Tag: writing

Horror · writing

Alone part 2 of 4

Joe HallettLeave a comment

When I wrote this I explored the idea of what would it be like to always have someone with you, no matter what, no privacy at all, everything is shared. How could you call anything your own when “You” are essentually them.

Caution, graphic violence ahead. if you are squeamish you might want to pass on this one.

Luis could swing the eight-pound sledgehammer one-handed. His left arm bulged and rippled with muscle that was far more developed than it should be for a fifteen-year-old. His right arm, easily half as thick, seemed useless in comparison. The sledgehammer came down hard on the stake, driving it down a full foot. Randolph, with practiced movements, let go of the stake just in time. Another loud crack split the air as the sledgehammer pounded the stake another foot deeper. Most roustabouts took as many as ten, or even twenty hits to sink the tent stakes. But Luis and Randolph could get the job done in four or five.  
 ”She’s never gonna go for you, you know,” Luis’s poignant sarcasm dripped from his lips. “She aint gonna go for a half-wit anyhow. Even if she don’t care if I’m here. No one would go for you. Not now, not if you were normal, not ever!” He accentuated his point with a final blow of his sledgehammer 
 Randolph fidgeted with his wooden mallet before pulling out another three-foot-long tent stake. “You don’t know that! It’s not like she don’t see us every day, and I never see her with any other guy,” Randolph, wounded, defended his ego with a sad wispy voice. He set the stake with a few solid taps of his mallet, holding it in place with a shrunken left hand.  
 ”Yeah? Don’t you get it? She doesn’t even like me, so how’s that suppose to work for ya? Ha! You’re stuck with me. The only way you’re going to get any of that is if we take it!” He had a vicious smile as he punctuated every other word with long smooth strokes of his sledgehammer handle.  
  ”Why are you so mean to me?” Randolph sniffled in defeat.  
  Luis hefted the sledgehammer then slammed it down on the stake with a loud crack. “I’m not bein’ mean ya. I’m just sayin the truth to ya, cause you don’t know no better.” Two more loud cracks on the stake finished his words.  
 ”I do know. She’s so pretty, and she’s nice to me,” his little voice squeaked his thin defense.  

“Nah, you just don’t know nothin’ at all, do you ya shrivel? She’s only nice to you ’cause you’re just a little shriveled-up half-wit.” Luis puffed up his chest, emphasizing his dominance.  
 ”Don’t call me shrivel no more. You always just call me that.” Randolph’s little voice was sounding weaker.  
 ”Yeah? I’ll call ya shrivel whenever I want. Now get another stake. It’s getting dark, and we gotta git this done ‘fore we lose the light.” Luis hefted the sledgehammer, ready to sink another stake.  
 Randolph grabbed the stake, set it with a few pounds with his mallet, and then put it back in the loop of his coveralls. They worked quickly together. Each one was doing his job in practiced unison. Randolph would set the stakes, then Luis would sink them with the sledgehammer while the other roustabouts set up the bale rigs and blocks-and-tackle. The scent of hot stew from the cookhouse inspired a quicker pace to finish the last few tent stakes.  
 ”She would have sat with us if you weren’t such a meanie.” Randolph pouted, looking over at the long blonde hair of a girl sitting next to a heavily tattooed man.  
 Luis gritted his teeth with a sneering smile. “Yeah? It’s not me , ya know. She’s just not sweet on lil’ shrivels,” Luis goaded with a vicious sarcastic tone.  

“She would like me if’n we weren’t stuck together. She likes ’em big and strong.” He flexed his muscled left arm with arrogant pride. ”You’re always sayin things like that. She likes me just fine, all right. Not you, ’cause your such a meanie. She don’t care if we’re together. You just got to be nicer when I talk to her. But you’re not nice to anyone, no how. Not even me!”  
 Luis laughed at that. “Yeah? Especially you!” He chided and poked Randolph in the side with his right hand.   

Randolph flinched at the poking, his overalls worn thin at the spot where Luis habitually poked at him. Randolph tried to brush his brother’s hand away. But he always managed to get a few good pokes in before Randolph could successfully block him. Luis’s half-formed right arm and Randolph’s equally diminished left constantly battled between their bodies. Their little arms warred against each other in seemingly endless battles, tug-of-war’s, and poking. Randolph was used to the poking, fidgeting and pulling, but knew when Luis was “being a meanie,” it would go on all night.  
 In almost mechanical precision, their unified movements were smooth and effortless. Their conjoined heads leaned over two stew bowls, sitting side by side as opposing hands spooned up hot stew in unconscious cooperation.   

Randolph soaked up the last of his stew with a biscuit. Stuffed his mouth and stared long, wistful eyes at the slender blonde trapeze artist. He watched as she ate her dinner, laughing and talking between delicate bites of her stew and biscuits.    

