The Nine Spirits of Esten

Ok, so last Friday, I was at work (washing dishes in the cafeteria) for a very long time. Well, not that long. More like 2pm-12am, but only because I volunteered to stay and help wash dishes from a banquet. There was a pause where we had nothing to do while we waited for more to come in for us to wash, so naturally my mind just started going. And what I came up with was a very interesting project. It's a small project, consisting of roughly 9 or 10 short stories, each revolving around a book. Contained within these "books" are spirits that we were captured and bound by a powerful sorcerer, named Esten. Each short story is about one of the nine spirits, now bound within the books. Three of them are benevolent, three are simply mischievous, and three are completely malevolent. I've got a lot of the groundwork already started, and I even posted the first part of the first of the short stories. The Nameless. It has no name, merely a title.

The Nameless

Not for the first time did his eyes roam about the bookshelves that circled the room. His mother did warn him. She had said it in her will. When the lawyer had entered the room with a large, formal envelope, he had certainly not expected a nicely written letter of instruction, and a key that had unlocked a door in the basement that had been hidden behind the large freezer. Still, she had warned him. She had specifically said to never, under any circumstance, touch so much as a book from any shelf. If one fell, leave it be. If one were off center, leave it be. But he had never listened to her. Not when she had told not to date that girl; not to go to that party.

This was one instance where he sincerely wished he had. He fingered the bottle of whiskey that rested on the end table beside his chair. He couldn't even remember if it had already been in the room, or if he had brought it down. He shuddered at a different thought, and quickly swigged from the bottle.

He held the bottle to his forehead, but, of course, the whispering only turned into snickers.
He set the bottle down and lifted his eyes, which, he quickly realized, he really shouldn't have done.
The will had told him to not touch the books. He had read almost all of them. All of them, save one, and that one happened to be the book he had looked at when he had raised his head. But when had his chair faced it? Hadn't it been on his left? Or had it been on his right? No...surely it had been on his left, because the door was now on his right, and it had certainly not been there before.

Another swig and his bottle was empty. The books went back to whispering. Because clearly that was what was going on. The whispering had only started after he read them. Really, it wasn't that they were horrible stories. Most of them were the best he'd ever read. Shakespeare. Dickinson. A few were about John Locke. A couple on Kierkegaard. Many more of whose origin, he could not guess. He suspected Greek. Possibly Babylonian. Overall, a highly unusual library. But certainly an impressive one! He frowned and swigged from the bottle, and he frowned even deeper. The bottle was empty. It had just been emptied into his stomach, and here it was half full again. And his therapist had called him a pessimist.

Maybe...maybe it wasn't the books....books couldn't whisper. But he only heard the whispers when he was in the library. His therapist had then told him to avoid it. And he had. For three days, his life had gone back to normal. Boring dead end job. His soul is as tasteless as the women he'd slept with.

However, any sense of "normality" was smashed to pieces when he had woken up the fourth day. Now, he had never screamed before in his life. Not so much as a peep. All of his friends had tried, more than once, to scare him. Nothing. But that morning...he'd screamed like a banshee. His scream had been such a scream that just about every neighbor on the block had called the police, who, when they had talked with him at the station, fined him for "disturbing the peace" with what they believed to be a very poor practical joke.

The ironic thing is, it wasn't that that caused him to give up. What had, rather, was the book. It was a plain book. The felt like old leather, had no illustration, and there was no title. No words adorned the cover. But what was odd about it was its color. When he'd first picked it up, he had thought it was a dark color, but when he moved it through the light, it looked different. In fact, it looked different every time he looked at it, even when he was looking at it. But that was absurd! It was dark in color....usually.

But that book...no matter how many times he tried, he couldn't bring himself to open it. Just looking at it gave him the feeling of looking into a deep mirror. And he hated mirrors. So the book had stayed shut. And the whispers had only laughed at him. It is not the book that matters, or is important. A book is nothing more than a vassal. Like all vassals, it is what the book contains that is important.

