it is not always easy to convey those ideals into your writing. Some times it’s hard to figure out where to start, how to move it along, and when to end their stories.

In my time being a writer and reader, I have found a method that works best for me, and that method is what I call the Movie Transition Method. The Movie Transition Method is when I take the basic essential format of how a script or movie film is made and transition it into a time frame of events that really elaborate and relay the story of my characters in a way that keeps readers reading and myself writing.

How I plan out what I need to put into my characters story is as follows:

1. I make a time line. I draw one long horizontal line three-forths of the way across a blank, clear paper. Then I draw three vertical lines on the page, so I have three sections, which I label as: The Setup, the Conflict, and the resolution.

2. I add in events and important information that I feel need to be included in the story.

The Setup includes:

-Introducing the characters and their situations

-Bringing the readers into the characters’ worlds

-Setting up the foreshadowing of events to come later

The Conflict includes:

-Getting deeper into the characters’ thoughts, life, and their struggles

-How the characters react to the events occurring

-How and why things are happening  to these characters

-The conflict that the characters go through and what their lowest points are

-The build of suspense and mystery

The Resolution includes:

-The lowest, darkest, or troubling times for the characters

-How the characters react to the situations and how their behavior ultimately leaves them to the end, or next chapter, in their lives-The climax, or the defining moment(s), that resolve the conflict and shape the characters into the change or same individuals they are

-The summary, wrap up of events, ending note, or cliffhanger that leads into the next chapters in the characters’ lives.

3. The Movie Transition Method of outlining leads into the outlining phase.

This phase is especially important because I take the meat, or content, of the Movie Transition Method timeline and write out the content that will be included into the story in an outline. This later leads me to write the first draft of my characters’ stories and life.

It’s important that I make a note here to tell you that an easier way to think of writing your characters’, or even your, stories is by pretending it’s a movie film. You have your beginning, middle, and end. The beginning should be informative, the middle should be interesting and enticing, and the end should be moving, critical, and it should end after the important chapter does. Do not prolong a character’s story for better length. Content is what is key in your writing.

Think of your writing as a movie. Write out the important scenes: delete scenes that have no real connection or importance to your characters’ motives or actions, extend scenes that have power over the characters’ journeys, and highlight the reasons why your characters’ stories are important for your readers to read and accompany your characters on. All of that is how you can communicate your thoughts and ideas, which essentially are your characters’ thoughts and ideas, onto the page and visible for your readers to see, feel, and understand.

 

Vestige Novel (ReWorked and ReWritten): Chapter 1 Jamie’s POV

Chapter One: Jamie’s POV

    “Not again! I can’t be late again!” Pressing my foot further down on the gas pedal, I knew that I was going to get in trouble with Vanessa for being out passed my curfew for the third time this week.

     It had only been a week after my seventeenth birthday and already I had broken my promise to stay out of trouble and behave myself.

    She’ll have my head on a stick this time, I thought frantically.

    As I drove out my frustrations, I began to notice the headache forming like a storm could in my mind wasn’t helping much either; not that a headache ever helped anyone. The headaches have gotten worse in the passed four days since I first noticed them coming and going. I prayed that it would disappear by tomorrow’s soccer match because the team was depending on me to carry them to victory. What’s a team without its best goalie?

    With eyes still focused on the road ahead and hands still placed at ten and two on the steering wheel, I carefully maneuvered my cotton sweater off without so much as swerving on the road. I wiped at my forehead and removed the beads of sweat building before I glanced down at the heat settings and saw that it was off. I inhaled a small gust of air and had a hard time breathing without finding myself wheezing. I hoped that I wasn’t getting sick, that it was just allergies, because I would miss out on too many things if I was coming down with something.

    No other cars or people were around on this old dirt road as I powered through it. Hardly anyone took this route anymore because the highway was faster, and also due to the fact that this road was said to be dangerous because of all the accidents that occurred here when it was a busy road.

    The lonely dirt road sat beside a forest on both sides. A few houses popped up here and there; otherwise, it was abandoned. Rushing and driving fast was a given for me. I knew no police cars would be sitting in wait. They never patrol this road anymore.

    Coughing hard, I closed my eyes for a split second. When my eyes shot open, I was blinded by a big flash of fluorescent white light that shone through the forest off to my right. The car shook slightly beneath me; enough for me to notice that it wasn’t natural. Something was happening.

    Startled, I panicked and found the brakes with my foot and stomped on it, putting the car into a complete stop, while I shielded my eyes with my arm from the bright illuminating light. My head felt like it would explode with pain as it pulsated against my skull. Barely seeing around my arm, I saw the light slowly faded away through the overgrown trees after a few seconds.

    Removing my arm from my face, I looked at the area where the light was still fading back into the darkness of night. My eyes finally adjusted to the sudden shift in light and my ragged breathing made each wheeze hurt worse.

    “What the heck was that?” I asked myself, still in shock.

    When I finally calmed down to what I thought as reasonable, I put the car back into drive and pulled off to the side of the road and parked the car. The flash of light was completely gone when I got out of the car and shut the door. Looking around in the dark of night vigilantIy, I headed into the forest with quiet steps weary that I was alone. It was too silent for a location where many animals inhabited. The forest wasn’t just silent, but it was absolutely creepy. My heart pounded against my chest, telling me to get out of there. Something about the forest felt wrong, unnatural. The pit of my stomach twisted into knots and dropped into an abyss of uneasiness.

    After minutes of walking, I reached the exact point where the light had originated. I leaned against a tree trunk to steady myself as my body begun to sway and my mind swarmed, losing balance. Unsuccessfully, I tried to shake the headache and the vertigo away.

    The tournament must’ve taken a lot out of me.

    The silence in the forest stretched on with only the sounds of my labored breathing and heart pounding loudly in my chest present as I attempted to catch my breath.

    The sudden sounds of tree branches and twigs breaking or being moved made my head shot up alarmed. I listened closer to the noises in complete stillness. The noises were getting closer to where I stood shaking with fear. It sounded like the branches and twigs were being stepped on.

    Someone or something was running fast in my direction.