Luis pulled his head hard to the side, almost lifting Randolph off his seat.  Luis Enjoyed pulling his smaller, weaker brother around with his head. It gave him a cruel pleasure that amounted to, ”Even though we are attached, I am always in control.”  
  They stood up, grabbing their stew bowls, then walked to the wash basin. Almost a full stride quicker, Luis forced Randolph to make short quick steps to get back into unison. “I gotta take a piss. Let’s go,” Luis ordered, grabbing his crotch to make his point clear that it was an emergency. He pulled Randolph along, beyond the lights and tents of the circus, to the shadows where he could get some privacy to do his business.  
 They headed back toward the lights and sounds of the circus around the back end of the bunkhouse. Luis saw her first, his side of their heads coming into view before Randolph. The blonde girl was leaning against the door to her bunkhouse, talking quietly to another boy, flashing a smile, and twisting her hair.  
 ”Hey, would ya look at that?” Luis pointed to the couple. Randolph’s heart sank at the sight of her and the other boy. “Looks like ya missed out already there, Shrivel.” He laughed and poked Randolph in the side again.   

The boy took a few steps back from her, then turned away, looking reluctant to leave. She watched him go with a small smile and radiant eyes.   

Luis started walking in her direction, pulling Randolph along. ”Let’s go talk to her,” Luis said with a mysterious tone in his voice.   

She heard them and looked over. Her smile changed. It did not go away, only switched to one of greeting.  “Hello, Randolph.”  

Randolph’s heart thumped at her acknowledgment.  

 ”And Luis.” But when she said Luis’s name, it lacked the same warmth.   

Randolph’s nervous fingers fidgeted with his mallet. “Um, uh, Hello Greta,”  
He said, smiling a wide toothy grin.  Luis poked at him again, but this time it seemed encouraging rather than harassing.   

“What ya up to?” Luis spoke up before Randolph could pick up his hint.  

“Oh, I’m just about to turn in for the evening,” she said with a cheery soft voice that made Randolph fidget with his mallet, and then she took a few steps closer. Luis’s left arm snapped out, grabbing Greta’s shoulder. Her eyes went wide with surprise as she twisted her body, trying to escape the iron grip.  

“Now’s your chance, Shrivel!” Luis sneered and began pulling Greta and Randolph toward the shadows behind the bunkhouse.   

Randolph stumbled amidst the tangle of feet. ”Wha..?” was all his meek voice could squeeze out, shocked by Luis’s brashness.   

Greta twisted and clawed at Luis’s hand. ”Let me go!” she shouted, then flashed a pleading look into Randolph’s eyes.   

Luis just gripped harder and continued to pull the two of them farther into the shadows.   

Randolph’s shock faded. He dug his feet firm to the ground and then reached out to Greta to pull her free from his brother’s grasp.  

Luis only smiled and pulled her closer to him. “That’s the spirit, Shrivel! I’ll let you go first since you’re so sweet on her.”   

At that, she wrenched with a quick turn, wriggling free, ripping her blouse in the process. Leaving Luis with a handful of fabric, she ran, looking back with a sad, hurt look that Randolph knew was the end of his friendship with her.  

Continue to part 3

Author · Emergence Collective · writing

Emergence Collective…read between the lines (Spoiler alert!)

Joe HallettLeave a comment

Emergence Collective… What does it mean to me? If you have read it or you like spoilers keep reading!

As a new writer I found (am still finding) it difficult to convince anyone
to read my stuff and find an Audience. Friends and family mean well, but I
think that my investment in the story and their interest didn’t align. As I
wrote Emergence collective I did not get any real feedback or even
proofreading. To be honest, my editor was the first person to actually read the
damn thing. She did a fantastic job thank you PaulineNolet.com. Her feedback was
reassuring that I didn’t spend all that time writing it, wasted. the idea for
the story was kinda big and I thought deeply about the world I was creating. A
lot of these concepts did not really make it into the story but there are
connections I can make in conversation that would completely make sense and you
would definitely find connections to the story.

What would happen if you could dream up just about anything and it could be
real? what would you do with that power? I wondered that if there are lots of
people that had this ability how would the world change? My first thought was
that people would make their surroundings “customized”. One person
might make a fairyland castle environment and another would pattern theirs with
say Starwars. But how far does your own realm extend to? How strong is your
willpower? your willpower and intention govern the sphere of influence you have
in reality itself. How about what happens when another ascended person enters your
realm? Does there will power change your realm? since they are in your sphere
of influence? What about mutual agreements on world views? do they see a
StarWars environment and you see the fairyland? could there be a merger of the
two? How does this relate to collective consciousness? The reality as a whole
is an agreement of expectations that we all have. Gravity works because there
are enough consciousnesses agreeing on that, it becomes part of the collective
worldview, How does being ascended influence that?

