& by the way, everything in life is writable about if you have the outgoing guts to do it,
and the imagination to improvise.  The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt. 
~Sylvia Plath

 

The Web designer and the Author

IT’S OFFICIAL. Thanks to the outstanding work by my web designer, Raquel Ng, I’ve got http://www.terencesanders.com up and running. You can access it from the multiple links I’ve got (including the one right there!) or by clicking the picture of me and my awesome web designer to your right —->


In the future, however, merely click the author’s picture on the left hand side to jump from my blog to my main page.


When the book is released you can buy it from a link on the main page, however, in the meantime use it to check out links of awesome people on my Top of the World tab, where I provide the links to anyone showcased on this blog, as well as the photographers on my website.

Under the Buy the Book tab, you’ll currently find the synopsis I’ve written for the book—and in the future, it’ll be the location at which you can buy the book from through a link to Amazon.com’s bookstore.

I’ve got a brief author bio which is just a edit of the initial blog on this page, and contact information for my web designer and publisher as well. Be sure to check it out and tell me what you think through feedback on the blog.

Speaking of the feedback: To those who have been answering my call, and leaving words for me to read for a change, you’re amazing. If you haven’t noticed, I go back and respond to each comment. It’s my way of making sure you know that I know you care! I’m going to keep that trend going for as long as I can— replying to every single comment left on this blog. Wish me luck and tell your friends!

Griffin Urbano

But enough about me. I recently spoke to an old musician I used to be a huge fan of, Griffin Urbano. Getting to really know him in the early years of high school, I got to see the beginning of a journey that would take Griffin to where he is today.

I was alarmed, however, because when we spoke the other night, he said he worried that people weren’t interested in the indie rock genre of music, so many teenagers are listening to techno pop and autotune electronica deal.

I was shocked. This kid has talent, and it’d mean the world to me if you guys would check out his page (especially my more musically inclined readers, or those musicians themselves) and leave feedback saying whether or not his music has a place in the world. While sure people say, “All music is welcome”—I’m willing to go out on a limb and say, his music is wanted.

www.myspace.com/writingzeros

www.myspace.com/areyoucaptivated

www.youtube.com/griffinthecity

Here’s a bio he wrote about himself:

“I go by Captivated. Not sure how the name came around, but always came across as a thought-provoking word. “What captivates me? What is captivating?” would be such questions that would come to mind. I had realized that it was life itself that was the most captivating thing. And what better way to express life’s glory than through music? That’s what I started to do, around the beginning of high school. Mainly songs of love and hope, and testing out the waters (testing out my capabilities as a songwriter). So I’ve tried many things, and four years later, I still find it to be a challenge to craft a song the way I want it to.”

My personal favorite song is Romantic Combinations, on the Are you Captivated link. Seriously, JM and Leo—is that not a solid duet for two kids recorded that while they were in high school?

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Here’s a piece of writing, my favorite kind (that I hate with all my heart), a novel I stopped after the first chapter. I don’t even have a name for it! Leave me some lines of what you think of it, how should it continue, what’s to love and hate, and what you think the title of the story should be. You never know what I might do with your thoughts.

So, I present:

Untitled – Chapter One.

Tyler didn’t care who she was. Her name came whispered; a mere thought lost among the scream of the railroad engine. Today, he couldn’t have a care in the world. It was his birthday, a time spent joyously wandering the city streets, and but could the identity of this beautiful girl could wait until tomorrow? Marcia, he thought aimlessly, his eyes falling on her for a moment lost. The color of the falling leaves, what eyes— he smiled at the thought, and the sound of her name. Marcia. He looked around and found himself surrounded by smiling friends, eager to enjoy the night as he. Content with his grinning entourage, he pushed the girl from his thoughts. Tomorrow could wait. And so could she.

“Quite the choice, Tyler. She’s a pretty one,” the closest of his friends squinted through the dense clouds of cigarette smoke to follow Tyler’s gaze, “But you. You to settle? The world is brilliant my friend, so close your eyes. Allow not first love to follow first sight— oh, the sweet bitterness. Take it with smile and shot of scotch, it’s your birthday.”

Someone produced a bottle of aged liquor and passed it around. Tyler thought carefully on his friend’s words; well chosen but failing in any attempt to disarm him. At loss of words, he could feel no fury, not to the antique friendship he held with the speaker; Byron befriended Tyler in long years past and in no time since had they been so inseparable. The warmth spread from the tip of the bottle to the shallows of his belly as the liquor invigorated his tongue to speak.

“The truth you speak so eloquently Byron: it is in fact my birthday. So forgive me for being selfish, but I’ll damn well do as I please,” Tyler laughed, leaning closer to his friend, “The regular femme fatale that one. Her name’s Marcia.”

“It could be Autumn for all I care— she’s the season of the dying. Beware it, I don’t trust her,” Byron shot her a sizing glance, “Something’s amiss. She carries herself too confidently; that’s heresy in all respects.”

“The dying season? Would it be better if she took the name of Winter?” Tyler refused to heed Byron’s cryptic warnings; life was simply too short to live worrying of the thoughts of tomorrow, especially of strangers and beautiful eyes.

“If she was called Winter, my dear friend,” Byron he chuckled and took another sip, “Then she’d be the season of the dead— my warnings in vain, I’d be too late to save you.”

Laughter erupted from the kind of boys who wore tuxedos to the local diner simply because it made them feel invincible on these early summer nights, the boys Tyler had known his whole life. Byron’s cleverness betrayed his suppressed suspicion but even Tyler could not hold back a smile. The wind pressed through the rattling windows, and Tyler looked out skyward. Of painted skies, and lighted streaks— the empty world never seemed so full, full of promise for the young and the ruined.

“Look, the stars tonight! Forget her, Byron, and forget your idle warnings. The night is bright and young— tonight, we shall be the Night, or the Night shall be we, and never a thought of tomorrow shall pass our minds until me, too drunk on the passions of life, can remember. Marcia… Autumn indeed. Like falling leaves, she shall fall from us tonight, and not another word,” Tyler turned to his friends and shared a smile, a gift between friends of the dying age he could only call his youth.

“Your no Shakespeare!” A voice laughed from the crowd of boys.
“But you’ll do,” Byron said, smiling in spite of defeat.

In less than a year they would trace their lives elsewhere, out of the small town of Iliad. Dreams held strong and burned fiercely in the hearts of his brothers— if not by blood than surely by soul —and he could speak neither of disappointment nor regret in lieu of their wishes to pursue their passions.

Tomorrow, he’d be a man and the world could spill forth whatever horror it held in wait, he’d stand firm, enveloped in the courage of a newly born soul, and greet the beast heartily. But that was tomorrow. But tonight, he was eighteen. Fragile and impressionable, tonight he would lose himself and rediscover a thousand times over. He spared but one thought to the girl: I know your name, but a glance and you’ve threatened my closest friend. A dying breed perhaps, a painted soul of enlightened measures. I know your name. But what’s a name on a night like this?

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