    “Hello? Is someone out there? Hello?” I yelled, trying to see if they were alright.

    No one answered back.

    The running kept aiming in the same direction. This time the sounds of whomever or whatever was coming became more persistent and grew louder.

    Another thought dropped into my mind. One thought I should’ve thought of sooner. What if they were the ones who caused the flash of light?

    A thought I should’ve had much sooner, because now it was too late to run. I could hear them too close now. I wouldn’t, couldn’t, let my fear be the death of me. My instincts and teachings consumed the fear building inside of me like a typhoon as I prepared in case the person or animal was going to attack me. Everything about its approach felt wrong. Digging my feet into the ground, leveling my arms, calming my nerves with shaky breaths, and suppressing my aches, I positioned my body into a defensive stance as I had done many times before during tournaments. I worked myself up for an encounter by praying “you can do this, you can do this” repeatedly in my head. Even though I felt like crap, my every nerve was on end prepared to fight just in case.

    Once again my eyes swept over the direction where branches and bushes were beginning to tremble. I could see small pebbles and rocks and little sticks quaking on the grass and in the dirt because of some force. Squinting, trying to narrow my sight in the darkness, I saw the distinct silhouette of a man in dark clothing running towards me. A short distance behind him, three figures with flashlights were pursuing him.

    As he got closer to me, one of the figures chasing him, a woman, shouted out to me catching my attention for a split second. “Run away from him, girl! Don’t let him touch you! Run now!” She yelled breathlessly.

    I couldn’t make out her face though I heard the panic and anger ringing clear as day in her voice. She was right to say it. I should’ve listened but I was too stubborn and it was too late. Running wasn’t an option now. The unsettling feeling deep inside of my soul said that this man they were pursuing was a very bad guy. Shaking my headache away as best as I could, I got back into a defensive battle stance.

    He came into complete view and I watched horrified as he growled at me, gritting his teeth like a feral animal. The inhuman growl that yelped from him threw me off guard, yet not scaring me enough to get me out of my stance. I didn’t move an inch. I was too afraid to. He came charging at me at full speed with his arms outstretched and tackled me to the ground before I could make a move to defend myself. His attack blew the wind right out of my body.

    He was so fast that I barely saw his attack.

A few labored breaths later, I gazed him dead in the eyes. An unusual feature of his stood out immediately. Strange dark red rings around the irises of his clearly amber eyes caught my curiosity. It was weirder than his pale skin, drained of most color.

    Another menacing growl, in my face this time, rippled through his mouth as he struggled with me and he attempted to stand back up. He was stupid to think that I would just give up and surrender. I used all the body strength that I could muster to wrap my legs around his and disabled him from getting to his feet. Doing that only frustrated him more.

    The dark rings around his eyes grew larger and slowly overtook the amber parts remaining, consuming them completely. My mouth dropped open. No way was is that possible! It can’t be real! Human eyes could never do that. It just wasn’t physically possible.

    Laying my rounded eyes on him, reality cracked inside of me at the reality of the existence of other worldly creatures. I was still in shock, yet I knew that my eyes weren’t deceiving me. This was really happening. He was real.

    The three figures that were previously chasing him halted to a stop nearby. I glanced at them briefly, but not long enough to see them and who they were. He caught me off guard in that split second and took advantage of it. Before I could turn back to him, he had already unwrapped my legs and hold on him. I turned back around in time to see him hiss inches from my face like a snake ready to strike.

    Trembling, I shut my eyes tight over my eyelids and waited for the death I knew was coming for me.

    With little effort, he got a good grip on my arm with his hand and flung me in the air. The impact of colliding with a tree trunk ended my flight. The fall and plop on the hard ground of dewy grass was agonizing. It was hard enough that I felt beaten and bruised on impact. Ten times worse than the sickness I already felt beginning to brew inside of me. My glassy eyes of tears blinded my sight. I blinked my eyelids rapidly in order to see through the haze of tears.

    Only a few seconds since I was immobilized had passed, still I had missed a lot. The man was standing up facing the three individuals with flashlights in a feral crouch. Watching the man with an intense unblinking stare, I stood back up, leaning against a tree for support, and shook my head. I set my view on the scene playing out before me when the dizziness begun to fade.

    He was too focused on the others to pay much attention to me at this moment It’s now or never, I thought to myself as I worked up the confidence to outweigh the warring terror in my body. Releasing my jagged breath, I slowly drifted away from the tree and over toward him without making any sounds. In close proximity to him, I started running at him now with my arms outstretched. Clashing with him, I used the full force of my body to take him down. It was like hitting an immoveable object ,but somehow I managed to get him off his feet.

    We fell onto the ground hard with a loud plap. My attack had caught him completely off guard. He immediately tried to untangle me with his hands. Unlike before, it wasn’t going to be so easy with me focused. Whether he was a delusion or real didn’t matter to me in this moment. I wrapped my legs tighter around his waist and maneuvered my right arm around his right arm and neck, then I squeezed hard. I couldn’t let him get away from here and hurt anyone else.

    I squeezed and squeezed until my entire body was engulfed in a burning pain. His groans made my skin crawl. He wiggled around trying to break free of the sleeper hold I had him trapped in. His teeth chomped were mere inches from my face, with only my arm keeping him from turning in my direction and biting me.

    After a few minutes of struggling, his body finally became completely lax as he drifted into unconsciousness. Exhausted as he entered submission, my heart rate slowed and sweat clung onto my forehead. I released my hold and dropped him to the ground. Staring down at him, I  stood up brushing dirt and leaves off my clothes and out of my now tangled dark golden blonde hair. The brain splitting headache and dizziness rushed back into me. It was a thousand times worse than before.

    Now the pain was almost intolerable.

    The three formerly pursuing the man stared at me with their eyes practically bulged out from their sockets. Then they dropped their gazes down to the unconscious man–well I wasn’t sure what he was, but I knew he most certainly wasn’t human.

    The wheezing cut at my throat, making it harder for me to breathe right. A searing pain slithered up my spine and spread throughout the rest of my body. My bones and joints kept cracking like they were going to shatter to bits. They were much worse than growing pains. An agony close to how death would feel, I imagined.