I made sets of rules about this idea and used it as a roadmap for the story
progression as far as the shared environment of the characters.

I use transcended and ascended interchangeably, even though they are not
precisely synonymous. I think it still fits. I still think a lot about the
nature of consciousness. What is it? Where does it come from? One of my
favorite theories is that the human body is like a marionette where our
consciousness pulls the strings outside the body. You cut the strings,
 and the body dies or is in stasis like a coma.

 But where is the puppeteer? In a higher realm, a higher resonant
frequency outside of conscious reality. And our brains act like a filter
preventing us from experiencing that higher realm. It is only when we alter our
state of mind that the filter is removed, and we can experience the true
reality as its resonant frequencies are revealed. Whether it is through strict
meditation or mind-altering chemicals like Ayahuasca, a potent hallucinogen
that contains a chemical called DMT or dimethyltryptamine. Whatever the
catalyst is that allows us to escape the prison of our brain doesn’t matter
once free, and one is perceiving a higher reality, the awareness of the nature
of the universe expands. We start to fully understand our place in it. Learn
that we have abilities that were previously only imagination. Learn to connect
with others on a deeper spiritual level, communicate and express ideas. Travel
throughout the realm and defy the physics of the reality our bodies are trapped
in.

I know this sounds like the ravings of a metaphysical stoner. I think I
communicated the essence of these ideas in the story well enough. But wait!
There’s more; however, I will not bore you any longer. I do explore these
concepts much more deeply in the next book. I think that once you get your feet
wet in the first book, the second will be more satisfying as you explore your
own thoughts on the potential of what could be done if all of this was real. I
would love to hear your thoughts on this!

about me · Author · writing

Write what you know….

Joe Hallett2 Comments

They say “write what you know.” Whoever they are, I get what they mean, but there is so much that I don’t know. I am just winging it. One of my challenges in writing is trying to pretend that I have had the normal everyday experiences that my audience had. I spent the majority of my formative years living in rural Alaska, isolated from the social experiences that “City kids” usually get. My school was somewhat small, comparatively and after school social engagements were difficult to do, due to geography. People tended to live pretty far away and there is no transit system in the bush. Moving to “the lower 48’s” was a culture shock and since I had gotten used to isolation, it pretty much cemented my brain in a state of permanent introversion. High did not spend much time attending high school, and when I did my scope of friends was very small, so I missed out (Thank god) on the usual high school drama and typical situations that most people did. I dropped out and began entering the workforce early. No High school diploma so no college.

How do I write about the high school and college experiences that I have never shared? Most of my “research” has been watching TV about it, but I am not entirely convinced that those are typical or genuine. “write what you know.”…. Hmm.. I guess I will continue to fake it, and hope no one notices. Honestly there are a lot of situations like this, mostly social, that I am guessing about. Maybe, that I don’t have some of those experiences, that my pretending can actually end up being a fresh take on it, and maybe those situation are more likely to be more genuine than the entertainment industry tropes.

Emergence Collective · writing

Character snapshot Revisited: The hole

Joe HallettLeave a comment

From the feedback I have gotten about ‘Emergence Collective,”  It turns out that “The hole.” Which was (to me) just part of the setting that turned out to be its own Character. I didn’t expect there to be so much intrigue around it. It is fun and satisfying to see reactions and thoughts about my story from other people’s perspectives, which didn’t occur to me since I was focused on different parts of the story.  This character snapshot is not a character, but a place in the story.

Old Willy opened the truck door, which whined and screeched in protest as
the rusty hinges rattled. “Whatcha doin’?” Mr. Winston croaked out the question
while clearing his throat, showing genuine interest in Frank’s contraption over
the dump.   

He turned a little red, embarrassed by his curiosity. “Umm, well, ya see. I
got to thinking is all.” He began to explain. “I have been using this as a dump
for 30 years now, right?”  

“Well… why hasn’t it filled up yet?” He posed the question with increasing
excitement.  

Mr. Winston’s eyes lit up as the thought sunk in. “You know…. I never much
gave it a thought….’ Till now. You know your right!” the excitement transferred
to Mr. Winston. They both sat staring at it silently for a minute or two,
pondering the notion as another old beat-up truck shook its way up the path. A
younger man in his mid-30’s poked his head out of the truck window to have a
clearer view of the scene around the hole.  

       “Is there something I can do?” he asked with concern in his voice.
Not knowing the details of the situation, he offered his services out of simple
neighborly kindness.  

Frank and Mr. Winston did not look up or respond, lost in their own
thoughts. Johnny got out of his truck in a hurry and trotted over to the
hole.   
  
      “Someone fall in?” he asked in an almost scared tone of voice. He
detected that Jonny was getting amped up a bit, broke his trance from the hole,
cracked a smile, and chuckled. “No, no, everything is fine,” he said in a calm
voice, trying to put out the fire in Jonny’s mind “we were just think’n is all;
how deep is this hole?”  