He adjusted himself in his chair; he needed to get some sort of rest. He still had his job. His boring dead-end job. His bed wasn't that comfortable anyways. Besides, he'd just wake up down here. Back when he'd had a girlfriend, he'd tried staying over at her place. Either he never slept at all (and certainly not for the reason you'd think), or he'd have the strangest dreams. In all of which was a...something. He could never tell what it was.

Really, his soul is tasteless, like drinking water. I've had enough water. When one wishes to drink, they'd rather have spiced wine, than cheap brandy. I have had enough of cheap brandy. Soon, one would open the book, and I would be freed.

I'm Feeling Very Negative

Fairly self explanatory. Every once in a while, they just come over me. Nothing really causes them. Nothing really gets me out of them. Just gotta let them run their course. But you want to know something? Yes, I am a proud person. But you know what else? I'm proud to hide my inferiority. Yeah. That's right. My inferiority. Because I view everyone as better than myself. I can't help but wonder just what is so great about me? Sure, I'm a good writer, but that's it. I'll never be great. Never be acknowledged. I don't even know if I want to be. I don't know what I want anymore. I used to know. I used to want a lot of things. Now I wonder why I ever wanted any of it.

I know where I have come from....but I have no idea of where I am going. It's like I'm in a maze; just when I think I've got a clue of things, I take a new corner and it all gets shot out the window. I mean, seriously! What's the point of it all anyway?! We go about life concerned about making money, getting a good job, going to school to get the good job, and what do we get in the end? Satisfaction? A pat on the back? When we die, or the good Lord calls us home, will any of it really matter? Money, can't take it with you. Fame, we are all equal in Heaven. Satisfaction.... Satisfaction over what? I mean, we all really just want to be "somebody", right? Well, I certainly don't. Who needs fame? Who needs money? Not me. It's just a lie, anyway. The dollar bill is what is referred to as a "federal reserve note". It's not even real currency. It's just a small piece of paper "representing" what we think is our money, when in fact, the money is all owned by someone else. So why are we so obsessed over small pieces of "I-Owe-Yous"?



................I'm just gonna end this here. To everyone who just read the above....rant?....please don't be concerned. As I said, these moods just come every now and then and this is just me venting. Nothing to be concerned about. Maybe. Don't know.

...Today...?

There are several types of "Days". There are "Good Days", "Bad Days", "Meh Days", "Eh Days" (not really different from "Meh" days, other than that the individual chooses whichever one to say, so really, they're interchangeable!), "Worst-Day-Of-My-Life Days", "Horrible Days", and then there are "One-of-Those Days".

Today was "One-of-Those" days. You know what I'm talking about. It's not exactly a bad day. It's just that nothing seems to go your way. And when it does, it does not last for very long. I suppose you could also refer to it as a "Roller-Coaster" day. Up, then down, then up, then really down, then up and evens out. Which is essentially what happened to today. It started when I woke up. For some insane reason, I woke up early, fell back asleep, woke up to my alarm, turned it off, fell back asleep, then woke up again late for class (the real irony here is that "that" class is part of the reason for why I'm even writing this blog. Though after today, I probably would've blogged anyway.), and it all sort of cork-screwed, went up, went down, and all around from there.

I mean, classes went well, I thought. Had a Greek test; I think I did well on it. Intro to Philosophy also went well (still have an assignment to do....>_>...). And Creative Writing....well...I was late, as mentioned earlier.

Work didn't go as well. First of all, I'd like to make it very clear that I was doing my job. I was getting things done. It's just that I feel as though our manager is slightly.... finicky. First, we are told one thing. Given semi-clear instructions, which we go about doing as best as we can interpret them, only to have him later come by and say that we've been doing it all slightly wrong and that this how we are actually supposed to be doing it. Only to have him come to us a few days later and ask us what the heck we're doing (<----Cue Facepalm here).  I mean, I'm only one person! There's only so much that I can do in THREE hours time! Granted, I have already had a few "misunderstandings" with him (and a couple student managers), but the remaining issues are because of continuing issues. Seriously, why make checklists, order them, and structure them the way they are, only to come by later and say, "Hey, this is what it actually means." .....GRRRROOOOWWWLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!  .....Sorry....It's been a long, very frustrating day, and I'm glad that I am now sitting in my comfy chair, shoes off, and relaxing/distressing/unwinding.