    The woman stepped forward, so I looked her over closely through burning blurry eyes. Her face was familiar to me. That long curly black hair, those yellowish-green eyes, and her beige skin set tiny alarms off in my mind. I stood as still as stone, taken aback a moment. She was too familiar and I knew exactly who she was. I had seen her many times before with Vanessa. What is she doing out here at this time of night chasing that awful creature?

    “Rena? Is that you?” My voice sounded hoarse as I called out to her.

    She didn’t reply back to me. All she did was watch me. Her lips parted, yet nothing slipped from in between.

    Just as I got ready to ask her again ,I broke out into a harsh coughing fit.

    She took a slow step forward, moving out of her stone state. Recognition flying through her.

    “Kathleen? Kathleen McKenna? What are you-” She started.

    Her voice cut out and disappeared into the wind as the dizziness finally won and I fainted, barely seeing the other two with flashlights running to catch me as I slipped into unconsciousness.

Poem: Her (Edited and Revised Edition)

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I loved her not just for the way she lit up the darkness in night, but for the way her love and presence silenced my demons.

She veiled the darkness around her like the stars she used to cast shadows into paths every which way; the way moon she held like her heart, beaming with a luminescence that made the ordinary appear extraordinary; the way her clouds hung above her diadem, yet she drove them away with a loving kindness, instead of hateful wrath or spiraling fireworks, always ready to burst at a clock’s passing tick; and for the way she voyaged through storms of thunderous obstacles and rainy qualms and always comes to a deeper atmosphere where galaxies form.

Her burning love never fading as she danced with darkness to embrace it with the brilliance she harbored within. A beacon of solitude when the demons seeped from the shadows within me. The fight for the sanity and insanity of my mind, and the fragility and destruction of my very soul. She carries that ethereal beauty inside of her and consumes the shadows in her movements, in the echoing of her breath, the beat of her heart, and in the way her essence mingled with my own -touching every part of my soul- and stripped the demons of their grasps on me.

She silenced my demons and hung angels at my shoulders. She was my keeper, and she nestled the silver thread of dawn in her perfectly imperfect hands. Her love kept the wicked inside of and around me at bay, and I loved her more with every glance and with every thought.

Thank You For Following Fellow Readers and Writers

Thank You For Following Fellow Readers and Writers

Since I started this blog to date, I have 80 blog followers, 95 facebook viewers, and over 500 views on my blog. It hit me just how powerful the spoken and written word has become. I thank you for your time and for reading my thoughts and advice on reading and writing thus far. Words are only words until you see the affect and effect it has on others that surround you and take interest in what it is that you have to say. So once again, Thank You and keep reading and writing people of the world. May my words travel with you.

Review of the 2003 Film Big Fish—Something a little different from the usual

big-fish-french-movie-poster-2003Big Fish, Small Pond

    The 2003 film Big Fish starring Billy Crudup and Albert Finney follows the lives of the Bloom family. Will Bloom has always been told wondrous tall tales by his father Edward about his life. During Will’s wedding reception, his father tells the guests the enthralling story of how Will shot out of his mother like a slippery missile and how on that day Edward almost lost his wedding ring to an overgrown fish. This is the last straw for Will, who cannot take another one of his fabricated stories -stories that Will has heard his entire life. Outside, he confronts his father. This is the last night that Will speaks to his father for over three years. It isn’t until Will’s mother Sandra calls him to inform him that Edward is very sick and his days on Earth are numbered. Seeing this as his last chance to get to know his father, Will and his pregnant wife Josephine return to Will’s hometown of Ashton.

Despite the fact that Will and Edward have been estranged for years, Will makes an attempt to have a relationship with his ailing father to try once and for all to get Edward to tell the truth about his life without hiding behind the fable tales.

Edward, bedridden and fading, recounts the memories of his life to Will and Josephine. He tells them mystifying stories: Carl, the giant who became his friend and joined the circus; Amos Calloway, who he worked for at the Circus and also happened to be a werewolf; Jenny, a young girl from Spectre that had a crush on him; the singing Siamese twins Ping and Jing, who Edward helped during the Korean War to get to American entertainment industry. Will believes his father has lied to him all of his life about who he is, where he has been, the things that he has seen and stories he has told. Throughout the film, Will tries to get his father to tell him the truth of who he is -”the good, the bad, everything” (Big Fish). His father replies, “I have been nothing but myself since the day I was born. And if you can’t see that, it’s your failing, not mine” (Big Fish). As his father gets weaker, Will thinks he will never get to know his father for who he truly is.

Sandra, Will’s mother, shows Will the telegram she got when Edward was in the Korean War telling her that Edward was missing in action and presumably dead after Will scoffs off his father’s story about Ping and Jing during the war. Will is shocked and asks, “that really happened?” (Big Fish). Sandra replies, “Not everything your father says is a complete fabrication” (Big Fish). At this moment wheels begin to turn in Will’s mind now that he knows that there is some truth to his father’s stories.

The turning point in Will and Edward’s relationship is when Edward has a stroke and is hospitalized. There at the hospital Will asks the doctor who delivered him to recount the story of his birth. The doctor retells him and states that it was a simple normal birth. Though it is never truly said in the film, Will finally sees the beauty in his father’s stories. The way Edward told stories made it memorable, vivid, and turned ordinary things into extraordinary tales. The truth has always been important to Edward. Will finally understands his father and sees the beauty and truth in Edward’s method of truth telling through storytelling.

When his father finally passes away, Will meets the characters from Edward’s fantastic stories at his funeral. Will sees that all the people in the stories are real, yet not the fantastically magical people that he was told about. Carl isn’t a giant, but he is tall. Amos Calloway is hairy and short, but most definitely not a werewolf. Jenny is older now. And the singing Siamese twins Ping and Jing are not Siamese twins, but they are identical.

When Will’s son is born, he passes on his father’s stories and has developed the love of telling truths in the form of storytelling. Edward had always wanted to be the big fish in a small pond. He understood that each one of us as a story to tell and we can tell it anyway we want because when we are gone all we have is our stories. Our stories and the truth in our stories will be passed on from one generation to the next. In this way, we become immortal.