 

art · Author · Emergence Ascended · Horror · painting · poetry · writing

Happy Monday!

Joe Hallett2 Comments

A new week begins, and I reflect on the last couple of weeks. It has been a busy one with work and home life. Just getting back into the routine of things. I took yesterday off from any creative endeavors  and did some chores that have been neglected (getting the garden ready for planting…a little late)

I had a great day of writing on Saturday, and that has renewed my vigor to keep pushing on!

Monday always has a way of bringing me to a weird place of optimism and pessimism. The optimistic side dwells in the possibility of escapism through stories and creativity. Back to the grind of work, I feel like Sisyphus, who was cursed to do meaningless duties ad infinitum, with the only escape being to dream of a life free from the burden of responsibility. Those dreams Are where I live. As the boulder rolls back to the bottom of the hill to restart the process, meaningless tasks, The only break from monotony (the weekend) is where I exist. Where I thrive.

Emergence Ascended · writing

Saturday for the win!

Joe HallettLeave a comment

I am feeling very good about today! I finished Chapter 8 of “Emergence, Ascended.” and I am really happy with it. Things are moving in the right direction and I even managed to surpass my word goal for the day!

Emergence Collective · writing

Character snapshot Revisited: Willy Winston

Joe HallettLeave a comment

Characters are like your children. You love them all, and it’s hard to choose your favorite. Willy is one of those (Don’t tell the other characters, but he’s one of my favorites). I like characters that can be equally tough and tender…

Willy turned around to face his friends and make sure everyone was out and
ok. Sandy started to sob and fell to her knees as Jonny put his arm around
her. Frank, still huffing from his sprint, bent over to catch his
breath. Gregory and Daniel looked around, frantic.  

“Where’s David?” Gregory asked in an awkward girlish-sounding
voice. Frank stood up straight and looked toward the tent.  

Sandy gasped. “Oh, oh my God!” she cried, seeing the tent collapsed.  

Gregory and Daniel rushed over to the tent, calling his name. Willy and
Frank followed, quick to help, struggling to find the tent opening in the
darkening light of the sky. Frank froze cold. He looked down, and his voice
turned a chilling tone of horror. “Blood,” he whispered, forcing the
word out of his mouth.  

Willy looked down at where Frank was staring. Fresh splats of blood dripped
at Willy’s feet.  

Frank looked up at Willy. “You’re bleeding, old man,” he said with
a worried tone.  

A trickle of blood ran down from Willy’s forehead and nose into his beard.
He reached up and touched his forehead, searching for injury. “Oh,”
he said with a nonchalant tone as he pulled a toothpick-sized piece of cable
from his head. “Would ya look at that.”  

Emergence Collective · writing

Character snapshot revisited: Barney Derrick

Joe HallettLeave a comment

I really enjoyed writing Barney’s Character. I wanted to make a character that you love to hate. I am sure everyone has met a person like Barney.

The sound of Barney’s boots echoed down the quiet hall with a hypnotic cadence. The overhead fluorescent lights seemed to flicker in time with his footfalls. He arrived at the lab and pushed through the door, causing it to bounce off the wall.   Drab faces looked up from computer screens at the abrupt entrance. A soldier rushed over with a handful of disheveled paperwork, trying to organize it into a manila folder before handing it off to his superior. Barney grabbed the folder out of his and studied the file briefly.  The soldier watched as he scrutinized the file, flipping pages, eyes scanning. Barney’s nose crinkled against his mustache, causing the soldier to wince.  He held the folder out for the soldier to take it, allowing the pages to slip out with a whoosh onto the floor.   

“What is this? Is this how I am going to get all of your reports? Is this how you show your respect to your country, to me?”   

“Sir! No Sir!”  

“This report is not even in order! Do you expect me to finish your work for you?”  

“I understand, Sir, no Sir, I apologize, Sir.”   

“Well–What are you waiting for?”  

“Umm …yes, sir,” the soldier said as he scrambled to collect all of the paperwork and organize it all at once.  

“Umm, yes, Sir? That’s how you address a superior officer? An umm? You Sure this is the right career for you, boy? How did you manage to crawl your sorry ass out of basic training?”  he scolded, then turned away so that he could smile without being seen. Ah that felt good, better than coffee, and I’ll never get a bad report from that kid again. He took a few steps before turning around to see the soldier standing at attention, holding the folder in his shaky hands.   

“Sir, your report is ready for your review Sir.” The Airman forced his words out.  

 Barney snatched it out of the soldier’s hands. Again, the soldier watched his eyes and fingers do their work.  “That’s better, Airman. You’re dismissed.” The young Airman made his way to his desk and sat down, all the while avoiding eye contact.