That all said, there is one thing that I love about "One-of-Those Days". They are just perfect days to write! Writing just seems to come so much easier when you've been stressed out, frustrated, ect. You're emotions runs high, making them easy to focus into a single focal point, which you can then aim into whichever direction you want. For example, this blog was mostly able to help me just vent. Get it all out there. And now I feel a lot better!

Of course, it also helped that I have a lot of awesome friends at work! For example, the student manager (not the "head" manager guy) constantly said that I was doing a great job. Which I honestly needed today. I was sooo close to throwing in the towel, clocking out, walking out the door, and never looking back. And that's saying something! I'm no quitter. I just don't quit, even when I probably should. This has led me into several troublesome situations and spots, but I think I'm finally learning about this: sometimes, you just have to throw in the towel. It's not really always a "defeat", and I feel that it can be healthy. However, I also feel that by going through difficult "challenges", I can test myself. Strengthen my resolve. Ect.


Well, OK! I think I'm done ranting now. I think I shall do some writing, then curl up in bed, and just sleep. And actually go to Chapel tomorrow. So, Fare Thee Well!!!

MEH!!!

The title is mostly an explanation of my mood. I finally ordered my textbooks (somewhat less expensive than I thought, but still quite a chunk out of the bank!). And now I'm just writing a really random wacky post. Do I really care? Not really. Just being random. That said, I have gotten more done on my project. Switch Wyrd is starting to come along smoothly, but I still need to focus more on writing it out, instead of just thinking up all the details. Detail is important, but it is not all there is.

Today is September 11. Where were you back in 2001? I was sitting in class, when another teacher walked in. After a brief talk with my teacher they left, and I knew something was very wrong. We had an old, small tv (it was a small private school that is now no longer in existence, but our class itself was really small), which we turned on. Right as the second plane hit the second tower. I remember feeling...shock. To think that I actually lived during a time where our nation was attacked on our own soil. You don't really forget something like that. The shock stays with you.

NEW

It's just as the title says. Wow...it's been ages since I last posted on this site. Heh, I even started a post a few days ago, then just closed my browser. So much has happened since I last visited this place. The memories that lie buried here.

But I digress! First things first: well, still single. Did try dating a girl for a couple years back, but it's best that we just stay friends. Didn't work out.

Second: Yes, I am still working on The Realm. It's just more...massive than I originally intended. I mean, really, it was a large undertaking to begin with, but then I started toying with the idea of "Hey, what if all my stories were connected?" And it all snowballed from there! Now, I've got a massive universe on my hands, full to the brim with all sorts of gods, demons, An Omnipotent Creator, as well as a Timeless ShapeShifter. Work on it is going...much slower than I'd like. I really want to get this thing finished. It's not that I want money from it selling. Rather, I just want to share this story with everyone.

Third: Got my first real taste of full time work. I worked at a waterpark this past summer, and man was that a blast!! I met so many awesome people, didn't have to save anybody (I was a LifeGuard), and I made a good deal of money.

Hmm, I think that about wraps things up for now.

Stay awesome, Peeps! :D

p.s.: to all you fellow Minecraftians, beware the Creepers!!

The Realm

Ah, the story is going so well. Story? More like epic. The Realm has expanded so much. So quickly. It went from being a simple world...no, the Realm was never simple. It just hadn't revealed it's complexity. Because it is complex. It has its own history. It's backstory. And behind every story is yet another story yet to be told.

Even along the timeline, there are millions of stories, of people who need their voices to be heard, behind the main events. Yet I cannot accomplish this task on my own. So, this world needs to get out. People who may one day write fanfictions, may not end up writing the fanfic they think they are, but will be, instead, writing down the voices of those that need to be heard.

Now you begin to see the complexity within the simplicity. I did not create the Realm for me. No. I created the Realm for you. All of you. It is not the legacy that plan to leave behind. The legacy that I wish to create is for many to join in the Realm. To be immersed in it. Because the Realm is the imagination.