Writers and Readers Live Many Lives

Writers and Readers Live Many Lives

Writers do write to taste life twice. In many ways, readers and writers alike both read and write books to jump into the story, see it through the eyes of the main character, and experience his/her adventure with them as if we are really there and his/her world is as tangible as our own realities.

When readers read books that have compelling story lines, real world situations, and characters with emotions that the readers can identify with. All books are written with this purpose in mind, that the stories readers choose to pick up are really fantasy worlds and have alternative lives that the readers themselves entertain to be their own worlds as they read.

Writers read books such as those too. Writers read them because they know that these are the books their readers want to read. These are the books that are going to show them, with the power of critical thinking and analyzing, how they need to write characters, plots, story lines, emotional build up, realism, themes, and how to relate to their readers. Everything is a learning lesson, especially in life and in books. The whole purpose of writing books is to share and teach readers life lessons. We aim to enrich their minds with the knowledge, ideas, and insights that we have within our own minds, because when we write our characters and our characters worlds and realities, we write with the readers in mind.  The abilities that we have as writers is that we can pull all of this information about our characters, where they come from, where they are now, and their journeys to get to where they have to go, and mentally, visually take it out of our minds and imprint it into our readers minds, so that way they, themselves, can see, hear, touch, taste, and smell everything happening in the book as we do, with a sense of realism and honesty etched into every word on the page.

So, yes, writers do write to taste life twice, and often times way more than just twice. Readers do this as well. They read to put themselves into others’ shoes, situations, and minds. We all grow as individuals, readers, and writers by what we read. We grow along with the stories and the characters. They are friends that are eternally emblazoned into our minds; memories of lifetimes we have lived.

Local Author Lectures at GRCC on Writing and Publishing

This article was originally intended to be in the Collegiate Newspaper at Grand Rapids Community College, but now it’s here for you on my blog. Read and write on, fellow writers!

On Wednesday, Oct. 23, 2013, from 11:15 to 12:15pm in Grand Rapids Community College’s Wisner-Bottrall Applied Technology Center, the session entitled “How I Turned One Good Idea Into a Book Series” was held in room 120 with Paul A. Krieger, professor of Biology and author of the Visual Analogy Guide Series, was the speaker.

Mursalata Muhammad, professor of English, introduced Krieger to an audience of about 50 students attending the lecture.

The lecture began with Krieger discussing how one idea he had altered his life and work. “It started with an idea. The idea was to teach students anatomy and physiology,” Krieger began as he stood before the crowd, smiling. “The idea was visual analogy.” He spoke about how he did research, went to book stories, and discovered that there were no books out there in stores that really explained anatomy, biology, chemistry, and physiology and had visual aids to benefit the students learning. From there, his idea sprout and grew. He drew up drawings by hand to accompany the chapters and sections of the book idea he had blossoming in his mind.

“Working on that book combined three of my interests: biology, writing, and illustrating.”

His first book, A Visual Analogy Guide to Human Anatomy, came out of this idea he had been creating; however, the book wasn’t without difficulty to get published as he went onto tell us all. Here was when he really dove into how he turned his idea into an entire book series.

Eugene, Krieger’s father, was a Lutheran minister and taught him “the power of words.” Krieger’s English 101 professor in college, Walt Lockwood, emphasized the process of writing rather than the finished product. “You never get it right the first time, so you keep practicing,” Krieger said. These two important people influenced him to become the person, teacher, and author that he has become today. His first mentor, Mike Timmons, an author and professor of Biology, was instrumental in narrowing down Krieger’s book idea when he first started out working on it 12 years ago. With Timmons advice, Krieger’s idea became more tangible and he could see where it was going to go. His second mentor, Kevin Patton, author and professor of Biology, advised him to get into an organization that could help him get published.

From there, Krieger took Patton’s advice and joined the organization called “Text and Academic Authors” (TAA). This was the right direction for Krieger because in the organization he learned the business end of publishing, networked with others authors in different fields, took workshops on improving his writing, and met auditors. He explained that not knowing the business end of writing an being an author will hurt writers looking to publish their works. When addressing the audience, Krieger advised the attendees to seek out professional business correspondence from lawyers because they should be certain that publishing companies and editors aren’t taking advantage of them and that they get their contracts as close to 50/50 as possible. “Always read the contract thoroughly,” Krieger said. “Don’t sign your life away.”

The great part of writing a series of books, according to Krieger, is that with each new book it’s a new negotiation opportunity to get paid more for your work that you didn’t get the first time around.

“When selling your idea to an editor, you have to put your best salesmanship on,” Krieger said. “It was very difficult.”

A Visual Anatomy Guide to Human Anatomy, his first book, took him roughly two-and-a-half years to write and illustrate. He explained that working on his book took a lot of time management and that it became easier when he broke the project up into smaller pieces. There’s no guarantee of success and only about 17 percent of first edition books make it to a second edition in academics. After a great deal of time and through numerous rejections, he found Morton Publishing, which published his first book and still publishes his entire Visual Anatomy Guide Series.

Today, his Visual Anatomy Guide Series is used in schools across the country.

Before the session came to a close, Krieger left the attendees with his final words of advice. “The learning never stops. When you’re working on your writing skills, know that those skills apply to a lot of things. It can help you for your careers down the road.”

Paul A. Krieger

Paul A. Krieger and his book

The Language of Storytelling

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Human beings–the human race as a whole–has from the beginning of our existence told stories to explain that which we cannot fully fathom, or that which we grow curious about. Out of our language, the language of sheer existence, we tell stories.

Since the dawn of humankind, we have told stories through art on cave walls, rocks, and through telling stories around the only source of real warmth in those days, fire. Storytelling predates writing by many, many years. As a race, we began telling stories through the extension of art, drawings on cave walls, and rock, and through performances in front of others around the dancing flames of a warm, embracing fire that ebbed at the numbing, bitter cold of weather. We told stories to explain why lightning flashed in the sky, and thunder echoed and rolled. Why there were stars in the sky among the darkness of night. Why there were animals roaming around the Earth. Animals that could kill us as prey, or we could kill, eat them, and use their fur to warm our own bodies. Everything had a purpose. Nothing was without some sort of story or explanation for existing.

The point is, these stories we told didn’t destroy our sense of fear; instead, they lessened the hold fear and trepidation had on us.

Take the biblical story of the Tower of Babel. Generations of humans after the Great Flood spoke one language and migrated to the land of Shinar where they would continue to build a city with a tower, the Tower of Babel. A tower “whose top may reach unto heaven” and humanity could make a name and have power over all on the Earth. On each level of the tower, God gave them their own language so they could not communicate with each other to finish the tower. What I’m getting at is that the languages changed. Just because they didn’t finish the Tower of Babel didn’t mean that, that was the end for them. They split up, went their own ways, and later created and built other buildings, other masterpieces like the Great Pyramids, towers, and structures. They did it divided, but through their languages with their own section of people.

Storytelling empowered us. Having explanations–whether those explanations were factual, embellishments, or sheer nonsense–taught us to use our imaginations, not to fear what lingers in the night, and to live with the reality that everything happens for a reason. Sure, we have grown as a race since then: buildings, technology, intelligence, etc. The one thing here that has remained consistent is storytelling.

We no longer all speak one version of a language, and we don’t live together huddled against one another skin to skin in caves to survive the cold. We live in different continents, speak different languages and dialects, but this one aspect has never left us. The language of storytelling has become a part of our DNA, per-say. We still tell stories. We tell them verbally, in art, culture, beliefs, values, writing, entertainment and in many other forms.

Unlike in the beginning, we have explanations for a majority of the things happening in the world and to us. Yet, the need to tell stories is still there. We have changed how we do most things in life, yet we tell stories in our own styles and forms and it reaches different cultures, people, and parts of the world now through books, internet, word of mouth, etc. We don’t have all the answers to everything yet and we may never be able to. The one thing we will continue to do is tell stories to explain the things we still don’t have viable, concrete explanations for. The things we dream, live, see, hear, feel, taste, touch, and fear are all caught in a web of ever-twisting and changing meanings and realities because we continue to tell their stories in new ways, in our own voices, because we want to solidify them, give them meaning and relevance and essence in our lives. We don’t do this just for ourselves. We do this for future generations too. This is our legacy. Our past was written for us, here and now. What we write, see, and live now and tell through the language of storytelling is the legacy we leave for future generations. What they do will be doing for the next generation.

Humanity leaves its impression on the world in the way we tell stories.

My First Quote from Path of Shadows 2: HIDDEN IN SHADOWS

My gaze drifts over to Sarah, who’s sleeping across from me in her bunk bed. Brazael’s loud ranting doesn’t seem to wake her.

“Don’t worry about talking quietly,” Brazael says and nods over to Sarah. “She won’t be waking anytime soon.”

In confusion, I gaze back at where Sarah is sleeping. The pastel blue, cotton blankets are pulled up to her shoulders. Her face is turned away from me, so all I can see is her long, black braided hair from where I sit. There’s no movement from under the sheets. I can’t tell if she’s breathing or not.

“What did you do to her?” My eyes burn with bright anger as I meet his expectant gaze. I hold his stare momentarily before I focus on his mouth to break our gaze.

From his back pocket, he produces a butcher knife. Crimson red blood is matted over top of the gleaming silver blade. My mouth hangs open slightly as I recognize the knife. Turning around on the bed, I lift up my pillow. The knife I’d taken from the kitchen and placed under my pillow earlier is gone. Brazael has it in his hand.

Facing him now, I grab at my covers, clawing them until my hands ball into fists. I want to kill him, strip the life right out of his body, but I resist the powerful urge to do so. If I kill him, I’ll surely be exposing myself for who I really am. My mission will be ruined.

PATH OF SHADOWS Quote of the Day

“There’s a war coming, Diana. I can’t say there are many Angels left on Earth. We’ll need all of ones we can find.”

Her eyes round slightly as she realizes what I’m suggesting. “No. I’m not an Angel. This isn’t my fight.”

“Yes, it is,” I correct her. “You’re half-angel. Whether you like it or not, you were born into this war. The demons will come after you whether you fight on our side or not. At the very least, you need to be able to protect yourself. Let me train you.”

I’m right. She can see this much as she bites her lower lip. “Okay,” she agrees. “I accept your offer, but I’m not promising anything. What you’re asking me to do I have to think about.”

“That’s all that I ask of you.” I move away from her and return to my former position by the dryer. “Consider what I’ve said.”

Chapter 5 and 6 of PATH OF SHADOWS

Chapter Five: Journey (Raphael’s Point of View)

Emma, the blonde friend of Diana, busies herself just outside the laundromat with dinner. She had set up the fire and the contraption above it, so she could cook the fox squirrel a few hours ago. I watch her from inside the laundromat through the glass wall as Diana tells me about Emma and her long journey here to Ohio from South Dakota.

“We’re on our way to Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, to find my Aunt Thea,” she says from where she stands beside me. She hands me a folded envelope she produces from out of her back pocket.

I unfold it and read:

Thea De La Cruz

1409 Wellesley Ave

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

The envelope is yellowed, dirty and aged.

“It’s the only address I have of hers,” she says when I don’t respond.

“It’s quite old,” I point out and hand it back to her. “Have you considered she might not even reside there anymore? In this time and age, people move all the time.”

She strokes her Aunt’s calligraphy on the envelope with her fingertips before she returns it to her pocket for safekeeping. “I have to at least try. She may be the only family I have left.”

“What about your mother?” I wonder. “What does she have to say about this endeavor of yours?”

Her body stiffens. There’s a sadness forming on her face and fear in the depths of her eyes. I don’t understand her sudden mood change yet.

“She’s…gone,” she answers in a low voice and glances out at her friend. “Emma’s all I have left.”

We stand in silence without making eye contact. There’s no real way to say I’m sorry for her loss. My condolences won’t make her mother rise from the grave.

“What about you?” She breaks our deafening silence. “Do you have a family?”

I have a family. Every angel is my family and, by extension, mankind is too. We were all created by the same Heavenly Father. The Archangels, my brethren, and I are the closest since we all were created for the same purpose. I’ve stood side-by-side with them through war and peace since the dawn of time.

“I have three brothers and three sisters.”

She nods and hops onto one of the old washers to sit. “Where are they?”

“I can’t be sure,” I say, and lean against a dryer across from her. I gaze down at the dust build up on the dryer. Absently, I wipe at the dust with my hand. “The day of the battle, some of them were killed. Some returned to the Heavens. Others, like myself, separated and went into hiding on Earth.”

“I didn’t know,” she says in a low, apologetic tone. “I just thought for the longest time that they, your kind, abandoned us.”

There isn’t a clear way to tell her all of what happened that day, yet I feel an obligation to tell her something. I hold her gaze as I speak. “We never gave up on mankind. Unforeseen events unfolded. We had to make a choice.”

Samael, the Angel of Death’s face materializes in my mind. The sadistic grin on his face as he slaughters his brothers, the three horsemen, never fades from my memory. How the blood splatters across his face as he takes their lives twists my stomach into knots. It’s a memory I can’t erase. I can’t forget as much as I try.

Emma opens the door and pops in. “Diana, I need your help with the meat. I can’t tell if it’s done or not.”

“I’ll be right back,” Diana tells me and hops off the washer.

I watch them walk outside.

There’s no way they’ll make it across the territory borders, I know. The border into Pennsylvania, in the Plain Lands, is heavily guarded by demons. If they cross that border the demons will catch them. The sentence for an illegal crossing into another territory, especially into the ungoverned Plain Lands, is execution. If the demons discover Diana’s a Nephilim I fear her fate. Certainly, it’ll be a fate worse than a quick death.

What can I do? Explaining the dangers to them won’t stop them. I can’t force them to stay. How can I protect them? I wonder and already know the answer. I have to go with them.

Diana returns.

“I have an offer to make you,” I tell her ominously.

One of her dark eyebrows raise as she stares at me suspiciously. “What kind of offer?”

“A proposal, really,” I explain. “The border is crawling with demons. The demons from the other night are still searching for you. I’m offering to go with Emma and you across the border and help you find your Aunt. You can think of me as your personal bodyguard. In return, I want you to let me train you.”

“Why?” She wonders. I open my mouth to answer, but she rolls her eyes. “I know, I know. We’re stronger together than apart. I got it.”

“Precisely,” I say with a smile.

“What do you want to train me for?” She asks and crosses her arms over her chest. “Do you expect to run into trouble soon?”

I stand straight and approach her slowly. “I came back here to find my brethren, so we can right the wrong we made eighteen years ago by going into hiding like cowards. Because of my kind, humanity has suffered. We’ve kept to the shadows for too long. It’s time we make our stand.”

“I get all of that,” Diana unfolds her arms. “But what does any of it have to do with you training me?”

Sighing, I rest my hand beside her leg on the washer. “There’s a war coming, Diana. I can’t say there are many Angels left on Earth. We’ll need all of ones we can find.”

Her eyes round slightly as she realizes what I’m suggesting. “No. I’m not an Angel. This isn’t my fight.”

“Yes, it is,” I correct her. “You’re half-angel. Whether you like it or not, you were born into this war. The demons will come after you whether you fight on our side or not. At the very least, you need to be able to protect yourself. Let me train you.”

I’m right. She can see this much as she bites her lower lip. “Okay,” she agrees. “I accept your offer, but I’m not promising anything. What you’re asking me to do I have to think about.”

“That’s all that I ask of you.” I move away from her and return to my former position by the dryer. “Consider what I’ve said.”

The rest of the day is rather mundane.

When the sun begins to set, they get ready for sleep. Emma lays in the small room on a blanket. She rests her head on a pillow and pulls another blanket up to her head. Diana lays next to her.

“I can make a place for you to sleep for the night,” Diana offers.

Rest is a luxury I can’t possibly afford.

“No, thank you,” I decline. “I’m going to go patrol. You get some sleep. Besides, Angels hardly ever rest.”

 

Chapter Six: South (Raphael’s Point of View)

Patrol turns up no threats. I return to the laundromat and lock the door before I pull the metal guards all the way down to the floor. Making my way to the back room, I turn off the lights. The faint perfume of laundry detergent, dust, and pine sol linger in the air as I make my way down a row of dryers and washers.

Diana and Emma are fast asleep on the floor when I enter. I lean against the wall and watch them sleeping. The only sounds in the night is their breathing. Time passes and I slide down the wall. Sitting on the cold floor, I place my sword on the floor beside me.

Quietness gives me time to think and reflect. I wonder how the world would be today if we had won that day. If the prophecy had played out the way it was supposed to, if evil would’ve been defeated. The Earth would’ve been healed and made anew. Why did it have to go this way? I question myself.

The day of the battle replays in my head now. A memory I return to often with no questions answered. I recall how it all went south.

The sky recedes and glows with a blinding light as the Heavens open. Below, a crevasse splits open wide on the Earth’s surface. Demons follow their formidable master out of the abyss and onto the surface.

Michael with a pure heart and unwavering love for mankind leads the Heavenly Father’s Army of Angels out of the Heavens and into battle. A battle that’ll decide the fate of mankind.

Soaring down to Earth, I pull up and land solidly on my feet with my sword in hand burning. My former brethren, the fallen angels, lead their demons towards us. There’s an electric feeling of anticipation and determination in the air around us. Legions of angels collide with the swarm of demons. I position myself near the other Archangels, so we can destroy any Archdemons who try to stop Michael from fulfilling his destiny. We have to ensure Michael will defeat Lucifer and lift the curse from all of mankind.

The struggle tips in favor of darkness in the midst of the battle as I see Samael fighting on Lucifer’s side. He destroys my sisters and brothers without remorse. Yesterday, he was my brother in arms, but today he stands beside the enemy loyally. His betrayal astounds me. No one saw this coming.

The prophecy, thought for so long to be the only outcome, changes. I look around and see my brethren falling one by one, left and right, by the hands of demons. Grief and hate consumes me as I feel more of my brother and my sisters being stripped from the light. I destroy as many of the abominations as possible.

A demon attacks me. We fight until he stops and gazes upward. I follow his gaze and look up toward the darkened sky. Oh, mercy! I see it.

The gates of Heaven are closing.

Lucifer, followed by his Archdemons, fly up towards the closing gates. They’re too late. The Heavens are sealed off. The crevasse in the Earth gone.

“Run. Hide. Don’t return until you hear my call.” Michael orders in all of the minds of the angels. “Go now! Be well, my brothers and sisters.”

I depart from the battle and separate from the others. I’m lost. I know that until the gates of Heaven open again I’m earthbound.

 

Elements of A Good Story

 

There are many elements that combined can make a good story. By good story, I mean a story that can pull a reader into the world weaved with believable characters and a dynamic plot and hold the reader there until the end of the story.

The first aspect that helps to make a good story is point of view. The perspective that a story is told through can either reveal an interesting, relatable story or an unreliable one. The point of view, the eyes through which a story is narrated, has to be done through a character who is central to the storyline and plot. Someone who’s right in the middle of the action and can relay important information.

Setting is also an important aspect of a story. The setting is the time and place in which a story is told. If someone’s going to write a story that they want to effectively convey a real visual in his or her readers’ minds he or she must write the setting with the right amount of description and have good word choice to really bring the world of the story to life. There doesn’t need to be an overload of description to make a setting believable. Describing the setting immediately around the character and the action happening with suffice to paint a vivid picture in the readers’ minds.

Scene choice and dialogue are essential parts of a story that make it a reader delve into the story or pull out and put the book down without a second thought. Major scenes need to be written that flow from one main point or step in the path and journey of the story. Minor scenes need to be written to calm the flow of a story so there isn’t one big arc or action right after another. This gives the reader time to breath and reflect on how the story is progressing thus far and where the story is heading. Dialogue doesn’t need to be used on every page or even in every scene. Dialogue in a good story should move the story forward, not take away or disrupt the flow of the storyline. When writing dialogue, it should be written as if these are real people communicating and the words they speak should realistic. Dialogue that has nothing to do with the plot or the character’s emotions should be omitted because they pull the readers out of the story and disrupt the action flow.

Plot and conflict are important to a good story because without them the story would have no real point and would be just a mess of words without logic or order. Conflict is the very essence of a story because it’s the difficulty or challenge presented for the characters to deal with and overcome. There has to be conflict, a beginning, a middle, and an end to any story to make it compelling enough for the readers to stay with it throughout the entire story.

Tone of voice sets the mood for the story because if there’s no real tone of voice the story becomes dull and boring. The characters won’t be as appealing or interesting as they could’ve been. In order to convey tone of voice in a story to make it worth reading, there needs to be emotion. The tone sets up the build for emotion, so does tension. The suspense and anticipation mixed with the mindset and tone of voice of the characters in any given situation moves the story forward and keeps the readers guessing what will happen next.

Lastly, but not least important, is the characters themselves. Characters that are dynamic, honest, believable, relatable, and overall well-rounded drive the story and the plot entirely. It is through the characters that the readers see the world and experience the action and unravel the mysteries with. Readers need to be able to get into the characters’ minds and wholeheartedly invest their time in.

The point of view, setting, description, word choice, dialogue, scenes, conflict, tone of voice, plot, and characters are the key elements that make a believable and good story.

 

Straight Jacket: A short story

The streetlights of Holland blur pass Tyler through the rear window of the van as he wakes in a haze. His eyes, blurry at first, adjust to the bright lights, and he notices that he’s laying on a gurney. Two men dressed head to toe in white are sitting on either side him.

“What’s going on?” Tyler asks the two gentlemen in a groggy voice.

“You don’t remember?” The taller one with the bald head questions, raising one of his eyebrows. He glances at his partner, but doesn’t elaborate any further.

The sirens cut through Tyler’s head like a sharp knife. He lifts his head to get a better look around and sees the metal framing of the vehicle, the machines, and utensils. Bewildered by his surroundings, he tries to sit up and is stopped when the restraints have been stretched to their limit. “What?” Seeing the restraints fastened to his wrists and ankles, his eyes round. He’s even more perplexed than he was before. “What the heck did you guys do to me? Why am I chained to this bed?”

The men only stare at him as he looks askance between them; neither utter a single word the rest of the way to Whispering Meadows Facility on the far end of town.

The vacant halls smelling of bleach, sterilizers, and soap wafer in the air. A heavy dense feeling consumes the air in the facility. Tyler watches the brilliant tube lights in the ceiling the entire ride up to the west wing as the two men usher him on the stretcher.

In the second to last room, they untether him and stand him upright as a nurse slips a white jacket with all sorts of ties on it over his head. He remains silent while he watches them all work. He can’t fathom how he came to this point of being taken to an insane asylum. Surely, it has to be a mistake. Some sort of mishap. He’s a nice guy. He’s considerate of others. He works diligently as a sale representative; never misses a day of work. And he’s been happily married to his wife Christine for seven years. There’s no way he’s what they think he is.

“There’s been some sort of mistake,” he tries to speak calmly, but desperation comes across in his voice instead. He attempts a whole hearted smile, but it isn’t quite effective when sweat drips down his face.

The nurse finishes tying up all of straps on the jacket so his arms are hugging his chest and the only way to escape is tied to his back far out of reach. “Dr. Hammill will be with you in a moment. She’ll answer all of your questions,” the nurse says in a monotonous tone, void of all real feeling.

In an orderly fashion, the two men in white and the nurse exit the room and shut the heavy metal door behind them, leaving Tyler by himself in the small shell of a room.

His mind begins to whirl while his eyes sweep around the dull hollow room. It’s void of all decoration. There’s a toilet in the far corner, a sink beside it, and a bed on the opposite side without any sheets or pillows. All of the walls are plain eggshell colored, except for the one wall made of entirely of glass that almost reflects like a mirror.

The door to the room opens once more, creating a slight breeze in the already cold room. He flinches at the sudden sound of it, nearly jumping back half a step.

A woman in a white overcoat with a clipboard nestled in her arm steps into the room and shuts the door behind her. “Mr. Collins, how are we doing? I’m Dr. Hammill.” Her crimson shaded lips form a warm smile that doesn’t soothe him at all.

“Fine,” Tyler sits on the edge of the bed and it squeaks. “I’d be even better if I knew what the heck is going on. Why am I here?” He looks down at his harness and back up at the doctor. “Is this really necessary?”

“I’m afraid so, Mr. Collins,” she says, skimming the notes on her clipboard. “Can you tell me what you remember?”

His eyebrows pull together in concentration as he tries to recall the events prior to being in an ambulance. A throbbing ache pounds at his temples like lightning striking and prevents him from recovering the memories. “I don’t remember.” He meets the doctor’s gaze. “Why can’t I remember?”

Her face is carefully composed and her voice is calm and patient. “Let’s start with what you did when you woke up this morning and go from there. This might help you piece it all together. Let’s just take this slow.”

Concentrating hard, he breaks through the fog after minutes of thinking and recalls snippets of his day. “I woke up early. I dropped my wife off at work. Then I went to work. I got out of work at around five and picked my wife up on my way home.”

The doctor leans forward slightly while he takes a deep breath. “Is that all you remember? What happened after you got home?”

She’s hinting at something, he realizes, but he can’t seem to figure out what.

“What are you trying to get at?” Tyler stands quickly with growing frustration blooming inside of him. “Just tell me what you’re trying to say?”

Dr. Hammill stands, backing up toward the door cautiously and knocks on it. A split second later, the two men in white reenter the room. Tyler gets the message loud and clear. He calmly takes his seat back on the edge of the bed, trying to repress his frustration with each intake and outlet of breath.

“Tell me, Mr. Collins,” the doctor fixes her eyes on him, scrutinizing his every movement. “Have you ever been diagnosed with any psychological abnormality?”

He shakes his head. “No, of course not.” He pauses, shrugging his shoulders. “My mother never really trusted doctors. I’ve been to the doctors maybe four, or five, times in my life. Why do you ask?”

“Do you remember what happened at dinner time that night after your wife and you returned home?”

Thinking harder than before he breaks through the fog completely and recalls the memory like a vivid dream, despite the brain-splitting headache. “Christine set the table for four,” Tyler says, piecing the puzzle all together now. “Her parents came over for dinner.”

He hated her mother Margaret. Every time she visited them, she always had something to complain about. In particular, the subject was always Tyler. She criticized everything Tyler did and said. She knew how to push every one of his buttons. Just the thought of Margaret makes his arms tremble and his heart quicken like a beating drum.

“What happened at dinner with her parents there?” The doctor nudge, pushing him to answer.

“Margaret complained and nagged about me to my wife as if I wasn’t in the room with them,” he replies in a low, deep voice.

“How did you react?”

He scoffs, shaking his head slightly. “I didn’t say anything. I had a few drinks and let the liquor calm me down. When I couldn’t handle her bickering anymore, I excused myself and took a walk.” Tyler pauses, waiting for the next memory to come to the forefront of his mind. There seems to be a time lapse when it does. “Next thing I can remember, I was outside walking back to the front door when I saw this guy inside of my house attacking my family. I chased the intruder all the way up to my bedroom and into my closet. I thought he was going to pop out of nowhere and sneak up on me, so I kept a watchful eye on the mirror hanging on my closet door to make sure he wasn’t going to sneak up on me. I can’t remember what became of him.”

Dr. Hammill’s eyes dot between the two men before her gaze returns to Tyler. “You don’t remember hoping over the table and lunging at your mother-in-law and trying to strangle her? Or knocking your father-in-law out cold? Or busting a beer bottle and threatening to hold Christine hostage until Tyler comes home when the police busted into the living room?”

Reflecting on what she has asked, he goes back to the memory. He can only remember Christine elbowing and running away from him as the police officers wrestled him to the carpet and handcuffed him. It didn’t seem real. It seemed like a dream as if he were just watching it all play out from a far off distance. “That’s crazy,” Tyler laughs nervously with his eyes flickering between the three of them. “Why would I hold my own wife hostage until I got home? That doesn’t make any sense. I’m not crazy. This has to be some kind of mistake.”

The doctor shakes her head slowly. The concern is written deep in her expression. Her voice grows softer. “Have you ever heard of multiples?”

“Multiples? What the heck is that?” Standing, he paces the floor well aware of the two men in white watching his every movement carefully, ready to intervene at any moment.

“It means that you have more than one way of dealing with the world, Mr. Collins,” she answers. “It means there’s more than one person living inside of your mind. One of your personalities attacked your family. Do you understand what I’m saying, Mr. Collins?”

“I understand what you’re saying, doctor,” he pauses and spins around so that he’s facing the doctor directly. For a long moment, he stares at her with his expression shifting from fear to anger in a quick flash. “You think I don’t know what you’re up to? You think I’m crazy? I’m not crazy!” He yells, running at the doctor and leaps at her.

Quickly, she moves out of the way. He plops onto the ground, hurting his shoulder in the process. The pain of the injury doesn’t appear to bother him at all. Wiggling, he tries to break free as the two men in white pin him to the floor. A sharp pain stings his rear end as one of the men inject him with sedative to calm his wild rant.

“Mr. Collins, you have to calm down!” The doctor yells in a stern tone.

Tyler’s face twists with deep hate so much so that he doesn’t appear to be the same man. “You can’t hold me here! You tell Tyler that I’m going to find him and make him pay for this! I know that this is his doing. You hear me? I’m going to make him pay!”

Taken aback, the doctor kneels down and stares at him with her head tilted. “I’m Dr. Hammill,” she announces again in a soft tone. “Am I still speaking to Tyler?”

He grimaces at the sound of that name. “I’m Ben.” He wiggles again underneath the two men. “Now, let me go!”